it's bloody dangerous, isn't it? Now I think about it, some don't look all that safe at all. There's one, just up ahead, that's swinging away, and I swear it's getting closer to the ground. I think I might just slow down a bit. Whoops, I don't think I slowed enough, that branch is getting a bit close; now it's swinging away, what a relief! I really thought it would hit the car.
Damn, it's coming back, seems to be taking its time. The headlights are picking out all the little droplets of water on it, and swirling in the air around it. It's getting closer, I can see all the detail of the bark, now it's crossing the bonnet of the car, disappearing out of the headlights.
What's that effect, like the windscreen filling with diamonds?
It is diamonds!
No, it's the windscreen shattering.
What's done that?
There's something brown right in front of me!
It's on my chest, pushing me back, into the seat, funny that, how can something so small exert such a force?
Why can't I move?
Why can I see my car, down below me?
Oh.
Chateau Bottled
It was a habit that neither really enjoyed, but then neither wanted to be the one to call a halt. After all, they were sisters, and they had promised their mother that they would stay in touch despite the distance between them. That had been five years earlier; their mother knew she was dying, knew that her three daughters didn't really get on, yet she believed that if they tried they could change, even to trust and help each other.
Helen, the eldest of the three daughters, was married to Simon, a thrusting, go-ahead solicitor whose flamboyance and, it has to be said, sometimes dubious business ethics had made him both well known and wealthy. Susan, two years younger at thirty eight, was also married, but her husband, Timothy, was a vicar in a small town; the family income was minuscule compared to her elder sister's, but she'd always felt that she wouldn't swap the contentment she and her husband shared for the trappings of wealth enjoyed by her elder sister. She knew Helen would never admit it, but she always felt insecure simply because she believed that her husband might one day go too far and suddenly it would all be over.
The two of them sat in an inexpensive restaurant in a bland, characterless town roughly equidistant from their homes, which were some 270 miles apart. They met up regularly, the second Wednesday in every second month, and today had followed the pattern that had become normal. Helen talked about how well her Simon was doing, obsessing as usual on money. Susan spoke of her pride in Timothy's achievements, but was hard pressed to recall what, exactly, he had done to warrant real praise. After only ten minutes or so their conversation became forced, as it always did. They couldn't talk about children: Susan and Timothy had tried but remained childless whereas Helen was so by choice. Simon's choice, Susan thought uncharitably.
There was a third sister, Jane, who was still only twenty seven. Contact from Jane was almost non-existent; she had taken up with but not married Paul, a bohemian character several years older than Helen. Helen objected to their lifestyle; Susan regarded them as living in sin and found that an embarrassment.
The silence at their table had become uncomfortable long before coffee arrived. When it did Susan felt compelled to break that silence somehow.
"I don't suppose you've heard from..." She could hardly bear to speak her younger sister's name.
"No. You?" Susan shook her head. "You would think she'd make an effort once in a while," Helen went on, "but I suppose she's probably embarrassed by now."
"Embarrassed? Why?" Susan asked the question despite regretting raising the subject at all.
"Well, it was a stupid idea in the first place. What did either of them know about wine? Buying a vineyard in France indeed! They've gone broke, that's why there's silence. I told her, 'Jane,' I said, 'you're getting into something you don't know the first thing about'. She didn't argue because she knew I was right. I told her that she could have picked a better partner too. 'He's a layabout and a waster,' I said, 'he's never done a day's honest work in his life and he's no better than the other ne'er-do-wells you've lived with' but she didn't like hearing that. But it's the truth, isn't it? I mean, it's why his first wife, well, I suppose really she's still his wife, legally, it's why she threw him out. He couldn't support her or their children. But they went ahead with the daft idea anyway. Oh well, they deserve what they've got."
"You don't know that."
"What don't I know, Susan? I know he's a waster and she's easily led, gullible. Four years now, and not even a card at Christmas."
"You know I was against what she did. But...."
"Oh, you were against it, yes. But only because he was still married. Bleating about them 'living in sin' was never going to put her off, was it? You didn't spend much time telling her about practical, important things, did you?"
