biting
twice. He was already sauntering off towards the main road, congratulating
himself no doubt.
Pulling away in a vehicle annoyed is never a good idea.
I would have sat in the jeep for five minutes with the radio on to regain my
calm. I would have, if the engine would start. I turned the key repeatedly to
find it mute. In my frustration – after the rudeness of the man – I couldn’t
work out why. Questions drove around my mind while I sat there. What will
Adrian say? Is he covered for breakdowns?
Knuckles rapped hard, twice, on my window – it was him ! Even the tone of his knock was sarcastic.
I wound down the glass. On closer inspection,
sheltered from the fog, I could see him better. He wasn’t classically handsome,
though his stern features were proportionate: a heavy brow, strong jaw, unremarkable
nose – all of which mocked me, especially his dark eyes! They matched his
cola-black hair. He was certainly above twenty-five, but I dared not look at
him long. At first he said nothing, just looked over me with a silent gloat of
the situation. He rested his hand on the roof of my car and spoke rapidly –
‘Are you a joyrider?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What is it, hotwired?’
‘Of course not–’
‘You’ve a licence then?’
‘Yes!’
‘You regularly go around trying to kill people?’
‘No, but that was–’
‘You might want to take it out of Reverse ,’
he said with a straight hard face and quizzing eye, ‘and stick it in Park before you attempt to choke the ignition again. You’ve severed the fuel supply
by turning off the engine prematurely.’
I looked down, saw my error, confirmed his wisdom,
and cursed privately. I turned back – he was gone.
Monday morning I checked
with the HR department for any moonlighting policy that might prevent me having
a second job. They concluded that they didn’t recognise a conflict of interest.
After ticking that box, I asked my line manager to fix my shift pattern for two
days of the week, and so it was easier than I thought.
My phone rang at my desk and it surprised me to
see ‘Mark calling…’ flashing on the screen. I couldn’t help feeling happy that
he was calling me.
‘Hey, Alex. How are you?’
‘Not bad, thanks,’ I said, a little confused by
his perky tone. ‘You?’
‘Good, yeah,’ he stammered then for words. ‘Did
you have a nice weekend?’
‘Pretty much–’
‘Listen,’ he jammed in, his voice evened out. ‘I
just wanted to say that I had a nice time the other night, and you’re very nice
and very interesting, but–’ He paused, which provoked me.
‘But?’ I asked inquisitively.
‘It’s just I’m not sure– I’m not one hundred percent sure about you, Alex. I mean, I don’t want to lead you on. I’d like it
if we could be friends.’
‘No problem,’ I said, and knowing what he meant I
added inwardly, ‘the kind of friends who never speak.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ he said,
bizarrely.
‘O- kay .’
He fell silent.
‘Well, I appreciate that you’ve called.’
‘And thanks for answering,’ he said. ‘So I’ll see
you when I see you.’
On that short goodbye I hung up with the
confirmation I needed; Mark was officially a weirdo. It began to feel like a
lucky escape. It probably didn’t go for all men, but Adrian had always said
that guys didn’t call girls they weren’t interested in. It would be ridiculous
though to surmise Mark’s reasons.
I headed to the Cray the
next afternoon from New Cromley, having completely forgotten about the rude man
I’d hit with the jeep on Saturday. That is until I walked through the reminding
car park that was again clothed in mist. – ‘Doing my lipstick!’ I recollected
with irritation.
Mrs Evans approved my grey suit trousers and white
V-neck sweater, before showing me the staffroom and other rooms off limits to
the public. Before now, they’d been secreted spaces behind locked doors when I
was just a visitor. Despite