Hyrone was half way through an oil change on a fourteen year old Fiesta when he saw Alina Pop coming out of Underworld. Alina was a sucker for a man in dungarees, especially if he was ginger, sweaty and covered in oil.
"'Allo 'allo," said Alina. "Zat is a very fine... how do you say... oil filter."
"It's s standard Bosch filter. Available for next day delivery from most suppliers," he replied.
"Tee hee hee," she giggled. "Hee hee."
"It's not the biggest one I've fitted today," said Hyrone. "You should've seen the size of the one I fitted this morning."
"Oh I would 'ave liked to 'ave seen zat. It sounds like filter quite extraordinaire," she replied.
"You've got a lovely accent Alina, very French."
"Ah oui, but I am not French. I am Romanian but I was knocked on ze head when I was smuggled into ze country and when I awoked, I was speaking in French."
"Well it's right nice," said Hyrone, a slight blush on his rugged face.
"Listen carefully. I will say zees only once. Do you want to 'ave an affaire de coeur avec moi?"
"Yeah, ok. But let's not tell Fizzgan just now."
"But she will find out as soon as we move into a flat together," replied Alina. "Ooh la la."
Hyrone was getting flustered and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The sun was behind him and he was momentarily backlit. The combination sent Alina into a frenzy.
"Je t'adore Hyrone. You are... 'ow you say? Tres tres lovely."
"Ah no," he replied. But Alina misunderstood. She thought he said, "I know."
"I love un homme who knows how fantastic 'e is," said Alina. "Meet me at six, and we will set up 'ome togezzer."
Neither of them noticed that Fizzgan was looking out from behind her net curtains. She didn't like the look of this young girl.
---
Come 5pm, and Hyrone locked up the garage. He had finished the oil filter, done a full service on a Honda and aligned two sets of wheels. He felt quite pleased with himself, and then he remembered that he was due to run away with Alina Pop. He braced himself as he crossed the road back to Fizzgan, Archiehope and Rubette.
"Fizzgan, I'm home," he shouted as he closed the front door. "What are we having for dinner?"
"We don't call it dinner no more," said Fizzgan. "We call it tea now that we live here. We're having fish fingers and chips. Nothing exotic. If you want summat more interesting, you should try something foreign."
"Well now that you've reminded me, I have to tell you that I'm running away with Alina Pop," said Hyrone.
"So you'd rather set up home in a tiny flat with Miss France rather than with an English rose like me?"
"She's Romanian, and you're American, just pretending to be from Weatherfield," said Hyrone. "And I am moving in with Alina tonight."
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