“DO YOU ACTUALLY like this sort of thing?”
Fleetwood Mac were playing on the sound system – a ‘Best of’ collection that inevitably drew heavily on the classic album Rumours.
“Yes. Why, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer, just looked away, but the disdain was clear.
Ben determined not to turn the music off. This was his car and he’d listen to whatever the hell he liked. But his resolve started to crumble almost immediately. It wasn’t in his nature to ignore the preferences of a guest and, besides, he found that he wasn’t enjoying the music anymore. Her attitude had somehow soured it for him. He held out for one more track and then, without saying a word, reached forward and pressed the ‘off’ button. She didn’t say ‘thank you’, but he felt sure she was thinking it.
BEN WAS STILL a little bemused by this girl’s – this woman’s – presence in the car. He hadn’t intended to pick up a hitchhiker, not by a long shot.
It was yet another example of how the day had gone from bad to worse. Too early to say whether or not the trip up north had been a total waste of time, but the meeting with Archibald hadn’t gone well, that much was certain. The man was sharp. Some of his questions had wrong-footed Ben, and it was a long while since any buyer had managed to do that.
To top it all off this blasted fog came down. The nights closed in quickly at this time of the year and the meeting had been scheduled later than Ben would have liked – it was already dark and he hadn’t even reached the A1 yet. Darkness and fog: a combination guaranteed to make his journey home a miserable one. Perhaps he should have stayed the night after all – the company would have footed the bill for a modest hotel. But no, that would only have upset Sarah. Anyway, turning up at the office early the next morning all bright and breezy was bound to earn him brownie points. He was the oldest one left on the sales force, and couldn’t help but feel a little threatened by some of the young pups breathing down his neck – his so-called colleagues. He knew they joked about him behind his back; Gilbert in particular, the smug prick.
Fog or no fog, Ben was going home. Everything would be all right once he reached the A1(M).
He kept reviewing the meeting with Archibald in his head, going over the answers he should have given. He was doing precisely that when the girl appeared. Literally. Out of nowhere. One minute he was driving along an empty road, the next thing there she was, directly in front of him. It wasn’t just the fog hiding her, he felt sure of it. She hadn’t been there an instant before.
He slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel hard round, grateful that the conditions weren’t icy as well as foggy. In the corner of his eye he saw the girl leap out of the way as he swerved past, narrowly missing her.
The car came to a bone-juddering stop. He had missed her, hadn’t he?
He glanced in the rearview mirror. She was lying by the roadside, unmoving. Oh, hell!
Ben undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the car, hurrying back to where the girl lay prone. No, no, no! This can’t be happening.
As he reached her, she moved a little. He had never felt such relief in his life. She stirred and gingerly pushed herself off the ground.
“Are... are you all right?”
She looked up, glaring at him. “I think so, no thanks to you. You could have fucking killed me!”
Black hair worn in a ragged bob, a stud through her nose – the right nostril – and dark make-up heavily applied to emphasise what had to be the most beautiful eyes Ben had ever seen. She was small, petite; easy to mistake for a girl rather than a young woman. How old was she? Nineteen, twenty?
“I know. I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry? How fast were you driving, for fuck sake? It’s foggy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Did she have to swear so much? “I know, I know; you’re right.” Why was he feeling so defensive? He wasn’t the one walking along an unlit road in the fog at night dressed in a black leather jacket. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” was all he said.
“Had a row with my boyfriend. He chucked me out the car.”
“Out here?”
“Obviously. He’s a bastard. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing... Look, where are you headed?”
She hesitated, as if unsure of a destination. “London.”
London? “Well you are going in the right direction, but you’re in for one heck of a long walk.”
“Yeah, I know. Was hoping to hitch a lift off someone.” The look she gave him was a blatantly expectant one.
“I could take you some of the way, if you like.” Had he really said that? The words escaped before he could stop them. Sarah would flay him alive.
“Okay.”
