The Drive of her Life .... Part two
Hurtling down the first blind summit an involuntary grin stretched her lips, before pursing to sing along with her favourite Abba tune.
‘Money Money Money.’ She yelled gleefully, racking up to eighty miles an hour to climb the next hill, catching air momentarily, whooping as fields surrounding her home village flashed into view before the towering hedges hemming this roller coaster of a road blotted it from sight.
She careered into the hidden valley, accelerating even faster up the penultimate hill. She knew this fairground ride like the back of her hand.
‘Aha aha, all the things I could do!’ she crooned, praying a Nissan micro or worst a couple of cyclists wouldn’t emerge from the following hidden dip to hog the road and spoil her fun. The need to reach home and share this momentous news zinged through her veins, sending her dizzy with delight. She pounded the steering wheel in time to the instrumental section, catching her breath for the last chorus, when almost inaudibly, the driver’s window whirled down and a blast of cold air sobered her. Caught mid chorus, she gagged on the rich brown nutty stench of slurry.
‘Errghuck!’ She fumbled for the window button, unconsciously easing her foot from the gas as she motored up the last slope.
Her mouth clamped against the nefarious smell, still struggling with the window switch, still deliberating whether it would be worthwhile to pull over into the next layby and thump the offending mechanism, eyes widening as she noticed a lorry perched on the last summit.
‘It’s a rich man’s world.’ Abba informed her.
Oh piss, I’ll just keep going, try not to breathe - nearly home – welcome to the country m’dear – ohmygod look at that the stupid bastard! Her thoughts chased each other at lightning speed, one hand slipped down to the light stalk, flashing her highbeams wildly, her left hand pounded the horn as she neared the lorry, destined to meet midway, attracted like magnets by the momentum of their vehicles. The bright spring sunshine glinted off the unsecured chain swinging uncontrollably back and forth from the lorry’s rear. But now her foot found the brake pedal, she watched the heart wrenching swing of the heavy industrial chain falter as the driver, finally realising something was wrong slowed too. No way could she swerve across his path into the farm entrance opposite, her only option to keep going and pray.
They met halfway up the last hill, she felt the merest breath of displaced air and heard a defeated whoosh as the massive steel hook wavered inches from her temple.
‘You stupid bastard!’ She shouted, forcefully enough to tear her vocal chords, the wind snatching her words away.
In her rear view mirror brake lights glowed as the lorry pulled into the farm entrance. The driver’s door opened, a diminutive figure jumped out to saunter round to the lorry’s rear, throwing her a two fingered salute, then she breasted the last summit, past the lorry depot – shall I go and give them a piece of my mind? But even as the thought ran through her head the old railway bridge appeared, and home beckoned. Gulping back nausea she forced her mind away from what might have been. Thank god the Passat’s quirkiness had decided to play up at that precise moment. She loved this old rust bucket. It looked meaner than hell and smarter newer cars avoided contact like the plague. Never left at traffic lights, sending boy racers home crying for their mummies as it’s turbo charged engine kicked in, reaching third gear almost before the lights blinked green. Caressing the steering wheel, she hummed along with the radio. Cars: Who’s gonna drive you home?
Passing the village’s only shop she toyed with the idea of stopping to buy a celebratory bottle of champagne, instead indicating to turn into the road leading to the cul-de-sac of her childhood home. Coasting now, foot hovering over the brake, she freewheeled into the close. Surprised but pleased to see Mum standing in the open cottage door, her face creased with worry.
Oh Mum, it isn’t bad news that’s brought me home in the middle of the week, it’s good news, brilliant news. Oh, I can’t wait for Dad to get home from work. Anxious to wipe the fear from Mum’s face, fumbling with the door catch, she tumbled onto the paved drive and they rushed into an embrace.
‘Oh Leah, I had an awful dream, awful. One of those skip lorries…’ Her childlike body trembled with misery, her voice threatened tears.
Leah stiffened as ice-cold talons clutched her spine, threatening to rip her apart. Forcing a laugh, she decided never to share her near-death experience with anyone. Never.
‘Tell me about it later Mum, I’ve got something to show you.’ Pushing the letter into Mum’s hands, watching the sharp blue eyes scan then widen at the familiar logo of the national lottery. Confirmation that tomorrow they would pay out the top prize money to her, Leah Palmer.
‘You’ve won?! You’ve won the lottery?’
‘We’ve won Mum. We’ve won.’
The two women walked into the house, smiling, crying and talking at the same time. The door slammed shut, so they never heard the satisfied growl of the Passat, hunched over its wheels like a faithful old dog dozing in the watery spring sunshine.
Only one or two parts of this story are fictitious. Take my advice, put your trust in a Volkswagon Passat.
‘Money Money Money.’ She yelled gleefully, racking up to eighty miles an hour to climb the next hill, catching air momentarily, whooping as fields surrounding her home village flashed into view before the towering hedges hemming this roller coaster of a road blotted it from sight.
