by Sam Nash
A loud beeping noise accompanied the flashing light, as she reached a small cluster of shops. There was just enough juice to coast into a space directly ahead, before Mary applied the brake. With the car abandoned, Mary walked past the knife and gun shop and into the diner. She sat against the counter. A woman in a pink uniform plonked a mug in front of her and hovered with a glass jug of coffee.
“What can I getcher, sweetie?” She said. Mary could see the mass of grey gum stuck to her upper teeth when she spoke.
“Could I have a cup of tea, please?”
“Ah just love that accent. Where yer from?”
“Oh, um, Brighton.” Mary said, rummaging in her satchel for her purse.
“Where’s that now?”
“It’s in the UK.”
The waitress chewed again, shaking her head.
“England?” Mary blew out her cheeks. Still the waitress looked confused. “London?”
“Ah London…how niiiice. Tea yer say?”
“Please.”
The waitress took the mug away and filled it with hot water and a splash of milk. It was returned to Mary with a teabag resting on a saucer next to a spoon. Mary looked at the anaemic broth and thanked her.
“Oh, no.” Mary clutched her purse to her chest.
“What is it, honey?”
“I haven’t any US dollars. Is there a currency exchange? Somewhere I can swap sterling?”
“Tell you what,” the woman in pink said. “This one is on the house.” She smiled and wandered off to wipe the counter top.
Mary touched the money roll her friend Connie had given her in London. What use was it, if she couldn’t exchange it for dollars? Use of the debit and credit cards in her purse would pinpoint her location, even if there was a delay between British and US Intelligence Agencies. She drank the insipid tea, and thanked the waitress again before leaving.
Hurrying down the vast open spaces of the main street, Mary found a bank. It sat all alone with a drive through facility encircling the building like a moat. That’s novel. Very convenient for robbers- they wouldn’t need to leave their get-away vehicles. Before entering, she peeled off a couple of fifty-pound notes and stashed them in a pocket inside her bag. With her passport in hand, Mary held her head high and walked into the building. Two bank tellers sat behind their glass screens chatting to one another. There were no other customers. Mary stood at the front of the queue, waiting to be called to the counter.
The tellers looked at Mary, and decided that she had not waited long enough to warrant service, and so returned to their conversation. She peered about the foyer. The ATM machine looked tempting, but Mary knew this was a bad option as far as tracking her whereabouts was concerned. A man in a suit sat behind a desk in the small business section, playing patience on his computer.
Mary tried to look suitably humble, in the hope that this would prompt the legendary customer service that US politicians boast about. Eventually it worked. Mary was called to the nearest counter.
“I’d like to exchange all this sterling into dollars, please.” She said, preparing herself for an explanation regarding her passport and change of appearance.
“Can’t do currency exchange at this booth. That would be the counter over there.” The woman pointed to a shuttered window at the end of the row.
“Is it possible to open that booth, please?” Mary implored, giving the woman a piteous and desperate look.
“Delores does exchange.”
“And where is Delores?”
“She’s on a break.”
“Then may I wait for her break to end over there?” Mary pointed to the seats next to the small businesses’ manager.
“You’ll be waiting a while… she’s on maternity leave.” The tellers sniggered together, and indulged in a slow high-five palm touch.
Mary persevered. “Is there anyone here prepared to help me? This is all the money I have, and I cannot spend it in your lovely town as it is.” One of the tellers turned away and shuffled administrative forms and papers. The other, folded her arms across her chest.
A man’s voice boomed out from behind her. “Stop being so God-damn awkward, Shandy. Open the counter and serve the lady.” It was Mr Patience, rising from his seat to assert his authority. Grumbling, and at the slowest speed humanly possible, Shandy wandered to the exchange booth and raised the shutters.
Mary clasped her passport beneath her satchel, framing reasonable sentences in her mind and preparing for a battle, but it never materialised. Shandy was too focused on the glacial rate at which she counted out the notes. Armed with US dollars, Mary left the bank without having to show any form of identification.