And that was how he ended up with this taciturn, feisty, spitfire of a girl sitting in the seat beside him; a state of affairs he regretted more and more with each passing minute. Conversation had proved... difficult.
“What’s your name?” he’d asked.
“Karen.”
“Well hello, Karen, I’m Ben.” Silence. “Where are you from?”
“Does it really matter?”
“No, I suppose not.” And a moment later, “How old are you?”
“None of your business.”
At which point he gave up.
Ben was concentrating on the road and didn’t realise what she was doing until he heard the click of a lighter. Then the smell of a freshly lit cigarette reached him and he nearly convulsed. It was all he could do to keep control of the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he snapped, untruthfully, “but you’ll have to put that out. We don’t allow smoking in the car.”
She looked at him for a long second, then lowered the window and flung the still-smouldering cigarette out into the night.
Ben breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to explain away the smell of smoke in the upholstery would have been a nightmare.
Who have you had in the car? A woman, was it?
He was fast reaching the conclusion that the evening’s events merited a bit of judicious editing. Best not to mention his giving this Karen a lift at all when he got home.
Just picked up some random girl by the roadside, did you? So what if you did nearly run her over? That suddenly makes you her personal chauffeur, does it?
No, far simpler to say nothing. Not that there would be anything to tell. He was simply going to drop the girl off a little closer to London than he’d found her, and that would be that. He could go home with a clear conscience and no harm done.
Buoyed by this resolve – and the promise of better driving conditions courtesy of the A1(M), which was now just a few minutes away – he switched the music back on. So what if she didn’t like it? He did.
For all this bravado, Ben was intensely aware of her presence. She was attractive in a waifish sort of way, no denying that, but he suppressed the thought firmly. She couldn’t be more than half his age at most.
As Stevie Nicks sang her way towards the end of “Rhiannon” the RDS kicked in, interrupting the music with a traffic update. Ben only heard the first item. “There are long delays on the A1(M) following an accident involving multiple vehicles. The southbound carriageway has been closed between junctions 35 and 36, and the tailback now stretches all the way to junction 38. A diversion has been put in place, via the A638, but that route, too, is heavily congested. Police are advising drivers to expect delays of up to three hours.”
Ben stared at the radio in disbelief. Under normal circumstances he was, what, three hours from home? Allow an extra half hour for the fog and then three more for the delay... That would take him well into the early hours of the morning. “Shit!” He couldn’t face driving for that long, not after the pig of a day he’d just had to endure.
Ben was still trying to work out what to do when Lady Luck smiled on him for a change. A sign emerged from the fog, announcing a motel this side of the A1, though it had probably been directly on the road at one point, before the upgrades – yet another b
usiness left stranded by the planners. Perfect; it ought to be reasonably cheap then. Evidently he was going to be staying the night after all.
It was only when they drew up in the car park that he spared a thought for his passenger. He’d managed to avoid thinking about her until then.
“Right,” he said, “I won’t be going any further tonight, what with the fog and the A1 being closed. You can go on if you like...”
She gave a curt but vigorous shake of the head. “In this weather? I’m not crazy or anything. I wasn’t out there dodging traffic by choice when you tried to run me over. Next time I might not be so lucky.”
He recognised her unsubtle attempt to play on his sense of guilt, but could hardly deny the accusation; and yes, he did feel a degree of responsibility, but not that much. On the other hand she was only a kid, despite the spiky attitude.
“Have you got any money on you?”
Another shake of the head.
Of course she hadn’t. So what could he do? His employers would never stump up for two rooms... He considered simply turfing her out, or even suggesting that she sleep in the car, but that seemed unfair. Besides, he wouldn’t trust her in the car, not unless he confiscated her cigarettes first.
“Okay, I’m going to get a room for both of us – separate beds, don’t worry; I promise nothing inappropriate will happen. Would you be all right with that?”
She shrugged. “I suppose.”
He wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, not remotely, but he was tired and he was angry and it seemed the easiest option. Unless he slept in the car, of course, but that was not going to happen; it would be his room, after all. She was the interloper here, not him.
“First, though, I want to give my wife a quick ring, to explain what’s happened.” She didn’t move. He gestured towards the door. “If you don’t mind...”
After a moment’s hesitation she sighed, unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door and got out.
Ben took a deep breath and braced himself for a difficult phone call.
SHE LIT ANOTHER cigarette and leaned back against the car, smoking and wondering whether he really thought the thin barrier of the car’s window would stop her from hearing every word of the conversation – well, his side of it, at any rate. The wife sounded like an uptight and insecure bitch.
“No, darling, of course I’m not staying away on purpose... Yes, yes, of course I want to get home... Really, it’s the weather... Yes, I’ll be back in the morning, early as I can, promise... Nowhere nice, just a motel... Yes, the company will pay... Of course I’m sure... All right, then. Kiss Sophie good night for me... Yes, I wish I was there to do it in person too. I’ll call you tomorrow before I leave... Well, if it’s too early then I’ll call when I’m on the way. Okay? Love you.”
She wondered if Wifey had said ‘love you too’ in return.
Thank God he’d finished. It was getting cold standing around out here. Movement from inside the car indicated that he was about to get out, so she pushed herself upright and stepped away from the door. The cigarette was two thirds gone. She took one final drag and then dropped what remained, grinding it out with the sole of her shoe.
THE CLERK AT the desk didn’t bat an eyelid when Ben asked for a twin room, but he felt sure the man would be smirking after they’d gone. The temptation to be defensive and say something like ‘she’s my daughter’ almost won out, but Ben resisted.
The room was everything he had expected: small, sparse, functional, and cheaply furnished; but at least there were two beds, suitably separated by a cabinet-cum-table fixed to the wall. He undressed hurriedly while Karen took a shower, keeping his pants on and climbing into the right-hand of the two beds – the one nearest the door. He pulled the sheet up so that just his bare shoulders and head protruded and debated whether or not to turn the light out. He refrained on the basis that she might need it when she came out. This was the first time Ben had been in a bedroom alone with a woman other than his wife in... well, more years than he cared to remember. The sound of a shower stopping had never seemed more ominous, and his nervousness increased dramatically.
Where to look? Should he feign sleep?
The bathroom door opened and Karen emerged with a towel wrapped round her. God, she was beautiful. All his chivalrous intentions went out the window. He couldn’t look anywhere else. She came across to stand between the two beds, gazing down at him. She bit her lip, as if inwardly debating something, then reached up to untuck one corner of the towel, letting it slide down her body to the floor.
Ben stopped breathing and simply stared. He had never felt such desire for anyone. Small, pert breasts, flat stomach, slim waist... “I’m, I’m married,” he said, weakly.
“I know, but Wifey isn’t here right now, is she? I am.”
She bent forward and kissed him, her lips cool and breath warm. He didn’t consciously decide to respond, but before he knew it he was kissing her back, and reaching up to place a hand on her damp skin.
He felt the bedclothes being pulled downward as her lips left his, and couldn’t suppress a shiver as a series of butterfly kisses descended his neck and chest. His hand mussed her wet hair as teeth and tongue teased his left nipple. He stiffened as fingertips traced a line downwards to slip inside his pants.
The sensation was electric. Had that groan come from him?
“Wait.” He stopped her, regaining sufficient control to take off his watch and wedding ring, placing them hastily on the bedside table beside his phone before pulling her to him again.
BEN LAY IN the darkness, basking in post-coital euphoria. Karen’s small form lay curled beside him in sleep, her head resting on his right arm, both of them squeezed precariously into the one bed. She was incredible. They’d made love twice. Twice! When was the last time he’d managed that?
