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(The story is about the Smallwood family: the father, the mother, David and Sally)
The Smallwoods had a car, an ordinary family saloon, dark green, three years old, practical, not very exciting. But it was Mr. Smallwood’s car, and he didn’t want to own a sports car. He often fetched Sally from the club if it was too late and David was somewhere else. He fetched David too from the station or dances or from the cinema if the weather was bad. Sometimes he said his car was nothing but a free taxi. “You are seventeen now, David,” he said one day. “You’d better start your driving lessons this autumn. Then you can take Sally to all these parties and things in the car, and I won’t have to turn up. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”
David was, of course, very pleased. “Will you teach me, Dad?” he said. “I can give you a few lessons at first,” said Dad. “But you’d better have some proper lessons at a driving school too. They know what they are doing and do it all the time. And also, you are not their son.” They all laughed, because they all knew how impatient Dad was with David sometimes. David laughed too. For although Dad was cross with him sometimes when he left his things all over the house, came too late, let his hair grow too long, he was better than some people’s fathers.
So David started to learn to drive. He got a driving license and paid for it out of his own money. He bought some ‘L’ plates and fastened them onto the front and back bumpers of the car, so that everyone would know he was a learner driver. Dad took him out at weekends as that was the only time he had. Dad sat in the front passenger seat and told David what to do. They drove round the back streets of the town and out in the country where there was very little traffic. They did not drive very fast. “I’d like a car of my own,” said David one Sunday when they were out. It’s so much quicker to go by car, especially in Greenford. If you go by bus, you seem to spend half of the time waiting for it.” “Learn to drive this car first,” said Dad. “When you’ve left school and got a job, then you can save your money for a car.”
Mother took David out sometimes too. She had the car during the week, and always took Dad to and from the station by car. So she really did more driving than he did. She was a good driver, and she was also more patient with David. She did not want David to end up in hospital.
David learnt quite a lot in a short time. At the beginning of the Christmas holidays he could drive quite well. He could change gears without grinding them, he could back out of the garden without knocking down the gates; he could turn round in the road and get right through the town without making any mistakes. And he knew the Highway Code by heart. “Well, now,” said Dad. “You’d better have a few more lessons at the driving school, and then book a date for your driving test. There’s a long waiting list, so you’d better do that straight away. If you like, you could have six lessons for a Christmas present, an early Christmas present.”
It was the best Christmas present David could think of. He booked a date for the test and secretly began saving for a car. He had a friend called Chris who worked in a garage. Chris would help him find a cheap car; perhaps he would go shares on one. But David had to pass his test first and earn some money. David liked Austen Martinis and Mercedes Bents. But he knew his car would probably be a Ford or an Austen, or a Mini car of some kind, secondhand too.
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