“I hope y’all have a nice day.” Mary muttered as she passed through the exit. “And then choke on your apple pie.”
I just need to get to a city. There must be public transport of some description. Mary looked around her. There was just one short row of shops with a large area of grassland opposite. Scattered between massive road junctions were an odd assortment of buildings, from the fire station to the Town Hall. Everywhere had drive-through facilities.
Retracing her steps, Mary returned to the diner and sat on the same stool as before. She took a ten dollar note from her purse as the waitress approached.
“Hello again.” Mary said, waving the cash at the woman. “Please may I have another cup of tea? I can pay for both cups now.”
The waitress simpered and turned her back to retrieve a mug.
“Could you tell me where the nearest train station is please?”
“Oh honey, there ain’t no train station. There’s one over in the next town, if you can hitch a ride, but it only goes to Hoboken. Where yer headed?”
“Ideally, Manhattan.” Mary said, dunking the teabag into the warm milk mixture.
“There’s a bus…but that’s in the next town too. Really, you need to get there first.” The waitress looked down at Mary.
“I don’t suppose that the petrol station behind the bank is able to recharge an electric car either?”
“Oh, you British people with your sense of humour.” She shrieked with laughter, and then grabbed the TV remote. “Let’s find a channel to make you feel more at home.” Within moments, the wall mounted monitor showed re-runs of Downtown Abbey above their heads.
Mary gave the waitress a thin-lipped smile. Looking out of the window, she tried to gauge the likelihood of hitching a ride. She stared for a full five minutes. Not a single vehicle passed by. Great. I’m stuck here.
“How far is it to the next town? Could I walk the distance?” Mary enquired.
“Sweetie, you can’t walk there, it’s a full fifteen miles.”
Hmm. She looked at the wall clock. I could probably make it there before dark, if I took plenty of water. “Could you give me directions please? I’ll walk it all if I have to, but I might catch a lift if I am lucky.”
“Aww, honey, forecast gave storm warnings. I wouldn’t risk it. How bout, I ask around during the evening rush, see if anyone’s headed out that ways that can give yer a lift?”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” Mary looked about the deserted diner and figured that obtaining assistance could take some time. The frustration tired her. Despite the morning spent asleep at Alexi’s compound, her body was still running on British hours. She drained the last of her tepid drink. “Is there at least a hotel, somewhere I could get a room?”
The waitress thought for a moment. “Well, you could try your luck at the Kent’s place. Closest thing we got to a guest house round these parts. But she’s a bit on the strict side.”
“Great, thanks. Where will I find the Kent’s place?”
“It’s over by the library. Walk up to the corner there and hang a left. It ain’t far. But don’t say I didn’t warn yer.” The waitress wagged an amused finger towards Mary and laughed.
Mary smiled hollow pleasantries and left. She passed an odd assortment of shops; a manicurist salon, the gun shop, a Chinese takeaway an
d a steakhouse. Every corner construction and yard bore a flagpole. The wide spaces between buildings were laid with immaculate lawns and punctuated with maple and fir trees. If the early settlers were attempting to replicate England, they missed their target by a country mile.
Most of the houses were timber, clad in planks decorated in tasteful muted colours and well-tended. A few brick buildings peppered the landscape, but those were signposted with more municipal functions – the firehouse, town hall, library and community school.
The Kent’s guest house was exactly where the waitress had directed. Two pristine stretches of lawn away from the library. The structure was of the same colonial style as the majority of properties, but at more than twice the size. The woodwork was fresh painted grey, with white windowsills and door frames. Bedding plants dripped in long festoons from hanging baskets either side of the porch entrance.
An elderly lady rocked in a chair on the veranda. She did not look up from her crochet work in her lap as Mary approached.
