by Stan Mason
‘Thank you for bringing him home!’ she shouted at the top of her voice.
The reluctant bank clerk waved to her, sighing with relief at the transfer of responsibility as he drove off with Mrs. Purdy returning to her front room to attend to her husband. He was perspiring heavily so she removed her headscarf, folded it slowly, and began to mop his face and neck with it.
‘All right, love!’ she told him, almost in a whisper. ‘There’s nothing to worry about now. you’re home with me. Everything’s all right. Tell me what happened. Take your time. Just tell me what happened.’
The driver, recognising that he was in familiar surroundings, contributed a few incoherent sounds as his body continued to tremble. Try as he wanted, he was unable to erase the flash of yellow which streaked across his eyes, or the face of the young woman he had struck down. ‘Yellow oilskins!’ he uttered lamely, his eyes staring into the distance in a kind of trance as though seeing the vision at that very moment. ‘Yellow oilskins!’
His wife shook her head with perplexity. ‘You keep saying that, Jim. What do you mean?’ He muttered something incoherently again without providing any realistic answer. ‘Look,’ she went on, ‘dinner’s cooking. It’ll be ready in about half-an-hour. That’ll put some strength back into you. How about something to drink in the meantime? What do you say?’
‘For God’s sake, woman!’ he shouted, suddenly finding his voice. ‘I don’t want anything! Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!’
She paused to consider the situation for a few moments and then demanded an explanation recognising that he had a secret to hide. ‘Something happened on the way back from Cornwall, didn’t it? Did you hit another car or a lorry? You can’t fool me, Jim Purdy. I can read you like a book. What happened? Tell me!’ She pause for him to answer but he failed to reply. ‘My God! You didn’t hit someone, did you?’
Her onslaught seemed to focus his attention on the problem. He began to feel a surged of anger flood through him and he lost his temper at her persistence in trying to wrest the secret from him. Without warning, he leapt to his feet and grasped her by the upper part of her shoulders shaking her violently.
‘Why don’t you mind your own business!’ he yelled. Then his rage subsided as her realised what he was doing and he stopped shaking his wife, lowering his voice to speak slowly and distinctly. ‘Mind your own bloody business!’
Mrs. Purdy pulled herself away quickly with an element of fear showing in her eye. He had never treated her in such a rough manner before... not in all their married life! ‘What’s got into you, Jim?’ she demanded, steadying herself from the shock. ‘It is my business! I’m your wife! What happens to you happens to me. Don’t you understand what I’m saying?’
He gave some thought to her comments and then began to blubber like a child, his chest heaving rapidly as the tears poured down his face. ‘Why me?’ he muttered to himself full of self-pity. ‘Why did this have to happen to me?’
They both sat down in the armchairs opposite each other and she shook her head slowly. ‘In all these years of driving, you’ve had a completely clean sheet. Not a blemish on your record. And now you’ve killed someone. That’s it, isn’t it!’ He continued to sob uncontrollably, trying to stem the tears by rubbing the corners of his eyes with his knuckles. ‘Someone in yellow oilskins. What I don’t understand is that when you got back here you thought the person you killed was here. The first question you asked me was whether I’d seen anyone in yellow oilskins. What’s it all about, Jim. Tell me!’ She got up and went over to him, holding his head to her bosom and stroking his hair lightly to calm him down.
‘I killed her,’ he bleated, sniffing strongly and screwing up his face to prevent the tears from streaming down. ‘I killed her! The admission made his sob even more.
‘What did the police say when you reported the accident?’ she asked still fondling him lovingly.
‘I never informed them,’ he admitted candidly. ‘Don’t ask me why but I never told them.’
‘What do you mean you never told them?’ she echoed in surprise. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I stopped after I hit her. Then I lost my nerve and drove on. Don’t ask me why! I left the scene of the accident and didn’t report it.’
Mrs. Purdy reviewed the situation carefully. ‘Did anyone else witness the accident? Was it late at night, in the dark? I presumed there was a lot of ice and snow around. Perhaps no one saw you.’
