by Vicary, Tim
‘I’d like that but ...’ she hesitated awkwardly. ‘You should know I’ve patched things up with Bob, a bit, anyway, and er ....’
Don’t get your hopes up. Terry sighed. No luck here, then. The gods seemed set to crush him again. In the calmest voice he could manage, he said: ‘I understand. But we’re still friends, I hope. I mean, that’s all we were ...’ No, that’s not quite right. ‘ ... good friends, I mean?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sarah sounded relieved. ‘Terry, you’re sweet, really. I’d like to meet for lunch. You can tell me how things are going since David Kidd’s acquittal.’
‘All right then. How about Thursday at one. In Marzanos?’
She leafed through her diary. ‘It looks free at the moment. Okay, it’s a date - you’re on.’
‘Fine. I’ll look forward to it.’ So that’s it, Terry thought gloomily as he put the phone down. A lunch date, not with a lover, but a friend, who’s patched things up with her husband. A bit, anyway.
What does that mean?
42. Lovers’ Lane
THE PUB he chose was larger than Miranda would have liked, with a dozen cars parked outside. That was probably why David chose it; other customers would see the Lotus and be impressed - exactly the opposite of what she wanted. But she had no choice.
Everything, so far, had gone exactly his way. He had taken the car out onto the long empty roads on the Wolds towards Bridlington, where there were no speed cameras and the road lifted and fell like the waves of the sea. The little car with its light, fibreglass body took off at times like a speedboat. For him it was exhilarating, for her terrifying - he was not a particularly skilful driver and several times almost lost the back of the car on corners. On a blind bend he missed an oncoming tractor by inches. She could do nothing about it - he was fondling her leg most of the way and when they finally stopped on a ridge overlooking the sea she had no choice but to give him the blow job he wanted, while he lay back and revved the engine in ecstasy.
In the pub she sat opposite him, trembling, sick and furious. She picked at her meal while he sawed at a steak, trying to impress her with tales of travel which she guessed were mostly fictitious. If I don’t do it now, she thought, I never will. She had never hated a man more but her fear was disabling her. Two young men had been watching them since they came in; surely they would remember? And the barman too. But she had no other plan and in twenty four hours she would be four thousand miles away.
When he went to the gents she slipped two of the pills in his lager.
She watched, fascinated, as they fell to the bottom of the glass. Two white tablets beaded with bubbles. She stared, willing them to dissolve. Slowly, before her eyes, their texture began to crumble, the shape become less distinct. Soon ...
‘All right? Ready for the drive home?’
‘Sure.’ She picked up her gin and lemon, drank deep for courage. ‘Let’s finish these first.’
She watched him swallow the lager, fascinated. The beer looked darker - would it taste foul, would he spit it out in disgust? No, no more than she had with the coffee in his flat. Half of it was gone already. Would he see the pills in the bottom? No, they’d dissolved now.
‘What you staring at?’
‘Nothing. Just thinking.’
‘I bet you are. We’ll do it again on the way back. Maybe I’ll show you another trick.’ He hesitated, grinning oddly as if he’d forgotten what he meant to say next, and slouched slightly in his seat.
‘Drink up then, if that’s what you want.’
He looked at the glass in surprise as if he’d not seen it before, then lifted it and swallowed the rest. That’s it, she thought, it’s inside him now. Now to get him to the car before it takes full effect.
She stood up, hitched her bag on her shoulder, and touched his left arm. ‘Come on then, Shumacher, let’s go.’
‘What?’ He got up, stumbled, and started to laugh. ‘Schumacher, yeah, that’s right, I ...’
The sentence dissolved into a stupid, high pitched giggle. He stood, swaying on his feet, then lunged for her shoulder. Christ, I’ve given him too much, Miranda thought. She took his weight, wrapped his arm round her shoulders, and propelled him towards the door.
To get there they had to pass a table with four young men. As they approached it David, still giggling, raised his free arm in mock salute, then swung it wildly, sending a bottle of beer spinning on the table, spraying its contents in all directions.
‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing, stupid bastard!’
‘Look at my trousers!’
‘Come here and I’ll smack your stupid face!’
Just what she didn’t need. She was surrounded by four angry young men while David leaned across her shoulder, giving them the finger. His body was growing heavier and floppier by the minute. It took all her strength to keep him upright. She urged him towards the door, his feet wandering haphazardly beside hers.
‘I’m sorry, he’s drunk,’ she said, desperately wishing they’d go away. ‘He can’t help it, it’s an illness he gets sometimes.’
‘What, too much beer? Give over, love - we all get that!’
‘Stupid prat! What’s so bloody funny?’
‘You’re not going to let him drive like that, are you, love?’
‘No, of course not.’ She reached the door, turned to smile at the least aggressive man of the four. ‘I’ll drive him home, it gets him like this sometimes. It’s a sort of allergy.’
‘Shall I call a doctor?’ The young man held the door while his mates resumed their seats, ostentatiously brushing beer off their damp trousers. He followed her into the car park. ‘He looks pretty sick to me.’
‘He’ll be okay. A cold shower and a sleep and he’ll be right as rain.’ She propped David against the Lotus, slumped with his face between his arms on the roof, chuckling to himself at some incomprehensible joke, and searched his pockets for the keys. They must be here somewhere, dammit, try the other pocket, yes here we are. She pressed the button on the fob, watched the lights flash and opened the passenger door. Her good Samaritan was still there, watching every move.
‘If you can just help me get him in the seat...’
‘Yeah, sure. He’s really gone, isn’t he? You sure he’s okay?’
‘He’ll be fine, really.’ She strapped David in. ‘I’ll take care of him now. I’m sorry about the beer.’ She fished in her bag for a fiver. ‘Here, buy your mates a drink.’
‘No need for that.’ He took the money anyway, but didn’t go. Just my luck to meet a nice guy now when I don’t need one. ‘You sure you can drive that thing?’
‘I’ll manage. Look, thanks for your help, but I’m fine.’
She got in the car and searched for the ignition while he stood there, watching. Where is the damn slot? Okay, here. Shall I move the seat forward? No, David’s not tall. He looks like an idiot, slumped there, dribbling. Maybe I’ve killed him already. How does this work? Standard H shift, three pedals like any other car. She started the engine, touched the accelerator slightly, felt a deep throated purr. Okay, where are the lights? Pull, twist, what the hell do you do - ah, that’s it, full, dipped, fine. She let in the clutch. The car jerked forward and stalled. The young man stepped helpfully towards her.
Oh no, please no more help, don’t watch me any more! She restarted the ignition, let in the clutch more gently, and waved her thanks to the young man. Just don’t take the number, please don’t take the number. She turned smartly out onto the road and drove away. Thank God. He knows it’s a Lotus but that’s all, I hope. I really hope.
What now?
As she reached for the gearstick David’s hand seized hers, pressing it down so that she ground the gears, making a horrendous noise that her Samaritan might easily hear at the pub.
‘Get off!’ She flung his hand away. So he wasn’t completely out after all. He stared at her, a manic grin on his face, then reached across and grabbed her hair.
‘Christ, David, let go!’ His fingers wer
e clenched in her hair and he was leaning forward, trying to paw at her breasts. As they approached a bend the car swerved wildly and she dragged it back to the left just in time to avoid a van going in the opposite direction. She heard its horn fading in the distance as she dragged her head loose from his hand and shoved him back into his seat. ‘Get off me, you maniac!’
‘You want it, don’t you?’
‘No!’ This bloody drug was supposed to subdue him, not turn him on. Maybe this is why I did those things in his flat, it wasn’t just him, it was the drug as well. But I can’t drive like this. As he fumbled feebly towards her like some sort of randy jellyfish, she fended him off with one hand while peering ahead for somewhere to pull in and deal with him properly. Why is this road so straight and full of cars? Several passed in the opposite direction and then at last there was a turning to the left down a country lane. She drove half a mile and pulled onto a layby by a heap of stone chippings. She switched on the inside light. ‘Now then, you bastard.’
