The Breakdown(2)
day – it cuts through bluebell woods – its hidden dips
and bends will make it treacherous on a night like this.
A knot of anxiety balls in my stomach at the thought of
the journey ahead. But the house is only fifteen minutes
away. If I keep my nerve, and not do anything rash, I’ll
soon be home. Still, I put my foot down a little.
A sudden rush of wind rips through the trees, buffeting
my little car, and as I fight to keep it steady on the road I hit a sudden dip. For a few scary seconds the wheels leave the ground and my stomach lurches into my mouth, giving me that awful roller-coaster feeling. As it smacks back down onto the road, water whooshes up the side of the car and cascades onto the windscreen, momentarily blinding me.
‘No!’ I cry as the car judders to a halt in the pooling
water. Fear of becoming stranded in the woods in the
middle of the night takes hold and drives adrenalin
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through my veins, spurring me into action. Shifting the
car into gear with a crunch, I jam my foot down. The
engine groans in protest but the car moves forward and
ploughs through the water and up the other side of the
dip. My heart, which is keeping time with the wipers as
they thud crazily back and forth across the windscreen,
is pounding so hard that I need a few seconds to catch
my breath. But I don’t dare pull over in case the car
refuses to start again. So I drive on, more carefully now.
A couple of minutes later a sudden crack of thunder
makes me jump so violently that my hands fly off the
wheel. The car slews dangerously to the left and as I
yank it back into position, my hands shaking now, I
feel a rush of fear that I might not make it home in
one piece. I try to calm myself but I feel under siege,
not only from the elements but also from the trees as
they writhe back and forth in a macabre dance, ready
to pluck my little car from the road and toss it into the storm. With the rain drumming on the roof, the wind rattling the windows and the wipers thumping away, it’s difficult to concentrate.
There are bends coming up ahead so I shift forward in
my seat and grip the wheel tightly. The road is deserted
and as I negotiate one bend, and then the next, I pray
I’ll see some tail lights in front of me so that I can follow them the rest of the way through the woods. I want to phone Matthew, just to hear his voice, just to know I’m not the only one left in the world, because that’s how
it feels. But I don’t want to wake him, not when he has
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a migraine. Besides, he would be furious if he knew
where I was.
Just when I think my journey is never going to end
I clear a bend and see the rear lights of a car a hundred yards or so in front of me. Giving a shaky sigh of relief, I speed up a little. Intent on catching it up, it’s only when I’m almost on top of it that I realise it isn’t moving at all, but parked awkwardly in a small lay-by. Caught unaware, I swerve out around it, missing the right-hand side of its bumper by inches and, as I draw level, I turn and glare angrily at the driver, ready to yell at him for not putting on his warning lights. A woman looks back at me, her features blurred by the teeming rain.
Thinking that she’s broken down, I pull in a little
way in front of her and come to a stop, leaving the
engine running. I feel sorry for her having to get out
of her car in such awful conditions and as I keep watch
in my rear-view mirror – perversely glad that someone
else has been foolish enough to cut through the woods
in a storm – I imagine her scrambling around for an
umbrella. It’s a good ten seconds before I realise that she’s not going to get out of her car and I can’t help feeling irritated, because surely she’s not expecting me to run back to her in the pouring rain? Unless there’s a reason
why she can’t leave her car – in which case wouldn’t she
flash her lights or sound her horn to tell me she needs
help? But nothing happens so I start unbuckling my
seat belt, my eyes still fixed on the rear-view mirror.
Although I can’t see her clearly, there’s something off
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about the way she’s just sitting there with her headlights on, and the stories that Rachel used to tell me when we were young flood my mind: about people who stop for someone who’s broken down, only to find there’s
an accomplice waiting to steal their car, of drivers who
leave their cars to help an injured deer lying in the road only to be brutally attacked and find that the whole thing was staged. I do my seat belt back up quickly. I hadn’t seen anyone else in the car as I’d driven past but that doesn’t mean they’re not there, hiding in the back seat, ready to leap out.
Another bolt of lightning shoots through the sky
and disappears into the woods. The wind whips up
and branches scrabble at the passenger window, like
someone trying to get in. A shiver runs down my spine.
I feel so vulnerable that I release the handbrake and