One thing was certain, he couldn’t let her go. Oh, he would stand by his family, it was his duty, but now that Karen had entered his life he wasn’t prepared to see her walk out of it again. Their meeting had been an act of fate, and their lovemaking a revelation. He’d forgotten how wonderful sex could be. It was as if she had roused him from a state of semi-slumber and opened his eyes to a whole new world.
They could arrange to meet in secret. Perhaps he would help her find a place to live, and then give her regular money towards the bills, an allowance. If he worked hard and earned the sort of commission he used to, it ought to be manageable. Nor would he be overbearing or demanding. If she had other sexual partners, well, that was okay. He was hardly in a position to demand fidelity, after all; just so long as she was there when he needed her...
Ben drifted off to sleep with plans swirling around his head.
SHE WAITED UNTIL the regular rhythm of his breathing confirmed that he was out, and then made herself wait some more. An hour or so later, confident that he was in a deep sleep, she gently lifted his arm and slipped from the bed. A small gap in the curtains allowed a sliver of light from the streetlamp in the car park to slip into the room. The illumination was welcome, but it wouldn’t have been necessary. She was an old hand at this game and knew exactly where her clothes had been left. After dressing in silence she worked quickly and methodically, taking what she wanted before leaving.
A PHONE RANG, dragging Ben away from a pleasant dream: his phone. Memories of the previous evening’s activity still drenched his thoughts as he came awake. The bed was empty, and the one beside him hadn’t been slept in, but he saw no cause for alarm. Karen was most likely in the bathroom, or perhaps she was the type of person who liked to stretch her legs first thing in the morning; perhaps she had tiptoed out so as not to wake him. There was still so much to learn about her, so much to look forward to.
He fumblingly picked up the phone, bringing it to his ear and saying a sleepy, “Hello,” without registering the identity of the caller.
“I thought you said you were going to ring me!”
Sarah! He came wide awake in an instant. “Sorry, I must have overslept. It was
a difficult day yesterday, and the drive through all that fog just about did me in.”
What was the time, in any case? He glanced at the bedside table, where he remembered putting his watch, and froze.
“That’s all well and good, but when will you be home...? And what should I tell the office if they ring? Ben? Are you still there?”
He didn’t reply, hearing the sound of her voice but not the words. The watch was gone. As was his wedding ring. In that instant all the plans he’d so joyously built crumbled to dust, and something inside him died.
“Ben...?”
His wedding ring; how the hell was he going to explain that?
“Ben! Don’t you dare ignore me!”
“Oh, shut up, Sarah.” He broke the connection.
READILY DISPOSABLE ITEMS, they were the key. She had emptied Ben’s wallet of cash but left the credit cards – too easy to trace; likewise his phone, though she’d nabbed the watch, which looked to be expensive, and the wedding ring, which was obviously gold. A bit of a meagre haul, but it all added up.
Ben was her third mark of this particular outing and the first that she’d actually had to fuck. Not that she minded the sex, and he’d been okay: a bit quick, but reasonably attentive. She’d had far worse.
There might just be time for one more sting before she was due to rendezvous with the others for the divvy up. Comparing stories and claiming bragging rights were all part of the fun, but she wanted to have a little more in the coffers before that happened.
The morning was a dull one – the sun evidently reluctant to make an appearance. Remnants of yesterday’s fog still lingered, though it wasn’t as heavy as it had been the previous night. The air was chilly all the same, and damp. The fog would be among the first things to go, she decided. Concentrating on one small detail to start with – that hedge over there – she walked forward, instigating a process that now came as naturally to her as breathing. She pictured the hedge being smaller, squatter. It changed immediately, complying with her vision and withering by rapid stages, as if viewed via time lapse photography. The effect rippled outwards to touch everything around her. With each step she ratcheted up the rate of change and the world altered, moulding itself to her whim. She loved this, the stepping between one reality and the next, choosing from an infinite number of parallel worlds that were often just a detail or two away. Recognising the many similarities from place to place delighted her almost as much as the differences.
The Future of Horror Page 70