"You did that."
"Somebody had to. She's never had much of a head on her shoulders. You and me, Susan, well, I'm practical like mum. You're much more like dad. Not nearly as practical but very big on morals, stuff like that, trivial stuff. I wonder sometimes."
"What?" Susan asked after a long pause.
Helen hadn't wanted to say what was in her mind and had been for years; she'd always kept it to herself but now she'd accidentally got herself into a position where her belief could be voiced she decided to go ahead anyway. Besides, it might be fun to shock Susan. "I have my doubts that Jane is dad's daughter."
"Helen! Don't say that! It's a foul and horrible thing to say! You're suggesting that.... No, mum couldn't ever have done that! She was married!"
"We don't all live your sort of life you know. Having a bit on the side's being going on for years, even vicars do it. Are you sure Timothy doesn't? Where is he, right now? You don't know, do you? And what about you? For all he knows you could be in some hotel room, moaning and groaning under some sweaty salesman."
To Helen's slight surprise Susan smiled back at her. "No, Helen, we trust each other and believe in our marriage vows. Timothy is a man of God and I am his wife, I'm very proud to be his wife."
"Being faithful puts you in a minority, you know."
It was a comment that, once its meaning sank home, did shock the younger of the sisters. "Are you telling me that you....."
"Oh yes. It's just a bit of fun, isn't it? Simon does it, so why shouldn't I?"
"You don't know Simon is.... Do you?"
"Of course I do. I'm not in the habit of leaving cheap, soiled underwear in his car. Once I'd found that I kept an eye on him. It's usually girls half his age or less and he does it in his office or in hotels, as well as the car. I don't mind, so long as I get my share too."
"You too? But who..." Susan wanted to know more despite feeling a sense of revulsion.
"I'm not fussy. I might be well into my thirties," she lied, having just passed forty, "but I'm still attractive. So are you, I suppose, under your completely unflattering taste in clothes. Anyway, if you want to know, I do try to be a bit careful. I've only bedded one man at home - we used a spare bedroom - but it was one of those spur of the moment things. He was an architect who was supposed to be drawing plans for our extension to the house. It was a different kind of extension that I got interested in."
"Don't be so coarse, Helen, please."
"Oh I'm sorry, I'm sure. Other times I meet the man of the moment at a discreet little hotel. An hour's drive, a nice lunch, then a couple of hours in bed. It's a pleasant enough way to spend a day."
"I really don't want to know any more, thank you. It's sinful, disgraceful. Timothy and I would never even think of doing such a terrible thing."
"You wouldn't. But like I said..."
"I could phone him at any time. He never turns his mobile off."
"Have it your way. You might even be right. Look, I've got to go, Simon and I are going out tonight."
Helen paid the bill, as she always did if only as another way of flaunting Simon's money. That was the reason why she always parked
her two seater Mercedes where it could be seen, while Susan was happy to use the car park a few minutes' walk away. Anyway, if she parked her old Volkswagen anywhere near Helen's car it would just give Helen another excuse to boast.
On the way home Susan thought a lot about what had been said. It was truly shocking to think that Helen believed their mother could have had an affair and that affair resulted in Jane. It was, Susan believed, simply impossible. It was almost as shocking to hear that her own sister was unfaithful to her husband, and he to her. It was bad enough that her younger sister was ignoring the institution of marriage; to have an older sister who was deliberately abusing the same institution really was too much. When she got home she'd tell Timothy. Timothy would know what to say. He may not be able to get his sisters-in-law to tread the path of righteousness, but he might be able to convince Susan to be forgiving.
That evening Susan and Timothy sat together, he listening intently while Susan recounted what Helen had said. Susan noticed, or, rather, could hardly miss, Timothy blanching at the terrible revelations. When she had finished her narrative, which her husband had allowed her to complete uninterrupted, she paused to see if he would make any instant observations. She guessed he wouldn't; as usual, he was weighing up what he had heard. Susan was unable to stop herself adding some thoughts of her own.
"I think I have become reconciled to Jane's way of life, perhaps because I believe she might have