Meanwhile, Yvonne had finished in the ladies and came back out into the vestibule. Of course, she wouldn’t know the lights were off but when she tried the retiring room door – it was locked. Strange. Perhaps she had the wrong door. Consequently, she retraced her steps and tried again. Still locked.
She called out, ‘Hello, anybody there?’
No reply.
Yvonne turned towards the car park door and tried that. Locked! Stranger still. She didn’t know if there was an internal phone in this area, so she got out her mobile and tried the Clerk’s office number.
No reply.
Odd!
So she tried her husband again. No joy – either at home or on the mobile.
She started to worry a little and then thought that a cup of tea was in order, so she tried the kitchen door. Locked!
Now she was getting upset – but Yvonne wasn’t one to panic. She felt round the room with her stick and found a chair, sat down and considered what to do next.
She was seated in the courthouse and no one was answering her calls. She couldn’t get out of this small entrance hall as all the doors were locked. She had no alternative but to wait and keep trying to contact her husband, Robert.
Yvonne tried to contact her husband several more times, but by 11am, her mobile phone battery died.
The Courthouse heating was controlled by a central computer and when the building was unoccupied – which in theory it was – the temperature was set to fifteen degrees C. Consequently, the room in which Yvonne sat started to get colder. And of course, although she didn’t know it, the snow was falling more heavily by the minute.
Her husband Robert was sitting in their car on a dual carriageway in heavy traffic. He was oblivious to his wife’s predicament as he thought she was safely dispensing justice at the Court. He had no reason to worry. He would pick her up later in the day when she called - assuming of course that he got out of this traffic jam. He didn’t answer his mobile phone – simply because it was sitting at home on his desk – re-charging.
By half past twelve, Yvonne was becoming quite agitated. She had been round the walls of the vestibule a dozen times trying to find a phone or a key to the exit. There was none! There wasn’t even a fire alarm she could set off to summon assistance.
She was cold and hungry. She normally ate from the court canteen that prepared sandwiches and the like for all court users – so she didn’t even have anything to eat. She couldn’t even have a hot drink as the kitchen was locked.
The biggest puzzle in her mind concerned her husband. Why wouldn’t Robert answer the phone?
In fact, Robert couldn’t answer the phone because he was still stuck in traffic and hadn’t moved for three hours. He was beginning to worry about picking up Yvonne and had long since realised that he may have to walk back to the court to fetch her and walk her home. A task that would be nigh on impossible in these conditions. It was at least three miles back to the court and then five miles home. He wasn’t dressed for a blizzard – and neither was Yvonne. He hoped that a fellow Magistrate would take her home, but he couldn’t rely on that. At some stage, he’d have to make a decision.
By 1pm, Yvonne had become genuinely afraid. She was colder, hungrier and terribly thirsty. Apart from being blind, she was a diabetic and controlled her symptoms with medication. She had taken one pill using her own saliva but her thirst and lack of food was now becoming an issue. She felt faint. So she got off the small desk type chair and sat on the floor. It was even colder.
At more or less the same time, her husband Robert made a decision. He pulled up his jacket round his neck and got out of the car. He set off towards the centre of Cardiff and saw that he had joined a trickle of others doing the same. He knew the rough direction of the courthouse but it was tricky in the poor light and the driving snow.
Like many thousands of others that night, Robert Zoorman died in the snow. He was pitifully equipped to travel in the prevailing weather and got barely a mile before he collapsed with acute hypothermia. No one helped or even noticed him.
His wife, Yvonne Zoorman lay on the floor at the Magistrates Court in a diabetic coma. She also died that night – cold and alone.
Day 2 – Grantham, Lincolnshire – 11:00am
Andrew Brady made the decision to walk away from his car. He had been entombed in traffic on the A1 for several hours and basically, there was no decision to be made. If he stayed in the vehicle, he would eventually freeze to death. The snow was falling harder than ever and he should really get home and start thinking about his family rather than his job. The RAF Station was in good hands. He’d just come off his mobile phone to the Station Commander and he had reassured Brady enormously.
‘Get your backside home and make sure the family are safe indoors!’ he’d ordered.
Therefore, as ordered, Brady was walking out.
He was well equipped. His time in Germany had taught him at least that. During the winter months he always carried a pair of snow boots, an extra waterproof jacket with hood, gloves and balaclava. A pair of waterproof over trousers made up his outfit. He climbed into the back of the 4x4, lowered the single rear seat, and accessed the clothing in the boot. The cold weather pack also had a powerful torch, compass and snow goggles. He changed into his emergency clothing by pushing forward the two front seats to give him more room.
Once he was ready, he leaned forward and switched off the lights and the engine. He opened the rear nearside door – not that safety mattered as no traffic was moving. The blast of cold air was quite a shock. Thirty miles per hour of wind blew into the BMW and Andy was forced to lower his snow goggles. He clambered out into the snow and slammed the door shut, locking it and setting the alarm. No point in someone stealing it when the snow melted!
