The Passengers by John Marrs
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
Chapter 1
CLAIRE ARDEN
By the time the front door closed, the car was parked outside Claire Arden’s home, waiting for her.
She lingered inside the porch, rereading the notes she had made on her phone until she heard the faint beep-beep-beep of the alarm as the house secured itself. She gave a furtive glance across the suburban estate, one of many just like it in Peterborough. Sundraj from number twenty-seven was the only other neighbour outside, guiding his noisy young family of four into a people carrier like a farmer trying to herd sheep from one field to another. When he spotted her, he gave her a half-smile and an equally half-hearted wave. She reciprocated with the same.
Claire recalled Sundraj and his wife Siobhan’s fifteenth anniversary party last spring. They’d celebrated with a barbecue and most of the street in attendance. He’d found time to drunkenly corner Claire in the downstairs bathroom and suggested that if she and her husband Ben were ever inclined to invite a third person into their bedroom, he was open to offers. Claire had politely declined and he’d panicked, begging her not to tell Siobhan. She’d promised she wouldn’t, and she’d meant it. She hadn’t even told Ben. Claire wagered every person in that street had at least one secret they kept hidden from the rest of the world, including her. Especially her.
As Sundraj’s vehicle eased out of the cul-de-sac, Claire took a handful of deep, calming breaths and stared uneasily at her own car. It had been three weeks since Ben had signed the lease and she was still struggling to acclimatise herself to its many new functions. The biggest contrast between it and their last vehicle was that this one no longer contained a steering wheel, pedals or a manual override option. It was completely driverless and it scared her.
They had watched the car’s arrival in fascination as it delivered itself to their home and parked on the driveway. Sensing both Claire’s unease and reluctance, Ben had assured her anyone could operate it, even her, and that it was ‘idiot proof’. As they’d personalised their settings from an app, she’d responded with narrowed eyes and a jab to his arm. He’d protested, claiming he hadn’t meant she was the idiot in question.
‘I don’t like not being in control,’ she’d told him on their maiden voyage to the doctor’s surgery. She’d gripped the seat when the car had indicated and overtaken another one of its own accord.
‘That’s because you’re a control freak,’ he’d replied. ‘You need to learn to start putting your trust in things you’re not in charge of. Besides, the insurance is next to nothing and we need to start saving some money, don’t we?’
Claire had given a reluctant nod. As a man who thrived on the detail, Ben had spent considerable time and effort researching the right vehicle to suit their changing circumstances. And after a hellish few months, she was glad to see him returning to his old self. He had attempted to involve her in the process by suggesting she pick the paintwork colour and seating fabric. But she’d dismissed him as a misogynist for suggesting that buying a car was ‘man’s work’ and that the aesthetics were all she was capable of understanding. In the last few days, Claire had found herself snapping at him frequently. It was never his fault and she’d immediately regretted it. But it hadn’t prevented her from repeating it and she feared her quiet resentment towards him was rising ever closer to the surface.
The rear of the car momentarily held Claire’s gaze before a dull kick to her kidney snapped her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning,’ she whispered and rubbed her swollen, rounded abdomen. It was the first time Baby TATE had made his presence felt that morning. They had given him the nickname after the midwife had informed them he weighed about a pound, the same size as a Tate & Lyle bag of sugar. However, what started as a joke had stuck and they were giving it serious consideration.
Provided all went according to plan, in two month’s time, Claire would be a first-time mother. Dr Barraclough had warned her that with her high blood pressure, it was essential she kept life stress-free. It was easier said than done. And in the last few hours, it had become impossible.
‘You can do this,’ she said aloud and opened the car door. Claire placed her handbag on the front right-hand seat and lowered herself into the vehicle, bum first. Her expectant belly had begun to protrude much earlier than her friends had when they were pregnant, and sometimes it felt as if she was carrying a baby elephant. Her body was constantly contradicting itself – some parts sagged while others looked fit to burst.
She pressed a button to close the car door and faced the retina scan. Taking a quick glance at her appearance, Claire noted her blue eyes were surrounded by a pinkish-white hue and the dark circles around them were still visible under her foundation. She’d not straightened her blonde fringe that morning so it hung loosely, resting on her eyebrows.
Once the scan confirmed Claire was a registered Passenger, the electric motor silently came to life and the dashboard’s centre console and operating system illuminated in whites and blues. ‘Ben’s work,’ she spoke, and a three-dimensional map appeared on the screen from her home to his office several miles outside of town.
As the car began to move, she jumped when a playlist of 1990s rock anthems blared from the speakers without warning. She hated Ben’s appalling taste in music and the volume at which he played it. But she had yet to figure out how to turn off his streaming system and create playlists of her own. Then, as the opening bars began of an old Arctic Monkeys song Ben favoured, she failed to choke back her tears. He knew every word of it off by heart.