The Great Escape

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘Actually no, I’m not. I seriously think I’ve got a hair-related eye injury, my favourite pashmina just got whipped out of the car into the Mexican night, and right now I’m wondering if you’re planning on burying my body out here in the middle of nowhere with your other unsuspecting victims after you’ve killed me.’

  ‘Do I look like a serial killer?’

  ‘I don’t know, never having met one before, that I’m aware of anyway. But they say that they all look normal, good-looking even. Well, I might as well just take your mug shot now and put it on the “Wanted in connection with the murder of Georgie Basset” posters. Hard to entice some poor, unsuspecting woman to follow you to her inevitable death when you have a face like a slapped arse, I’d imagine. If it was October instead of April right now, I’d think I was in some horrible Halloween slasher movie. The good-looking murderer takes his victim out on a wild and stormy night and makes her dig her own grave before burying her alive. I bet you’ve got torches and spades and all kinds of digging paraphernalia in the back, Dexter style, haven’t you?’ I demanded, resisting the urge to flash a glance over my shoulder to confirm my suspicions as panic started to flood my system. I had seriously shitty judgement in men, as my relationship with arsehole Greg would attest.

  ‘Are you serious right now?’ Weston asked, giving me a quizzical glance.

  ‘Look, look,’ I yelled, gesturing wildly into the night as my panic levels started to rise and I tried not to hyperventilate. ‘Nothing but bushes, cactus, cactuses, cacti, or whatever a whole bunch of horribly prickly-looking and useless plants are called. And there’s loads of palm trees that probably have coconuts you could use to bash in my skull, and tonnes of sandy soil that you could cover my dead body in. My God, what was I thinking coming out here alone with you?’ I cried in anguish.

  ‘You look like you’re about to have a panic attack. Take a few slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to calm yourself down. I’m not a serial killer, Georgie.’

  ‘Prove it,’ I demanded, gripping the seat even harder as the wind really started howling around us. More lightening lit up the sky and the rumble of thunder shook the air around us, only enhancing the scary atmosphere and scenario I’d just built up in my head. My heart had decided a sprint was faster than a run, and it was going flat out, right how I wished my legs were, back in the direction of the hotel and safety.

  ‘Prove I’m not a serial killer? How the hell am I supposed to do that? It’s not like I can give you evidence of all the people I’ve met and haven’t killed in the next minute,’ he shouted, shooting me an incredulous look. I swallowed hard as I looked at those blue eyes of his, eyes that made my body react to him in an instant, despite my head screaming at me to throw myself out of this moving vehicle and try and make a run for it. His face softened as he realised that I wasn’t joking, I really was scared. ‘Tell me what to do. Tell me what will make you calmer right now, because I don’t want to put that look on any woman’s face, Georgie, ever. I promise you that you’re safe with me. I’d never hurt a woman, it goes against my moral compass. Look, perfect timing, we’re here,’ he urged and pointed up ahead.

  I risked taking my eyes off his, as he could hardly do anything while he had his hands on the wheel trying to steady the Jeep, which was being buffeted. He needed to focus on keeping us on the road if he didn’t want to end up dead too. I let out a sigh of relief to see he wasn’t lying. Sure enough, there was a restaurant, with lots of dusty cars parked up in front of it. The lights shining from inside, where I could see lots of patrons eating and talking, warmed me up and made me relax somewhat.

  ‘I’m thinking creative writer.’

  ‘What?’ I looked back at him confused, breathing deeply to try and slow down the fast beat of my heart.

  ‘Your profession. With your crazy and vivid imagination, creative writer.’

  ‘Definitely not,’ I replied with a shake of my head as he pulled into the car park and my nerves started to settle.

  ‘I’m assuming, given your rambling tendencies, that you aren’t a newscaster or weather girl.’

  ‘No.’ I let out a small chuckle, pleased he was using some humour to lighten the mood. A man needed a good sense of humour around me. ‘I’m a dog groomer,’ I replied proudly. I hated saying that when my parents were in earshot, knowing they’d be shooting me a disapproving look.

