Footsteps drew nearer—two sets of footsteps, in fact—so I shot a look over my shoulder. The street lights cast a dim orange glow, offering just enough light for me to see two men approaching the bus shelter. My body recognised the threat before my eyes had even focused properly. They were slowing down, looking right at me rather than ignoring me, so I turned my attention back to the timetable, hoping they’d get the message and keep walking.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ one of them said, his voice slurred. ‘What are you doing here all by yourself? You know it’s not safe for a good looking girl like you, you never know what might happen.’
His partner in crime laughed, and not in a friendly way. The sound made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.
Shit!
Every instinct screamed at me to get the hell out of there.
A sudden surge of adrenaline raced through my veins, making my heart beat frantically inside my chest. I couldn’t stay in my Perspex prison. That would be way too dumb. I was like a sitting duck—except that I was standing, not sitting—and, according to the timetable, the next bus might not be along until morning. Keeping my head held high, I thrust my shoulders back and started walking, continuing down the road. I’d have to find a phone box, or a taxi, or flag someone down maybe.
Typical.
The only time I needed a road to be busy, there wasn’t a car in sight. I decided to cross over, just in case I was being silly and letting my overactive imagination run away with me. No such luck: the two men crossed the road behind me as well. Well, I hoped Hayden and the rest of Screwed felt bad when they read the news reports in the morning about the girl they’d abandoned at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere who got attacked and …
Screwed.
I swallowed.
No, I couldn’t think like that. I needed to stay calm, think clearly. Focus.
Breathe …
I can do this.
As a kid, I’d had big dreams of representing Great Britain in the Olympics, but not as a long-distance runner. My cross-country coach had a right go at me once for not trying hard enough, but I hated it—and him, to be honest—as it just wasn’t for me, not by a long shot. I didn’t have the stamina for it and my lungs always felt as if they were about to explode, which all pointed to my having to conserve my energy now, to try to outsmart these two goons rather than leg it and run out of steam.
I picked up my pace instead but, judging by the footsteps, the men had sped up, too. Damn it, I hadn’t even got a good look at their faces, but it was no good turning around now. My breath formed clouds in front of my face as my feet pounded the pavement.
Think, Lena. Think.
The bus timetable had imprinted itself in my brain, so I worked back from the stop I recognised. Finally, I had a good idea where I was, and if I was right, and if I remembered rightly, there was a small shopping precinct somewhere along this road. It couldn’t be too much further away, either, maybe another quarter of a mile or so, and I was pretty sure one of the shops was an Indian takeaway. On a Friday night, surely they would be open late. All I had to do was get there, and then, hopefully, they’d let me use their phone, and everything would be fine.
Ha! Yeah right … nothing to it.
I crossed the road again, putting me on the right side of the road for the shops, and again the goons followed. There was no way it could be a coincidence, no chance at all. They were after me. While I’ll never be a long-distance runner, I’d always been pretty good over short distances, especially sprints. I used to be able to outsprint half of the boys at school, and I got picked to represent the county one year. The two goons didn’t seem to be gaining on me—yet—so, with the element of surprise, I could maybe get enough of a head start to reach the Indian before they caught up with me.
It had to be worth a shot, and I didn’t exactly have any other bright ideas.
The voice of my old track coach roared in my head, yelling at me to get my hands out of my pockets and swing my arms like a pendulum; telling me I’d need to create extra momentum and to use my arms to drive my legs, that and be thankful my favourite Schuhs had only a small heel, which shouldn’t compromise my balance and stride length too much.
A flicker of hope sparked to life when I saw bright lights three hundred metres or so away—I was right—but then I noticed that the footsteps behind me were getting louder, closing down the distance with each stride. It was as if they knew they were running out of time. An attack of nerves brought bile to the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. It was now or never.
Go!
Another spike of adrenaline hit and I launched myself into a full-on sprint, trying to stay in control and not run like a maniac, waving my arms in the air like a pathetic damsel in distress. I gained only a second or two’s advantage before they started running as well, but it could be enough. My hair flew out behind me as the wind bit at my face, clawing at my lungs from the inside, but my years of training kicked in and I pumped my arms as hard and fast as I could, forcing my legs to match. I opened out my stride pattern, trying to trick my body into thinking it was just another session on the track.
Less than a hundred metres to go, and the lights were getting brighter, but the goons had reached full speed now, too. It was going to be close, too close to call. I was running the race of my life and I couldn’t afford to lose.
Twenty metres … the muscles in my arms and legs were on fire.
Ten metres … the fire spread to my lungs, ready to give up.
Five metres … a hand grabbed my shoulder but I shrugged it off and dodged its grip.
One metre … I ran full pelt towards the door to the takeaway and prayed that it opened.
Both of my feet were off the ground when my outstretched palms hit the glazed door. It burst open with such force, I half expected it to smash, or come off in my hands, wrenched away from its hinges. A loud shriek met my sudden arrival and the lady behind the counter leaped to her feet with a look of pure shock over her face. I carried on sailing through the air, my body in flight, as the floor got alarmingly close.
