'Will you turn that stuff off ?' Cahal's father shouted from under the car he was working on, and Cahal searched the wavebands until he found music of his father's time. There was a radio on which advice was being given about looking after fish in an aquarium. In the middle of the garage there were two pits, in one of which Cahal's father was at the moment, putting in a clutch. There were racks of tools, and workbenches with vices along the back wall, and rows of new and reconditioned tyres, and drums of grease and oil. Abandoned cars, kept for their parts, and cars and motor-cycles waiting for spares, and jacks that could be wheeled about, took up what space there was on either side of the small wooden office, which was at the back also. The lights of the garage were always on because shelves had been put up in front of the windows that stretched across the length of the wall at the back. Half five, he'd told Heslin, and the bloody car wouldn't be ready.
He had tried to hammer it out, he had tried wrenching the exhaust unit this way and that in the hope that something would give way, but nothing had.
All the others had come out easily enough but this one was rusted in, the exhaust unit trailing from it. Chapter One The Dressmaker's Child Cahal sprayed WD-40 on to the only bolt his spanner wouldn't shift.
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