ANOTHER EVENING FROST was settling in as I drove through Nantwich towards Laura’s house in Tarvin. Approaching car lights appeared in the distance and sped towards me like blue diamonds tearing through dark velvet; the roads shone as though sprinkled with luminescent glitter.
I’d left her in the office and gone home for the afternoon, where I showered and changed. We’d agreed to meet that night. To see where we stood. To talk about what had happened and what we wanted to do about it. And possibly to go to bed again.
I put The Handsome Family into the Cavalier’s tape system and hummed along to Brett and Rennie’s lugubrious tales of down-home tragedy. With the heating racked up high, the cabin was as warm as the inside of a 20 Tog duvet, and I relaxed into the drive thinking about what had happened between Laura and me the night before, and how it changed everything. I even wondered whether I should tell her about my son. Would it be better or worse in the long run to hide it from her now? Was I being sensible and sensitive by keeping quiet—or was I just a coward? And even if I talked to her about it, what could I say? I knew nothing about this young person who’d casually walked into my life, except his age and his name.
Laura’s house was lit like a film set when I approached, which was exactly what I’d told her to do. She had a movement-sensitive security light at the front that she’d ramped up to full-time dazzle, and the two coaching lanterns added their faded yellow light into the mix. She’d also switched on all the upstairs lamps and pulled curtains together, but not far enough closed to shut in the light entirely. The place looked garish all right—but inhabited.
She answered the door already dressed to leave. She wore black trousers and blouse, a long coat with fake fur collar and a Burberry scarf that was more of an accessory than a protection from the cold. She smiled at me brightly. ‘You can drive,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said.
There were no cars behind us as I went through Tarvin, down to the roundabout and on, towards Chester. I’d promised Laura an expensive meal while we considered the next step. Chester was only twenty minutes away and had plenty of ritzy restaurants, plus a McDonalds if they were all booked up and we got desperate.
‘Not sure about your taste in music,’ Laura said as we began to pick up speed. ‘I’d have put you down for a Motown man. Or possibly seventies disco.’
‘I’ll give you Stevie Wonder, because he was a genius. Apart from that, it’s West Coast rock for me. Jackson Browne, The Eagles when they were good and nobody knew them. Neil Young, of course. Randy Newman for the lyrics and attitude. Nowadays it’s more alternative stuff. Shall I go on?’
‘Would you dare?’ She was laughing.
‘What about you? What do you listen to?’
‘I don’t listen to music. Interferes with my thinking. If I want to listen to something I put on the radio and hunt down something that doesn’t need me to concentrate.’
We were on the wide approach that sweeps down into Chester and cuts through open country until the very last minute, when it hits the ring-road that circles the city. In my rear-view mirror I saw headlights rapidly approaching, and moved over to let the driver pass.
‘I have to have music,’ I said. ‘Since I was a kid. My dad tried to get us interested in classical, but it didn’t work.’
‘I can’t see you being patient enough for a Bach cantata.’
‘You’d be surprised what I’m—Whoa!’
I’d been watching the lights of the car behind slowly whiten the back of the cabin as they grew larger in my rear mirror. The lights had shifted as the car moved out to overtake us. Suddenly we’d touched and the steering wheel leaped from my hands.
‘What’s going on?’ said Laura.
‘Hold on!’ I said.
I looked across towards the other car, which still hadn’t gone past but was racing neck and neck with us. It was large and sleek and seemed to contain a surging power. I could see nothing through its blackened windows.
Ahead, traffic lights were approaching. They showed red but there were no cars waiting. We were on a single carriageway that broadened into a double so that vehicles could filter right. I began to slow but the lights turned green. The other car pulled ahead of me, trying to get its nose in front again. I sped up, jamming my foot to the floor. I felt Laura’s hands grab my arm but didn’t look at her.
We roared through the lights and down towards Chester, glowing orange ahead of us. There were fields to my left and a full moon overhead lit up a solitary copse of trees in the distance. We were on a single carriage road but the other car seemed fearless. Vehicles that came the other way flashed their headlights and hooted their disapproval as they moved over and screamed past.
The other car was matching my speed, whether I slowed down or sped up. I realised that while I was watching his front wing, I was slowly being edged towards the kerb, as though hypnotised. The kerb was six inches high and was intended to deter people from riding up on to the verge. It would cause a hell of a bump. On the verge itself was a narrow strip of grass running parallel to the road. As I saw this, the overtaking car made one more swerve towards us, this time thumping the side of the Cavalier with such venom that it began to snake.
‘Watch out!’ I shouted to Laura, as the kerb swung unavoidably towards us. We reared up and bounced over it and on to the strip of grass. Through the windscreen it looked as though the verge had a mind of its own: we weren’t heading into it—it was coming to us. From the corner of my eye I saw the other car speed off, its work done.
We rocked heavily over the grass and through tearing shrubs that shrieked as they scraped the side of the car. My hands were welded to the steering wheel but I had no control over direction, which was caught in a grip that I couldn’t change. The front wheels leaped into air and lost purchase—I felt the rear end start to slide away. At this point we were still moving fast, and each small shift in direction, up or down, left or right, was magnified and carried through the car in a violent ripple. Laura and I shook back and forth like crash test dummies, held only by the safety-belts and an instinctive desire to ride out the motion.
Now the back of the car was fish-tailing away completely under its own momentum. The view through the windscreen began to rotate us back towards the road we’d just left. I was still holding on to the steering wheel, but for support, not because I had any influence over where we were going. I suddenly realised that the sound I thought was the noise of the car crashing its way out of control was in fact Laura repeating a short swear-word mantra over and over in an increasingly high-pitched tone.
Ahead of us was a group of low wooden buildings. They were on the far side of a wire fence that was held in place by concrete posts at two yard intervals. Just one of those posts would do serious damage and they were heading for us at speed. I wrenched the wheel, trying to slide us away from the post that seemed to have us in mind. But the car refused to turn.
‘Hold tight!’ I said, and caught a glimpse of Laura’s frightened face. I locked my arms to turn into the skid and try to gain some control, and finally the car responded.
But it was too late. We swung violently through forty-five degrees and smashed into the post. The window of Laura’s door starred and bulged inwards, then burst into a thousand pieces that fell like confetti into her lap. The car rose and tilted towards me as though it were lifted on a wave, and then it dropped and rolled three more feet before collapsing into a ditch. We bounced one more time and settled.