Then it all got really weird, as though I’d hit a switch to turn everything into slow motion, with my senses on high alert, taking in every sight and sound. I swore I heard laughter from outside, and the sound of a car pulling up, but then the door slammed shut behind me, creating a draught strong enough to scatter paper flyers and menus all over the floor. What a pity there weren’t enough of them to cushion my fall.
My heels connected first, and pain shot up through my ankle and into my shin. For all the traction my footwear gave me, I might as well have stood on a bar of soap. Annoyingly, I’d toyed with the idea of wearing my Converse but decided to go with fashion over comfort in the end. Never again. Out of control, my momentum sent me careening into the counter; my knee took the brunt of the impact, but then I was tumbling backwards.
Instinctively, I reached my hands out behind me to break my fall.
Bright idea, Lena—not!
They landed on the menus and slid backwards and away from me in opposite directions. Spread-eagled and shoulders jarred, I howled in agony. With no way to stop myself, my backside hit the ground first.
Closely followed by the back of my head.
I think I blacked out.
When I opened my eyes there were two people standing over me, making me feel tiny, staring back at the two giants. The lady from behind the counter, and a man who had appeared as if from nowhere, were both looking at me with concerned expressions.
‘Are you OK?’ the lady asked. ‘Can you move?’
Good question.
Can I?
Nothing immediately screamed ‘I am broken’, so I gingerly wiggled the toes on my right foot. Then my left. So far, so good. I tried my fingers. Everything seemed to be working as it should, so I tried turning my head a little to the left—no flashing lights, no attack of the woozies—then back to the right. It would be a miracle if I wasn’t black and blue
by morning, but I didn’t think I’d done any serious damage.
Wow!
‘I …’ My throat felt as if I’d swallowed the razors the band had been using and my voice cracked. I coughed to clear the blockage, trying not to wince and jar anything else. ‘I think so.’
‘What the devil were you doing, barging in here like that?’ the man asked, raising his hands into the air and leaving them up there.
‘Chased … two men,’ I blurted, incapable of stringing more than a couple of words together. ‘Had to … get away.’
‘What? Chased?’ The man’s legs disappeared from view, heading in the same direction I’d just launched myself from, and the bell above the door tinkled.
A blast of cold air rolled over my prone body—he’d opened the door—and here I was, lying down and feeling incredibly vulnerable. Everything hurt, but I ignored the throbbing pain and dragged myself up to a sitting position, then turned around, resting my back against the counter. If this was some crazy old Tom and Jerry episode, there would be birds or stars spinning around my head, rather than the entire room whirling in front of my eyes. Motion sickness kicked in big time, despite the fact that I’d barely moved, and I wasn’t going to try again any time soon, given that there was no way I could stand until the room stopped pitching and rotating.
All attention centred on the wide-open doorway, including mine.
A slow prickle of terror crept down my spine and traced a path to my stomach. Had I not already wanted to be sick, my nerves would have done the job, no problem. I really didn’t want to think about what could have happened had the goons caught me: I’d have far bigger issues than a few bruises and bout of nausea to contend with, that was for sure. But what if I’d been wrong about the car picking them up again? What if the men were still out there, waiting for me?
‘Gone,’ the man said from outside. He stepped back inside and closed the door behind him, looking at me intently. ‘Are you sure?’
Yeah right, like I’d make it up just so I could come crashing through their door and nigh on kill myself for no reason. It was how I got my kicks on a Friday night, obviously, who didn’t? I bit down on my tongue and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. What was one more pain when everything else hurt, anyway?
‘They must have carried on running, then,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody out there now.’
Thank goodness for that!
‘You should not be out walking alone this late at night, miss,’ the lady said. She squatted down beside me, her tone half reprimand and half concern, reminding me of my mum.
‘N-no. Didn’t mean to. S-s-stranded,’ I stuttered. Crap, I’d only bitten my tongue, and not even that hard, so what was going on with the rest of my mouth? ‘C-could I b-borrow your phone p-p-please?’
The lady nodded. Her knees cracked as she returned to standing and she passed through the open section of counter right beside me, then returned with a cordless phone in her outstretched arm, holding it at my eye level. Heat scorched my shoulder as I reached up to take it. I held onto it tightly, as if it were my only lifeline, and I stared at it, my mind alarmingly blank.
One of the downsides of having a mobile phone was that I’d got lazy, no longer bothering to memorise phone numbers any more. They were just there, stored in my contacts. To be fair, I can’t remember the last time I had to physically dial a number—even the phone at home had a built-in phone book. Speaking of which, even my own home number was foggy, and I wasn’t usually that stupid, but it wouldn’t be any good to me anyway: Mum and Dad would still be at the Wheatsheaf, and they rarely got home before two o’clock in the morning on quiz night.
The only other number I usually knew off by heart was Gemma’s home number, after years of calling it, which would have been great if I didn’t already know she was hanging out with Ben tonight. She talked about going to the late showing at the cinema, so I’d be amazed if she was home already, but I didn’t stand a chance of reaching anybody else. Trying had to be better than doing nothing, I supposed. I certainly couldn’t sit on the shop floor all night, so I punched in the number.