“Hello there. May I …”
The old woman raised her arm, silencing Mary. She extended a bony finger towards a sign pinned to the door frame. It read: Ring bell for service. Threading the wool around her fingers once again, she continued her labours.
“Right… I see. Thank you.” She turned around and pulled the cord attached to the brass bell. It rang out clear and loud. From inside the house, Mary could hear scraping and sloshing, and heavy footsteps.
“Confound those blasted children, if I catch you this time it’ll be… Oh.” The large woman appeared behind the screen door, and considered Mary. She wiped her hands dry on her apron and moved closer. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. Is there any possibility of me booking a room for the night, please?” What was it about being abroad, that prompted a forced clarity of English? Mary heard her own perfect speech and suppressed a giggle.
She stepped aside as the screen door opened towards her. Mrs Kent was quite as formidable as the waitressed had warned. Her muscular forearms tensed as she leaned against the door jam.
“One night, you say?”
“Yes, please.”
“Travelling alone?”
“I am, yes.”
“With no luggage?”
“I was not anticipating an overnight stay, but um, my car broke down on my way to the next town.”
She peered at Mary from her messy dark curls to the mucky leather sandals on her feet. “Oh, I will take my shoes off in the house, I promise. I need to buy some new ones, but I have not yet had the chance.”
Mrs Kent’s eyes narrowed further still. It was a carefully conveyed warning. She turned and stomped back into the house, expecting Mary to follow.
“It’ll be a hundred dollars per night, fifty up front. Breakfast is at eight am sharp and will be an extra fifteen dollars.” She glanced back to see that Mary was still standing out on the veranda. “Well, come in girl.” She screeched.
Mary balanced on one foot, wrestling the sandal from the other. In rapid succession, the second shoe was dislodged and tucked beneath her arm.
“Mind the floor, it’s still wet.”
It was splendid inside. The sitting room lay to her left; stripped wooden flooring, woollen rugs, antique dark stained furniture and porcelain ornaments over the fireplace. Mary dawdled after the disciplinarian along the hallway to the foot of the stairs. A small shelf supported a stack of three tattered bibles, beneath a carved wooden crucifix and china figurine of their lord and saviour. Mrs Kent noticed Mary staring at Jesus.
“You are welcome to join us in prayer at seven thirty this evening.” She waited for Mary to respond. When no answer came, she continued, “my son will give you the Wi-Fi password, if needs be.”
“Thank you, most kind.” Mary jogged up the stairs after her landlady.
“This room is made up, I’ll bring clean towels along presently. I don’t provide evening meals, but there’s the steakhouse, a Chinese and the diner stays open till nine. Bathroom is along there to the right, and there’s a small room safe with instructions in the wardrobe.” She swung open the door to a room at the top of the first flight of stairs. The windows were all open and the net curtains were billowing outside. Mrs Kent gathered them in and slammed the windows shut. “That’ll be the storm on its way.”
She turned and stared at Mary with her palm outstretched. Mary came to her senses and grappled with the money envelope Shandy had provided at the bank. She fanned out the currency and selected two twenties and a ten, placing them into the woman’s calloused and muscular hand.
Mrs Kent scrunched the notes tight to her bosom. “I don’t allow additional visitors at any time. I’ll be back with the towels.”
It was spotlessly clean - hospital corners, sparkling water carafe, ironed pillow cases on which you could cut yourself. She scanned the room. A disturbing lithograph of Christ, stared back. She caught sight of her dishevelled appearance in the mirror above the vanity unit, and felt an urge to find her hairbrush and tame her locks into something which might earn the landlady’s approval.
Her thunderous steps announced Mrs Kent’s return, carrying a stack of white towels and the residents’ book. “You’ll need to sign in and provide some form of ID.”
Chapter Four
Mary was expecting the landlady’s demands for identification, and had her passport ready and waiting. The woman scowled at the photograph.
“Oh, I dyed my hair back to brunette. That was taken during my blond days.” Mary produced her most disarming smile. It bounced off Mrs Kent without leaving a mark.
