Ah, sure lookit. These lads had it sorted. Big operators. Big into the car business. Known for doin yokes up. They wanted the remains on the Insignia. It was imperative they got it. Said they’d give €500. The loved Insignias. Had five or six of them in the forecourt out the back of their mother’s yard. They were from some town. Some village. Some rural stretch on the road. Spent most days turning screws with ratchet screwdrivers and talking about buying Insignias. Lately they found a beaut. A real winner. Class price. A Brexit bargain from beyond. There was a trip over, and a boat back, and a drive home to the rainy dealership somewhere between the wet fields. Ballyfin, Ballindine, Ballyhowya. Somewhere. It didn’t matter because they had somehow found their way to Athlone and seen my sick model in the grey mist gathering dust and praying for an owner. Praying it wouldn’t be turned into Greta bean cans somewhere. And now here were the Messiahs.
The mechanic rang, said: ‘Them lads were here, would you take €500?’
I would. Half it even, but I didn’t mention that.
‘Ok, I’ll them. They just bought another Insignia they want your one too.’
‘The engine is gone, do they know that?’
‘Are ya sure about that? It usually makes a difference when trying to drive it. Just talking from experience.’
‘They don’t want the engine, just the body.’
‘Fair enough. They mightn’t get far though.’
”They have another Insignia at home. But she’s English.’
I didn’t understand, said: ‘I know what you mean.’
‘And they got her at a good price, but the import tax is colossal.’
‘Yeah, nearly twice the price of the car.’
‘So what they’re goin to do is take the engine out of the English one, and put it in your one and then they have the English engine in an Irish registered car and don’t need to pay the tax.’
‘I need the space in my yard either way so will I tell them to take it?’
‘Do. Do. Do.’
A week later, the car was still there. Looking like this:
They had trouble sourcing a truck to bring it home. There was a cousin with a girlfriend who had a brother and his father owned a truck but he wasn’t willing to give it. They’d be back in a few days with a plan. More time passed. The mechanic offered them a triangular yoke you could attach to the back of your car and tow it that way. There was excitement about this until it transpired they didn’t have a car with a hitch so that wouldn’t work.
Another week went by and no word. Eventually they said the logistics wouldn’t work out, and there was a lot of work to be done on my yoke, and they hadn’t accounted for that time I scraped it off the pillar downstairs and wrecked the back door. And something might go wrong with transferring the engines and they you just have two useless Insignias and no money left. So they abandoned the great plan, let the genius subside, and went back to screwing screws with ratchet screwdrivers, and waiting for the next great moment.