At least that was the plan, but I misdialled a couple of times, thanks to my trembling fingers, and had to start over each time before I finally got it right and pressed the green button. The dial tone buzzed in my ear, closely followed by a series of bleeps and then a clunk as my call was connected. It rang at the other end; once, twice, three times … Come on, pick up, please. But by the fifth ring my heart was doing the drumming thing inside my ribcage again and I moved my finger to hover over the red button, ready to end the call.
Now what do I do?
‘Hello?’ came a sleepy male voice.
‘Umm … h-hi,’ I don’t how I managed it, especially as I’d already pressed the button halfway down, but I moved my finger away and the line miraculously stayed connected. ‘Is G-gemma th-there p-p-please?’ I stammered, no idea who I was talking to.
‘No, who is this?’
Ah, the voice belonged to Jake, Gemma’s brother; older than we were by a few years, but he was nice, and he hardly ever teased us. He was also the least likely to freak out, which was a huge bonus.
‘H-hi J-Jake.’ If my mouth didn’t start functioning properly soon, I was going to scream. ‘It’s L-l-Lena.’
‘Lena? You sound really weird. I didn’t even recognise you. Gemma isn’t back from Ben’s yet, but she’ll have her mobile on her. Or have you tried that already?’ Jake must have heard the catch in my throat because he didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘Lena, what’s wrong?’
‘I n-need her to p-pick me up.’
‘Will I do?’ Jake asked softly. ‘Where are you? I don’t recognise the number.’
My lip wobbled and my eyes brimmed with tears. Even my elbow was shaking under the strain, and it dawned on me that I was clinging onto my self-control by only the thinnest of threads. A strange chattering sound distracted me from answering, I realised it was my teeth only when violent jerks and shudders seized control over my arms and legs. The handset slipped from my fingers, impossible to hold onto, and landed in my lap, where it bounced and jumped before scuttling to the floor.
The nice Indian lady crouched down beside me and picked it up, putting it to her ear. ‘One second please,’ she said to Jake, before looking at the man and saying something in a language I didn’t understand. Everything was getting a bit disjointed, so she could have been saying the alphabet, or counting from one to ten, and I’m not sure I’d have understood any better. He nodded and disappeared out the back as the lady started talking to Jake again. Again, her words went over my head, but I was mesmerised as this stranger talked to my best friend’s brother on the phone.
Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but it was suddenly the funniest thing I’d ever seen. Giggles bubbled up inside my chest, then came bursting out of my mouth, right at the same time as water started pouring from my eyes. Tears cascaded over my cheeks and ran down my chin before dripping into my lap leaving little dark spots in the denim where they landed, spreading out like ink in blotting paper.
A door opened and closed somewhere behind the counter, and the man reappeared with a blanket in his hands. His eyes widened when he saw me, and he shot an alarmed look at the lady, but she just gave him a pointed nod. Who could blame him? I’d be pretty freaked by me too given the circumstances. He edged closer and I leaned forward enough for him to drape the blanket around my shoulders.
When I say ‘leaned forward’ it was actually more of a flop, and then I started to keel over until his firm hands gripped my shoulders. I could smell spices, curry powder maybe, and I swear I could smell poppadoms. My belly agreed and roared at him, determined to embarrass me even more, but he ignored it and eased me back up against the counter before releasing me slowly, making sure I wasn’t about to wind up on the floor again.
Some part of me was disappointed to miss out on the chance of doing a killer impression of a huge caterpillar emerging from a cocoon, or maybe a
beetle flat on its back and trying to right itself. How funny would that have looked?
My laugh took on a crazy tone and I figured this had to be what ‘delirious’ felt like. I was being held prisoner, trapped inside my own body and I had no control whatsoever. I knew the hysterical cackling was coming from me, interspersed with hysterical sobbing too, yet there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Instead, I snuggled deeper into the soft, warm blanket, and drew it tightly around me. Safely propped up, I felt my eyelids droop, and it was a struggle to force them back open. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d cried myself to sleep, but it would have been the first time I’d done it sitting upright chuckling at random thoughts while shivering hard enough to rattle my bones.
‘No, you must stay awake,’ the lady said, the lower half of her body stepping back into view. I hadn’t actually noticed she’d left, nor that she’d finished speaking to Jake, so she must have gone in the backroom to talk to him or something.
‘W-w-why?’
She squatted down next to me again and pressed a mug of something hot into my hands. I managed to spill half of it down my chin before she’d even fully let go. The hot liquid ran down my neck and soaked into my top—not that it mattered: my jeans were already soaking wet from my crying and my tears showed no sign of letting up.
‘You bumped your head and I think you might have concussion.’ She wrapped her hands over mine, still clinging onto the mug, then held it to my lips. Tipping it carefully, she poured some of the contents into my mouth a drop at a time while the man, her husband I guess—and the chef too, since he was wearing chef whites and a food-splattered apron—busied himself gathering up the scattered flyers and menus, arranging them in neat little piles. ‘Your friend will be here soon,’ she added.
My friend? Did she mean Jake?
Popping the Cherry Page 5