‘I don’t know. I was in Cornwall. I’d only just left the depot and was driving past a residential estate when a dog suddenly ran across the road. I swerved to avoid it and skidded on the ice. I ran over the edge of the pavement. I couldn’t help hitting her. There was someone else with her, both of them wearing yellow oilskins. I stopped a little way down the road. I could see the other person in my wing mirror. He just stood there and didn’t move. ... rooted to the spot where it happened. It was dark and I drove off. I don’t know if anyone else saw me or took my number. I just left them there.’
‘Then why do you keep worrying about someone being here in London wearing yellow oilskins?’
‘Because when I got back here and turned the corner, the woman I knocked down was standing in front of the lorry... still wearing yellow oilskins. And while I was looking at her, she vanished into thin air right in front of my eyes.’
‘What do you mean ‘vanished’?’ ridiculed his wife. ‘It’s all in your imagination, my love. You were tired, exhausted and upset. You knocked down a woman and you think you killed her. It’s played on your mind all the way home. No one else would have felt any different. You just imagined you saw her.’
‘If I imagined it, how did I know it was a woman. In Cornwall, I just saw a flash of yellow. In London, she had her hood pushed back. I could see then it was a woman.’
His wife moved away from him and went to the window, looking bleakly into the street. ‘I’ve been telling you this was going to happen for a long time,’ she chided solemnly. Hardly any sleep. Rushing around all over the country like a maniac. Worried about money. Worried about the bank. You were an accident waiting to happen. I warned you about it.’ There was a long silence before she continued. ‘Let me summarise what actually happened. You swerved across a road to avoid a dog and went into a skid. A woman in yellow oilskins let the dog go and you hit her.. The man was shocked but if you had hit the woman with him, he would have rushed forward to help her. To be honest, I don’t think you killed anyone.’
‘When I stopped the lorry around the corner, she spoke to me. Accusing me. I heard her!’ His chest rose and fell quickly but he soon calmed down.
‘I still say it’s your imagination, Jim. You have a conscience and you’re carrying guilt unnecessarily. Tiredness makes the mind play tricks. I’m sure it was very vivid but you never killed anyone. You’re the victim of excessive fatigue. Do you hear what I’m saying? You never hit anyone, let alone killed them!’
‘I hear you all right,’ he countered. ‘I tell you I hit her. She was thrown some distance into the air and landed in the middle of the road. I had to swerve a second time to avoid hitting her again.’
Wendy Purdy inhaled deeply to counter her frustration. She was trying to explain to her husband that he wasn’t guilty of a serious crime but he refused to listen to her. ‘Tell me,’ she went on tiredly trying another tack. ‘Did you hit her with the on-side or off-side wing?’
‘The on-side one,’ he responded. ‘I tried to avoid the dog and hit her as she walked along the pavement.’
His wife’s eyes narrowed to focus on the vehicle outside. ‘Well it may interest you to know that I’m looking at the on-side wing of your truck and I can’t see any dent or colour yellow on it. How do you account for that?’
‘All I know is that I hit her on that side.’
She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘I don’t believe you hit anyone. If
you had, the police would be here by now. You imagined the whole thing. I think you ought to see the doctor although I know exactly what he’ll say. Lots of rest... lots of sleep... regular meals... and plenty of exercise. But you should see him anyway. Will you promise me that?’
‘Don’t go on, woman! I’ll see him. You’re giving me a headache!’ He wiped the rest of the tears away from his eyes with a large handkerchief before blowing his nose fiercely and noisily. He rose unsteadily from the armchair and stumbled towards the door sill looking extremely pale.
‘Where are you going?’ asked his wife with concern. She didn’t trust him to make a sensible decision in his current mood.