  ‘I’d never have guessed that.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always loved dogs. They’re so trusting and giving, they never hold back on showing you affection and how much you mean to them, and they’re so loyal and fiercely protective when they bond with you. How about you? Cats or dogs?’

  ‘Definitely dogs,’ he nodded as he slid into a space and pulled on the handbrake. That was a good sign. I never trusted someone who didn’t like dogs. Greg had been a cat lover. That was another indication that we were incompatible that I’d totally missed. ‘So, do you trust me enough to come inside for some fajitas, or would you rather I call you a cab to take you back to the safety of the hotel?’

  ‘I guess we could go in and eat,’ I shrugged. We were here and I was hungry. Plus, he was so intriguing, I wanted to know more about him.

  ‘It’s the face that does it, makes them fall for me every time,’ he grinned with a flirtatious wink. ‘Little does Georgie, my next hapless heroine, realise that I’ve led her to a well-known hang out for Mexican cannibals, where she’ll be the meal. I’m thinking she’ll make a very tasty enchilada.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I laughed, slapping his solid shoulder. ‘Now you’re just being mean, making fun of me.’

  ‘Maybe, but at least you’re laughing now and not screaming or fainting.’

  He guided me into the welcome warmth of the cosy restaurant, and it was a few hours before he showed me out and reversed the car out of the dusty car park.

  The storm had passed overhead, the wind had died down, the lightening had moved out to the horizon, and the rumble of thunder sounded far off in the distance. The air was heavy and smelled damp though, and I had a feeling it was going to rain any moment. I gave Weston a contemplative look as we pulled back onto the main road, heading back towards the hotel. I’d never met anyone quite like him. At times, he was so relaxed, fun and easy to talk to. He’d made me laugh a number of times during the excellent dinner. But then he’d suddenly withdraw into himself or go to another place, looking almost as if he felt bad for having so much fun. Those moments had sucked the energy out of the room, conversation had stalled, and we’d sat in uncomfortable silence, until I’d got so nervous, I’d started rambling about anything and everything, and slowly he’d come back from wherever his mind had drifted to.

  While he was obviously attracted to me physically, I still wasn’t sure if he really liked me, or if he was just playing along as he’d been stuck with me for the night. I wondered what he’d seen or experienced in the Army that made him so guarded and secretive. He’d hardly shared any personal information with me at all. In fact, I’d done most of the talking. I’d even told him all about my engagement and Greg cheating on me, to explain exactly why I’d needed some space before rushing into another relationship that I wasn’t sure I was ready for. It was far more detail than I’d planned on giving him.

  ‘So, I’m surprised it hasn’t come up in conversation already, but where are you from?’ he eventually asked.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t have heard of it. A quaint little hamlet called Dilbury, on the Welsh border, not far from Shrewsbury.’

  ‘Oh, I think you did mention that name earlier, and believe it or not, I’m familiar with it,’ he exclaimed, shooting me a surprised look.

  ‘You know Dilbury?’ It was rare to find anyone who’d heard of it. If you blinked while you were driving through it, you’d probably miss it.

  ‘No, but I know Shrewsbury. I … I live not far from there myself.’

  ‘Wow! What are the odds of meeting a virtual neighbour halfway around the world?’ I happily observed. ‘
We’ll have to swap numbers and meet up some time when we get home.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he murmured. I waited, and waited, then waited some more for him to offer me his phone to tap my number in, but he didn’t. I tore my eyes off his handsome side profile and started to wonder how awkward this was going to get when we got back to the hotel and had to say goodbye. Despite the moments when we’d laughed together, or the obvious attraction we felt to each other, I just had this feeling that he’d actually be happy to never see me again, which disappointed me more than it should. I screamed as there was a loud bang and the Jeep skidded on the road. ‘Hold tight, blow out,’ Weston yelled.

  I screwed my eyes shut, gripping the sides of my seat as he grappled with the vehicle, my heart pounding like a bass drum until I felt us come to a gentle standstill.

  ‘That was a close call, are you ok?’ he asked, as I felt his knuckles gently run down the side of my face, making me shiver. It was hard to remember the last time a man had touched me before Weston, and I had no memory of Greg’s touch leaving a searing impression on my skin like this. ‘You’re cold. Why don’t you put on my jacket while I go and see if there’s a spare tyre.’