He knew the way back to his house like the back of his hand – but in this blizzard it would be easy to get severely disoriented. So he stood up and looked around to better gain his bearings. There were cars as far as he could see in both directions and on both carriageways. Some still had occupants with lights blazing and engines running. However, some had already been abandoned. The odd door was flung open with snow drifting into the interiors. ‘Idiots’, he thought, ‘they’ve panicked.’
Andy wasn’t about to make the same mistakes. He turned to face the traffic, and aimed to plod his way the half-mile or so to the access road at which he’d entered the A1 about four hours ago. He then set off at a slow but steady pace – adopting a position about two or three feet from the row of cars on the inside lane.
He hadn’t gone fifty metres before someone cracked a window, and screamed at him above the howling gale.
‘You bloody idiot! You shouldn’t leave your car – it’ll just block the road when we get moving again – you selfish bastard!’
Andy just looked at him, turned away and completely ignored him. There was no point in entering into an argument which none of them would win. He’d made his decision based on sound reasoning so he continued towards the junction – each step into thickening snow – which was nearing nine inches in depth.
He reached the exit in good time and as he started to turn the corner he notice a figure sitting in the snow. Andy approached the fellow motorist and leaned down in front of him to ask if he needed any help. What he discovered came as no real surprise, but rattled him nonetheless.
The man's face was covered in snow. He only had on a business suit, no gloves or hat or coat. Andy shouted:
‘Are you OK?’
Andy put his hand on the man's shoulder and he just toppled over. The fellow was frozen stiff.
Andy stood up and immediately looked around at the row of cars behind him. Several were still occupied and he noticed the face of a distraught and near hysterical woman in the passenger seat of a large Volvo Estate. She was banging on the window.
Andy approached the car and signalled for her to wind down the window. She’d been crying and Brady had to shout to be heard and make her understand that the man she knew
was dead. He thought she knew that already – but it didn’t make things any easier for her.
‘I’m going now,’ he shouted ‘to bring back help if I can. Stay put with the engine running. For God’s sake, don’t leave the car unless you have got proper clothing.’
With that, he turned and set off again for home. He tried to console himself with the fact that there was nothing more that he could do – but he still felt immensely guilty. Should he have stayed and helped the woman? Should he have tried to get her into town? No, of course not! She would have suffered the same fate without adequate clothing. Andy did the right thing by leaving her where she was warm and safe. How long that would last depended on the state of her fuel gauge! And anyway, he had his own family’s welfare to consider. That was far more important and now his number one priority. He couldn’t help everyone in that traffic queue.
All of this was going through his mind repeatedly as he trudged on towards Grantham town centre. He passed the secondary school and the Fire Station, and very little was moving. There were a few people about but no moving vehicles. A gritter was parked up on the pavement, abandoned by its driver. Many, many cars were just left where their owners had stopped in traffic. The snow was falling even more heavily now and Brady realised that he should get home as soon as possible.
He’d spoken to his wife just before leaving the car on the A1, and she had both the kids with her in the small Ford Focus she drove. They had been travelling out to a Christmas Fayre in one of the outlying villages but had decided pretty early on that it had been a bad idea, and had turned back even before they had really got out of the built up area. She had managed to turn the car round at the top of the hill to the west of the town and was heading back in. Yes, she was at a standstill but that was only temporary - she was sure.
Unfortunately, Brady was not so sure and his mind was racing back to the woman on the A1. He decided to phone his wife again. He moved over to the shelter of a bus stop and struggled to grasp his phone from an inside pocket with his thick ski gloves. He had to take one off eventually and only then was able to auto-dial the number.
It was engaged and the answerphone message from his wife came up. He hung up after leaving a brief but desperate message:
‘It's me. Call me AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!’ he shouted and disconnected. He tried his son’s number and then his daughter’s, but with the same result. Nothing but the answerphone. Then he rang the house. No answer.
Brady stayed in the bus shelter for five minutes waiting for a reply. But none came. He was beginning to get really worried now. He was aware of the last known position of his family and so he reckoned that he should walk to that area – only a mile or so – and see if he could find them and walk them home. He put his phone away and set off to find his wife and children. Brady crossed the road and headed towards the local McDonalds that was about halfway to where his wife said she had been stuck in traffic. If necessary, Brady could take respite at the fast food outlet and then walk the last half mile up the hill to the car. He made good time and within fifteen minutes was sat in an extremely crowded restaurant full of very cold and even more confused local people. Many had never seen such poor weather conditions, were woefully ill equipped and certainly did not want to venture out from this nice warm environment back into the snow. Brady bought a large coffee and two Big Mac Meals. He knew that he’d need sustenance and energy to complete his task. He took his time eating his meal watching the stream of customers entering this temporary refuge from the blizzard outside. However, the people entering soon trickled to a standstill. Many of the patrons seemed to be motorists who had abandoned their vehicles because by now driving had become all but impossible. Cars were strewn across the car park and the road leading to it. All of these people would have to walk home – and it appeared that a few were quite a distance away from safety, so would have a perilous journey ahead of them. He looked around and saw that he was just about the only person adequately dressed for the weather conditions.