‘I can’t just sit here and let the world go by,’ he told her miserably, inhaling and exhaling swiftly a number of ties to settle himself. ‘I’m off to Consolidate Stores to get another load. I can’t let that vehicle stand idly by. Nor can I sit around while the buzzards circle around me. I have to keep moving otherwise the bank will screw me!’
‘You said to hell with the bank!’ The comment was a challenge to the macho image he always tried to portray.
‘That was before that bastard Williams wanted to pull the rug from under my feet! He wanted to finish off the business! Do you know what he said I ought to do? Close down the business, find myself a job, and pay off the bank for the rest of our lives. I’ll die before I see that happen!’
She stared at him sadly, almost feeling as though she wanted to burst into tears herself. ‘You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?’ she reproached him strongly. ‘You’re ill... unwell! Can’t you get that through your thick skull? Constant driving for seven days a week, nearly every day each month. It can’t be done. Not by you or anyone else. You need rest... proper rest!’
‘You’re talking just like a woman!’ he criticised unfairly. ‘Women know nothing about business! They think from the heart, not from the head! Let me tell you what happens if I don’t take out another load today. We lose the lorry, we lost the house and everything we own. Do you think I can just sit back and let that happen? Use your head, Wendy!’
She realised that she was wasting her time in offering him sensible advice. He had made up his mind what he wanted to do. Yet she still persisted in trying to help him. As he moved across the room, she placer her body melodramatically across the doorway, stretching out her arms to prevent him from passing.
‘I’m not letting you go!’ she insisted.
‘Don’t be stupid, woman!’ he laughed, regarding her as a comical sight draped across the doorway. ‘Get out of my way!’
‘I’m not going to let you kill yourself or anyone else!’ she cried with a sob creeping into her voice.
‘Get out of my way!’ he repeated. He took hold of her shoulder and thrust her aside as though she was weightless. ‘Don’t expect me back until late tomorrow night or early on the following morning. It depends which run I get.’
He stormed out of the house and climbed into his truck. Then, after starting the engine and allowing it to run for a short while, he drove off without the customary courtesy of waving farewell to her.
She stared out of the window until the vehicle disappeared into the distance wondering whether she would ever see her husband alive again. He had never acted in such a strange callous manner before in the whole of their married life. It was more than obvious that he was unwell, over-tired and under extreme financial pressure, not only from the bank either. There were two payments outstanding on the truck which caused the leasing company to write a very sharp letter threatening to recover the vehicle if the matter wasn’t settled quickly. The situation was even worse because the bank believed that it had a lien on the vehicle. Purdy had used the truck with the leasing company as collateral for the loan with the bank and because they were lax in their initial investigation they had granted him the finance he required. There would be hell to pay when they discovered the truth but they still had the house as collateral although it was already mortgaged up to the hilt. His wife was deeply concerned that he believed he had killed a female pedestrian. Did he actually do so or was his over-taxed brain sending signals of fear through his sub-conscious mind? If it was a phantom accident and had never really taken place, neither she nor her husband would ever know the truth. It was a great pity that he refused to listen to her but then he never listened to advice from anyone in the past and he was unlikely to do so in the future. Purdy was a self-made man but he didn’t know how to make a good job of it. Like many men with deficiency in their calibre, the pendulum often swung in an adverse direction causing them to become self-destructive!
He arrived at Consolidate Stores some time later and alighted casually from the truck. His tears had dried and he seemed to be much better, albeit he still appeared to look tired and pale. He had undertaken so much delivery work for the company in the past it was now becoming home territory to him, He sauntered into the Reception Area and leaned heavily on the counter, winking at the young woman sitting behind a computer at the far end of the office. Her colleague who was far more experienced and mature, moved across to deal with him, staring directly into his eyes with a cold penetrating look.
’Mr. Purdy,’ she greeted. ’I’m glad you arrived on my shift. I’ve been meaning to have a word with you. It seems that every time we pay you a cheque you arrange for it to be specially presented to the bank so it it’s cleared immediately. Is this a practice you intend to continue?’