‘Fuck me, baby.’ He giggled and stroked her leg.
‘I’ll fuck you all right.’ She reached in her bag and pulled out a syringe. It was filled with whisky in which she had dissolved three more tablets before she left home. With the syringe in her right hand, she climbed out of her seat on top of him, letting him paw her breasts and fumble his hands in her hair. ‘Come here, puke face.’
She kissed him, pressing his head back against the seat rest and forcing her tongue into his sloppy mouth until his jaw was open and his head tilted back beneath her. Then she slipped the syringe into the side of his mouth and pressed the plunger. It was a technique she’d learnt, without kissing, when worming horses.
‘Aaaagh!’ He gagged and spluttered, spraying some in her face but most of it, she thought, went down. She shoved one hand under his chin, clamping his jaw shut, and stroked his throat until he swallowed. Then she pulled his nose and jerked his head from side to side beneath her until his eyes wobbled in their sockets.
‘You’re going to die, little fart. Do you know that? Die like Shelley died. In a place where no one will find you.’
He was still partly conscious, and in the dim passenger light she saw his eyes watching her and thought she detected fear. He struggled feebly, but she had her full weight on top of him, and with that and the drug there was no way he could get her off now. She gripped both hands in his hair and stared down at him, waiting for the new dose to take effect.
‘You’re scum, you are. A nasty evil excrescence. You don’t deserve to live and you won’t.’
His eyes closed and he began snoring. She climbed off carefully, switched off the inside light and got out of the car. The night air was cool, quiet, refreshing. She had the appalling thought that someone might have been outside the car watching everything she did but there was no one here, no one it seemed for miles. Occasional car lights passed along the road she had left half a mile back, and there was a single light from a house on a hill two miles away, but apart from that, nothing. Just a munching sound which might be cows in a field, and the screech of an owl hunting somewhere ahead. The silence and the darkness comforted her. It was what she had grown up with at home.
She got back into the car and turned it round. David lay snoring in his seat, long streaks of dribble falling from his mouth. She was getting used to the little car now and her thoughts came easier, but a hint of drowsiness began to set in. She opened the window to get more air and a police car passed, going the other way. She wished she hadn’t drunk the gin, but she’d needed it for courage. But how much had she drunk? It would be ironic to be breathalysed now.
She drove back to York and round the ring road, keeping carefully to the speed limit. Several drivers zipped past, proud to be overtaking a Lotus, one or two passengers giving her admiring, envious looks. If only it wasn’t such a conspicuous car. But it was his personal pride and joy, that was what made it such a fitting place for him to die. In a fancy fibreglass coffin.
As she approached Wetherby she came nearer to her parents’ home. A brief rain shower spattered the windscreen, then stopped. The countryside was dark but familiar; the roads narrower, quieter, more remote. It was after eleven now. There were no cars and few lights in the houses. She turned down another lane into a forest.
It was a dirt road, with potholes and grass growing in the middle. It was used by walkers and horse riders and the occasional tractor, but very few cars - especially ones slung as low as the Lotus. Twice she felt a nasty scrape underneath. She laughed softly to herself.
‘New exhaust, David, maybe a new sump. Cost thousands, that will.’
Deeper in the forest she came to the abandoned airfield. All overgrown now, covered with moss and birch, pussy willow and elder, leading nowhere in the night. A dog fox stared for a second, eyes glowing in the headlights, before loping away into the dark.
A few yards further on the road forked, just as she had remembered. The main track went on to a farm about two miles distant. The track to the left was where she had walked the other day. Brambles scraped the paintwork as the car forced its way through. One particularly loud screech seemed to pierce the fog in David’s brain. He sat bolt upright, staring around in alarm. Miranda drove on grimly. Only a few more yards. Slowly, like a deflated tyre, David slumped back to unconsciousness. Thank God.
Here it is.