  ‘I’m ok, thanks,’ I whispered as I opened my eyes and gave him a small smile to reassure him. He reached behind and grabbed his jacket anyway, then leaned over to drape it across my shoulders like some chivalrous knight in shining armour.

  ‘Sit tight. If we have spare, it won’t take me long.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’

  ‘We’ll call for help. Check if we have a signal, my phone’s in my jacket pocket. We can walk back if we need to, as it’s not too far, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, eh? Damn it,’ he muttered, wiping his face and looking up to the sky.

  ‘Rain,’ I added as I did the same, feeling the hot, wet drops explode as they started to pelt my cheeks.

  He jumped out, then happily informed me that there was a spare tyre and asked if I’d mind standing at the side of the Jeep while he replaced it. He held my hand as he helped me out, then grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled them tightly, wrapping me up in it as the rain came down harder. Droplets of water ran down our faces as we stood there looking at each other. This was it, this was the moment in the movies when the guy said “Screw it” and clasped her face, then took her breath away with a knee-buckling kiss she’d never forget. Despite everything, I was ready for it. I wanted to see if this chemistry between us was as explosive when our lips met. My lips parted and my chest heaved as I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, giving him the green light.

  ‘I’d better work fast.’

  My eyes snapped open to see him walking away, disappearing behind the Jeep as I stood there with my mouth open in amazement, the warm rain starting to saturate my hair. “I’d better work fast?” Sorting a flat tyre was more appealing than kissing me romantically in the rain? I groaned and covered my face with my hands. I needed some major therapy, or a 101 course in how to read men, as I was seriously failing here. To add insult to injury, when I dropped my hands, my mascara was all over them. Great, I was soaking wet, my mascara was all over my face, I’d already seen from the wing mirror that I had a red eye from where I’d hurt it, and the most handsome man I’d ever set eyes on didn’t want me. I’d definitely had better nights.

  I took consolation from the scent of him that was all over his jacket, and when the rain picked up its pace, I gripped the inside lining to pull it closer to me and inhaled deeply. When I felt a hard lump against my arm, I reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone from the inside pocket, remembering his request. When I pressed the home button, I was relieved to see that we did actually have a signal. At least we could call for help if it was needed. I tucked it safely away and pulled the jacket back around me, protecting some of me from the downpour.

  ‘Done,’ Weston huffed when he finally reappeared, running the back of a dirty hand across his forehead, then pushing his wet hair up and away from his eyes. I swallowed hard as my pulse spiked. His combats were soaked and splattered in mud, especially around the knees, and clung to him like a second skin. His white shirt was see-through, wrapped around his torso so tightly I’d need a vegetable peeler to get it off him, if I was the kind of girl to strip a man on a first date. Not that this was a date. While I’d stood here analysing our night together, I’d decided that he was only doing it because he’d fancied me and Abbie had guilt tripped him into it. He’d made it obvious that now that he’d got to know me, he wasn’t interested in taking this further. Regardless of his feelings, or lack of them, I felt like I’d just hit menopause as heat built up inside me. ‘Are you ok? You’ve gone from pale when you thought I was about to murder you to beet red now.’

  ‘I’m fine, just hot. It’s hot rain out here, isn’t it? Not like the freezing cold rain you get in England. In fact, I could strip off right now and shower in it, that’s how hot it is. You, too. I mean, you could do with a hot shower as you’re dirty. Not that I’m suggesting you’re sexually dirty, or that you should have a hot shower with me,’ I added hastily as he cocked an amused eyebrow at me. ‘I was just saying I’m hot. The rain’s hot. You’re … everything’s hot. It’s damn Mexico! Can we go home now?’ I quickly opened the passenger door and hauled myself in, then slammed the door shut before he had a chance to come any closer and see me embarrass myself any more than I already had.

  He wasn’t wrong when he said we weren’t far from the hotel. We were there in under two minutes of torturous silence, with every few revolutions of the wheels adding to the tension that seemed to be growing between us. As soon as he pulled up, I leaned over and kissed his cheek, desperate to escape the weird atmosphere and let him off the hook.