“Sign here, Mrs Sedgewell, and I’ll leave you to settle in.” Mrs Kent delivered another non-verbal warning. One that said, I don’t trust you lady. Cross me at your peril.
Mary did as she was told, finding the new name awkward to reproduce on paper. No matter what instructions her brain relayed to her muscles, her hand slipped into an automated response beginning her signature for Mary Arora. The result looked like a squashed insect.
Mrs Kent slammed the register closed, and stomped from the room, leaving Mary to contemplate her surroundings. No television, no phone, no books. Just a copy of the bible on the nightstand next to the water carafe. A quick inventory of her bag did little to cheer her spirits. She had just two pairs of cotton knickers, taken from the luggage provided by Alexi, and the travel toothbrush and paste from the flight freebies.
There has to be a supermarket or other shops somewhere around here. Mary mused, searching around the bale of towels for the room key. She went out on to the landing, leaning over the banisters.
“Mrs Kent?” She hollered. “Hello there?” Mary descended a few steps and tried again. “Mrs Kent?”
An alternately high and low pitched voice answered her. It broke in the middle with a discordant squeal. “Mom’s out back, taking in the washing.”
Mary followed the voice back up the stairs and along the landing. The boy’s bedroom door was ajar. Mary double tapped it and peered through the gap. “Excuse me?” She could see the teenager sitting close to his computer monitor, smashing the cursor keys on his keyboard to direct a cartoon figure on his quest. “Where will I find the room key?”
He didn’t take his eyes from the game. “Ain’t no keys. Put yer valuables in the safe. Mom locks the front door at eleven every night.”
“Thank you.” She waited for his reply. When none was forthcoming, she returned to her room. The money envelope bulged with low denomination bank notes, a gift from her dear friend Connie. It was all she had with which to start a new life. Perhaps it would be wise to lock it away. I’ll only take a few notes with me for food and such.
Mary opened the wardrobe door. The electronic safe was bolted to the inside wall. A small card gave instructions on how to programme the digital code to a new pin number. She decided to use her grandfather’s birthday digits. As she typed in the numbers, she remembered the golden lambda brooch, taken from the floor safe in her grandfather’s study. It w
as nestling at the bottom of her satchel. Mary fished it out and traced her finger over the symbol. What were you up to Grampy? I so wish you were here with me. I miss you. Fighting back the emotion, Mary placed the brooch, her passport and the money in the safe and clicked the door firmly in place.
She went to the window and looked out along the street. The wind had picked up and the Stars and Stripes now whipped against their restraints. A single pickup truck passed by, turning left at the end of the road. The solitude gave her a longing to connect with the outside world. How does anyone find out the news in this place? Wait, didn’t the battle-axe mention a Wi-Fi password? Yes, I’m sure she did.
Mary ventured back out into the hallway and edged closer to the boy’s room. Knocking gently, she heard him tut at the disturbance.
“Hello there. I’m sorry to bother you again, but please may I borrow your computer for a few minutes? I need to check my emails and look something up online, that sort of thing.”
The boy pressed a couple of keys, pausing his game, and then swivelled in his chair to face her. “Ten dollars for five minutes.” A crooked smirk formed across his face.
“Five dollars for ten minutes, final offer or I’ll tell your mother.” Mary surprised herself at her quick thinking. She almost sounded authoritative.
“Fine…” He whined, sauntering from the room to claim his money.
Mary flicked the door closed and minimised the boy’s online quest. With a new browser window open, Mary typed in the Reuters news web address and trawled through the headlines for any updates on the failing health of the British Prime Minister. Instead, she found reams of articles, placing the British Defence Secretary at the heart of a scandal which involved trading defence technology and intelligence with Iran. Her friend Constance Cadot, was credited for breaking the story worldwide. Well at least with the Ministry of Defence in turmoil, they won’t be looking for me.