A broad smile crossed the driver’s face as he ignored the question. ’Wow!’ he exclaimed. ’You look really beautiful today, Brenda! On the way here I was thinking that you two ladies ought to be dressed up to the nines and go out dancing instead of working here in the evenings. It doesn’t seem right that the two fofyou are caged up in this dump at night.’
’Have I ever interfered in your business, Mr. Purdy?,’ continued Brenda frigidly.
‘No,’ replied the driver slightly puzzled by the question. ‘I can honestly say with hand on my heart that you never have.’
She leaned across the counter directly into his face so that their noses were only two inches apart. ’Then keep your friggin’ nose out of mine!’ she snarled. ’And that goes for Sally too!’
The young woman behind the computer, who was obviously Sally, sniggered at the caution offered by her colleague. ‘Friggin’ right!’ she added, emulating the maturity of the other woman.
‘Now... about these cheques,’ persisted Brenda firmly. ‘The practice of special presentation which you seem to consider so popular plays havoc with out cash-flow. We expect cheques to take the normal three to four days to clear., not for the money to be rushed out of our accounts because a cretin like you specials every cheque given to him. It must cost you a hell of a lot of bank fees to do that every time. So, in future, the company would appreciate it if you’d pay in cheques in the normal way. Do I make myself clear? God knows how we’d survive if every driver did the same as you!’
‘Terrific!’ he responded amorously as though entrance by her beauty. ‘I love it when you get angry! There’s a lovely little dimple in your cheek that comes up. If we were together, I could make the earth move for you!’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she returned coldly. ‘Maybe it would be one of the promises you might be able to keep. You don’t seem capable of doing anything else successfully. But, as it happens, we have a lot of work to do so, if you don’t mind, I’ll give it a miss.’ Her eyes narrowed as she scanned his face. ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough to take out a load. You don’t look too good to me.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Do you really want to hear this? For a start, your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. You’ve got large bags under them which shows that you haven’t had enough sleep lately and your face is as white as a ghost. Are you ill or something?’
He became angry at her comments and fought back fiercely. ‘Okay, I’ve go
t bags under my eyes and I look a bit peeky. What’s it to you if I’m not fit enough for the Olympics?’
‘I’ll tell you what it means to me, Mr. Purdy! It means if something happens to our cargo on your vehicle because you weren’t fit enough to drive it on a long-haul journey, our customers wouldn’t get their goods on time. You don’t have much of a reputation to say the least and it doesn’t matter a fig to you, but it took us forty years to build this company into what it is today to the point where we’re highly esteemed!’ She took three sheets of paper from a file on her desk on which Sally had typed the manifest of the goods to be carried. ‘Here you are!’ she told him icily, passing a white, a pink and a blue facsimile across the counter. ‘The white one goes to Michael in the loading bay. The pink one you return with the customer’s signature on it. I can make at least three suggestions with what you can do with the blue one but I’m too much of a lady!’
‘I know the system, darling’ he told her briefly. ‘I’ve been here a few times before... remember?’
‘Then why don’t you run your business properly and stop specialling the cheques we give you! Payment will be made on the return of the pink docket as usual. On your way, driver! You’ve got Manchester so don’t say I’m not nice to you!’
He glanced at his wristwatch and then moved his head towards the television set in the office. ‘Hey... if you turn on the tee-vee I might be able to catch the weather forecast.’
Brenda switched on the set and the end of the news came into view. All three of them turned their heads towards the screen as the face of the man from the meteorological office appeared in front of the map.
‘The weather today is affected by an area of low pressure which has brought with it cloud and heavy rain accompanied by high winds,’ he began sternly. ‘The satellite weather chart shows heavy cloud covering Northern Ireland, Wales, the north of England, the Midlands and towards the south. Torrential rain is expected in the Midlands which will ease later this evening, Tomorrow, the clouds will start to clear but another front of low pressure is drifting across the Atlantic. The rain will die out by noon but strong winds will continue throughout the day. It will remain very cold.’