Right in front of them was the concrete tank, dark water glistening in the headlights behind the flimsy barbed wire fence. She switched the engine off, got out and stood for a moment, listening. Small insects fluttered and swirled in the headlights’ beam, and a dog barked far away near the farm. Shut up, dog, don’t wake anyone now. She turned off the lights; the barking continued for a while, then subsided to a few puzzled yips, and silence.
She put her bag on the ground beside the car and took out a torch. She shone the torch on the fence posts which she had loosened the other day, tugged hard and in a couple of minutes had all three on the ground. But the barbed wire refused to lie flat as she wanted it to. It rose in awkward loops and whorls between the horizontal posts, ready to snag a wheel or a bumper or number plate. She needed something to hold it down. Stones, that would do, or logs - there must be some around here.
She hunted around with the torch and found one large stone - two - and a large rotten log that was snagged by brambles and weed so that whichever way she pulled it would not quite come out. Time was moving on. Her breath came short and sweat prickled under her breasts. She gave one final, desperate heave and the log snapped with a loud crack!
‘What’s going on?’
At the sound of the voice she whirled around and saw David - NO! - climbing clumsily out of the passenger door. She snatched up her torch to see better. He had the door open, one foot on the ground, and was leaning around the side of it like with a dazed grin on his face like some lunatic playing hide and seek. In a second he’d be out altogether and then what? She’d have to shove him back in if she could. If the drug hadn’t worn off completely.
‘David, no. It’s all right. I just stopped for a second.’
‘Where are we?’
‘I ... I needed a pee. Get back in the car, David, please.’
‘I wanna piss too.’ He hauled himself to his feet with the door, then started fumbling with the zip of his trousers.
Shit! This isn’t what happens. What do I do now? She stood irresolute in front of him, torch in one hand and the rotten log in the other, while he hauled out his prick and sprayed an endless jet of urine on the concrete between them.
‘Like watching, do you?’ he leered. ‘Here gimme that, I want to see ....’ Still pissing, he made a sudden grab for the torch which missed, and the momentum took him round in a circle so he ended up with his back to her, pissing into his car. ‘Shit, where’d it go?’
This has to stop now, she thought. She put down the torch, lifted the log and hit him as hard as she could across the base of his skull. Rotten splinters flew everywhere. David slumped forwards, banging
his nose on the roof, then fell to his knees. She hit him again and the log broke in two. Then with her hands under his armpits she heaved and strained until he was somehow inside the car. He slumped sideways in the seat, moaning softly. She touched the back of his head which was sticky with blood.
I’ve got to do this now, she thought, it’s getting out of hand. She slammed the door shut, found the torch, and went over to the fence and used the remaining piece of log to press down the wire. Then she got in the car and leaned forward to start the engine. A hand grabbed her arm.
‘I wanna drive.’
‘What? Get off me, you jerk!’
‘No. S’my car and I’m driving.’ Somewhere he had recovered much of his strength. As the engine purred into life he leaned over, wrestling her with both arms so that she was pinned in the seat and couldn’t get out. Then his leg caught the gear stick and with a grinding crunch the car shot backwards into a tree. The impact jolted them both forwards. David’s head smashed into the windscreen while the top of her head caught him under the chin.
‘Bloody hell.’ She pushed her foot down on the clutch and reached around his limp body to take the car out of gear. He lay across her like a sack. The windscreen was starred into fragments by the impact, but it hadn’t burst. Her head hurt but there was no time to think of that, not now. This was her chance, the last chance probably.
Carefully, she heaved him off her so she could reach all the controls. Then she turned on the headlights and eased the car forwards in first gear until it was just on top of the flattened fence, its front wheels a foot from the lip of the tank. Now the hardest part. She put on the handbrake, opened the door and squirmed out from beneath him. He was beginning to moan again and thresh about. Damn! She grabbed him round the waist and heaved his backside into the driver’s seat. A foot flopped on the accelerator and the engine revved loudly. Christ, shut up, no, you’ll wake that dog! She switched off the engine and leaned across him to let off the handbrake.