‘Many of these people are in big trouble,’ he murmured to himself – thinking back to the iceman on the A1.
Brady, finished his coffee, shuddered, not with cold, but with apprehension, got up, adjusted his clothing and walked out of the restaurant.
The cold wind hit him full on.
‘It must be thirty or forty miles per hour’, he thought. He prayed that his family were waiting safely in the car. However, they were still not answering their mobile phones.
Brady looked ahead and saw the traffic snarl-up. It was easy to see why his wife and children had been stuck. There were abandoned vehicles everywhere. He wove his way through them and even came across a fire engine. It, too, was empty of personnel. What hope now if the rescue services had to be rescued themselves?
He turned the corner and started up the hill. Yet more vehicles were scattered across the road as if some drunken giant had emptied his box of Dinky cars in a heap.
He fought his way up the slope and came across the odd person making his or her way home. Most were in a pretty poor state and were struggling to make any progress in the drifts. What they needed were skis or snowshoes!
As Brady reached the brow of the hill, he saw the main reason for the problem. An ASDA delivery lorry had clearly lost control coming down the hill, jack-knifed and toppled over – smashing into several cars in its path. It was weird really. There should have been panic and chaos – but there was none. No police in sight. No ambulances – just half a dozen wraiths in white who must have been fire fighters from the abandoned fire tender down the hill. They were moving with difficulty from vehicle to vehicle, in order to see what they could do to help.
Suddenly, Brady had a terrible premonition.
He looked around searching frantically for his wife’s Ford Focus. It was almost impossible to pick out any vehicle – let alone the colour or make. The wind was drifting snow all over the wreckage. There was only one thing he could do. He would have to go from car to car methodically and examine the number plate of each. When he found the right car, he would rescue his family and get them home. That’s if they hadn’t set off already – or worse. But he wasn’t going to consider that possibility yet.
Brady approached the first car and scraped the snow from the number plate. Not the right one. And so onto the next and the next with similar results. The fourth car still had people in it and had the engine running. He ignored them and passed by.
He was getting close to the ASDA truck now and his heart started to pound faster as he started to acknowledge the possibilities facing him. Another vehicle checked – no joy. Another and another. Still nothing. He covered the whole area around the truck and with each car excluded from his search, his heart lifted.
Then Brady bumped into another person in the blizzard. He recognized the yellow helmet and realised it was a fire fighter.
‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’ the fire fighter shouted.
‘I’m looking for my family,’ Brady shouted back.
‘You shouldn’t be out here. Go home.’
‘I can't,’ screamed Brady, ‘they are out in this and I’ve got to find them.’
‘OK, mate, it's your funeral.’ The fire fighter turned to walk away and Brady noticed a yellow strip of plastic in his hand.
He grabbed the man’s shoulder and pulled him back.
‘What's that?’ he cried.
‘It's a number plate from the car sitting under the ASDA lorry – poor devils – never had a chance.’
Brady snatched the plate from the fire fighter and brushed the snow clear.
It was his wife’s personalized number plate.
Brady dropped to his knees as the snow drove down even harder.
Day 2 – Grantham, Lincolnshire – 11:00am
Jane Kelly stepped off the train, which had just arrived from Nottingham. She didn’t relish the thought of spending any time in this one-horse town – but she had no choice. No available means of transport meant she was stuck with i
t. She knew the way into the centre and reckoned it would take around twenty or thirty minutes in this weather to reach the Angel and Royal Hotel in the High Street.
However, she was in no hurry, so she stopped at the station tea bar for a hot drink and something to eat. The something she got was a Kit-Kat, since no fresh food had been delivered this morning. She glanced out of the buffet window at the taxi rank. It was empty, so no joy there either.
Jane was thoroughly fed up. However, what could she do about it except bite the bullet and make the best of a bad job? She wrapped up as warmly as possible and decided to traipse into town. A few other passengers were starting to set off, and they presented a forlorn sight as they slipped and fell into the snow at regular intervals.
Jane was more fortunate than most in that she had dressed for the weather. She wore nice thick snow boots that worked very well in these conditions and she made steady progress down the hill into Grantham town centre as midday approached. The snow was driving down harder than ever and she realised that she would have to make a couple of shelter stops on the way through town. She would aim to make those in coffee shops or pubs so that she could buy hot drinks to keep her going.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 9