  ‘Thanks for dinner and a fun, if not sometimes scary, night, Weston. Maybe I’ll bump into you in Shrewsbury sometime. Safe trip home.’ I flung open the door and tried to get out, but was yanked violently backwards by the seatbelt, which I’d forgotten to unbuckle in my haste to get away from him. ‘Owww, bugger,’ I moaned, rubbing my crushed chest.

  ‘Wait there, I’ll help you out and walk you home.’

  ‘No need, honestly, I know the way,’ I replied, fumbling to undo the buckle. I silently cursed when he appeared at my side and reached over to do it for me, that amazing crackle of energy hitting me as our fingers tangled.

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said firmly, the warmth of his breath skittering across my cheek. I resisted the urge to nuzzle into his neck and see if he tasted as good as he smelled. ‘There could be serial killers lurking in the foliage.’

  ‘Very funny,’ I replied. My breath hitched as he helped me out and I slid down his hard, muscular body, but he stepped back as soon as my feet hit the floor, like he couldn’t get away quick enough. It was usually men chasing me and I was the one that wasn’t interested. I’d never experienced this, where I had a primal hunger for a man I barely knew, but who seemed oblivious to how much I wanted him and didn’t seem to reciprocate my feelings. He was just being gentlemanly. As an ex-Army officer, he’d obviously had manners drilled into him for years. He shut the car door, threw the keys to the valet, and turned to guide me back towards the hotel.

  ‘Hello again, Mieces Carter,’ called the receptionist, giving me a curious, and frankly damning look.

  ‘Great. Now not only do they think I’m a married gay woman, I’m one who cheats and comes home with her hair ruffled, her makeup streaked, and some of her clothes missing, brazenly parading her boy toy at her side.’

  ‘You worry too much about what people think,’ Weston sagely observed.

  ‘Now you sound like Abbie. If you’d spent most of your life having your parents tell you that you should worry about what other people think, maybe you’d be as embarrassed as I am right now,’ I huffed, annoyed that he was judging me, and accurately too, after only spending a few hours with me, and yet I barely knew anything about him or his feelings. Honestly, right now I was just irritated that I liked him so much and h
e didn’t feel the same.

  ‘You’ve broken away from them, Georgie, you’re living the life you want. It’s time to let go of the past and their expectations and be proud to be your own woman. I’m sure when they see that you’re happy with your decisions in life, they’ll come around. Parents only ever want to give us the best start in life and see us happy.’

  ‘Do you speak from experience?’ I asked, expecting no response or for him to divert the topic back to me as he had so many times tonight.

  ‘I do. Come on, down here,’ he advised, trying to nudge me down towards the beach.

  ‘It’s this way,’ I advised, pointing along the torch-lit path.

  ‘I’d rather drop you off where I picked you up. I know my way to run back along the beach from there.’

  ‘Run? You have the Jeep.’

  ‘It was delivered to me here and it’s being picked up from here. Plus I’m damp and filthy, I can sneak in around the back. I don’t really want to walk through the lobby of the luxury hotel I’m staying in looking like a street urchin.’

  ‘Must be posh if it was ok to walk through our lobby looking like that, but you won’t entertain it for your own. Why are staying in such a posh hotel all on your own anyway?’

  ‘I could ask why you’re in a country known for its sunny climate when you obviously don’t like catching the sun. You must have gone through bottles of sunscreen, as you haven’t changed colour from the first day I set eyes on you,’ he responded as we hit the sand. I scowled, annoyed at his use of diversionary tactics again.

  ‘Funny, and here I was thinking you were too busy either kissing the sand or staring at my chest to notice what colour my skin was,’ I retorted.

  ‘I noticed, Georgie,’ he said gruffly. ‘Trust me, I noticed everything.’

  ‘Well, as this seems to be the place for being known by another name, I’m going to call you Mr. Jessica Fletcher.’

  ‘Or you could simply go with a male sleuth, like Morse, or Hercule Poirot. Right, you should be the third villa on the right.’