She careered into the hidden valley, accelerating even faster up the penultimate hill. She knew this fairground ride like the back of her hand.
‘Aha aha, all the things I could do!’ she crooned, praying a Nissan micro or worst a couple of cyclists wouldn’t emerge from the following hidden dip to hog the road and spoil her fun. The need to reach home and share this momentous news zinged through her veins, sending her dizzy with delight. She pounded the steering wheel in time to the instrumental section, catching her breath for the last chorus, when almost inaudibly, the driver’s window whirled down and a blast of cold air sobered her. Caught mid chorus, she gagged on the rich brown nutty stench of slurry.
‘Errghuck!’ She fumbled for the window button, unconsciously easing her foot from the gas as she motored up the last slope.
Her mouth clamped against the nefarious smell, still struggling with the window switch, still deliberating whether it would be worthwhile to pull over into the next layby and thump the offending mechanism, eyes widening as she noticed a lorry perched on the last summit.
‘It’s a rich man’s world.’ Abba informed her.
Oh piss, I’ll just keep going, try not to breathe - nearly home – welcome to the country m’dear – ohmygod look at that the stupid bastard! Her thoughts chased each other at lightning speed, one hand slipped down to the light stalk, flashing her highbeams wildly, her left hand pounded the horn as she neared the lorry, destined to meet midway, attracted like magnets by the momentum of their vehicles. The bright spring sunshine glinted off the unsecured chain swinging uncontrollably back and forth from the lorry’s rear. But now her foot found the brake pedal, she watched the heart wrenching swing of the heavy industrial chain falter as the driver, finally realising something was wrong slowed too. No way could she swerve across his path into the farm entrance opposite, her only option to keep going and pray.
They met halfway up the last hill, she felt the merest breath of displaced air and heard a defeated whoosh as the massive steel hook wavered inches from her temple.
‘You stupid bastard!’ She shouted, forcefully enough to tear her vocal chords, the wind snatching her words away.
In her rear view mirror brake lights glowed as the lorry pulled into the farm entrance. The driver’s door opened, a diminutive figure jumped out to saunter round to the lorry’s rear, throwing her a two fingered salute, then she breasted the last summit, past the lorry depot – shall I go and give them a piece of my mind? But even as the thought ran through her head the old railway bridge appeared, and home beckoned. Gulping back nausea she forced her mind away from what might have been. Thank god the Passat’s quirkiness had decided to play up at that precise moment. She loved this old rust bucket. It looked meaner than hell and smarter newer cars avoided contact like the plague. Never left at traffic lights, sending boy racers home crying for their mummies as it’s turbo charged engine kicked in, reaching third gear almost before the lights blinked green. Caressing the steering wheel, she hummed along with the radio. Cars: Who’s gonna drive you home?
Passing the village’s only shop she toyed with the idea of stopping to buy a celebratory bottle of champagne, instead indicating to turn into the road leading to the cul-de-sac of her childhood home. Coasting now, foot hovering over the brake, she freewheeled into the close. Surprised but pleased to see Mum standing in the open cottage door, her face creased with worry.
Oh Mum, it isn’t bad news that’s brought me home in the middle of the week, it’s good news, brilliant news. Oh, I can’t wait for Dad to get home from work. Anxious to wipe the fear from Mum’s face, fumbling with the door catch, she tumbled onto the paved drive and they rushed into an embrace.
‘Oh Leah, I had an awful dream, awful. One of those skip lorries…’ Her childlike body trembled with misery, her voice threatened tears.
Leah stiffened as ice-cold talons clutched her spine, threatening to rip her apart. Forcing a laugh, she decided never to share her near-death experience with anyone. Never.
‘Tell me about it later Mum, I’ve got something to show you.’ Pushing the letter into Mum’s hands, watching the sharp blue eyes scan then widen at the familiar logo of the national lottery. Confirmation that tomorrow they would pay out the top prize money to her, Leah Palmer.
‘You’ve won?! You’ve won the lottery?’
‘We’ve won Mum. We’ve won.’
The two women walked into the house, smiling, crying and talking at the same time. The door slammed shut, so they never heard the satisfied growl of the Passat, hunched over its wheels like a faithful old dog dozing in the watery spring sunshine.
Only one or two parts of this story are fictitious. Take my advice, put your trust in a Volkswagon Passat.
Julia's debut novel, described as 'beautifully creative' is available now from Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk. Julia can be found tweeting under the name @Tinkertoldmeto. Or friend Julia Hughes on Goodreads, because it's good to talk.
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A Ripple in Time on Amazon.com
A Ripple in Time on Amazon.co.uk
Quick links to:
Goodreads
Facebook fan page
A Ripple in Time on Amazon.com
A Ripple in Time on Amazon.co.uk