#5

He gave me my first driving lesson, of a sort. To this day I don't know whether he saw it as a necessary chore, a good deed to cement our odd friendship; whether instead it came from a genuine urge to teach. Surrounded by teachers all day (even ones as mediocre as those at the school) he was bound to have inhaled some of that paedagogical spirit.

The inside of his Morris Minor smelt of hot leather, sweat and peppermints. Whenever I smell anything approaching that combination now—only ever two of those three at best—I can hear him saying: "There're four gears, and reverse, and this lever here is the handbrake, which is how you stop, only after you've stopped." And in my mind, clear and insistent as the school bell, are the words: "Four plus reverse makes five, not four." But at the time I kept quiet and nodded, soaking it all up.