Fiction

‘For goodness sake, get out of the way!’

Karen Taylor slapped the steering wheel and groaned. She hadn’t meant to say anything aloud, but it was all so … annoying . She had exactly three minutes to get to her interview. If it hadn’t been for the traffic, she’d have been there a good quarter of an hour ago, sitting in the reception area of Macullan and Co with a polite, expectant smile on her face. Macullan’s. The best solicitors in town.

But she wasn’t there. Instead, she was here, at 9.27 on a Monday morning, stuck in a queue of traffic that seemed to stretch for ever in front of her. And, as the rear-view mirror told her, her make-up was shining and a few strands of her red-gold hair were starting to fall from their moorings. To cap it all, she had no way of contacting them to say she’d be late. Not with her mobile phone as dead as her would-be career.

What was she going to do?

She had to get out of this horn-blowing, gesticulating mass of car drivers onto the open road. Any open road. Heck, with a slice of much-needed luck maybe she could drive onto the hard shoulder and sneak along to the next turning off.

Making her mind up, she turned the steering wheel sharply to the left and edged forward. The car in front remained adamantly still and her bonnet almost nudged their rear bumper. She had to get out. Even if she had to bump the whole lot of them to town. Suddenly the long line crawled onward a vital few inches and Karen swung the nose of her car onto the hard shoulder. Yes, she could see the slip road entrance just a few hundred yards away. She could still make it for the interview. She could …

Bang!

A sudden thud from Karen’s left and she spluttered to a halt, narrowly missing the vehicle in front. What on earth?

Glancing round, she saw a dark green car. It must have been travelling along the hard shoulder and had hit her when she’d tried to pull out. Well, honestly, Karen thought, ignoring the fact she’d been about to do exactly the same as he was, what on earth did he think he was up to?

She squeezed herself over to the passenger seat and flung the door open. Her intention had been to make a polite, but firm enquiry as to whether the wretched man had heard the rule about not overtaking on the inside. What came out however was rather different.

As Karen stumbled out into the chill autumn air and traffic fumes, the combined frustrations of the morning – her longed-for but rapidly disappearing job prospects, the impossible queue, the fact that this man had stopped her from performing her great escape – all flooded like a vast, crimson river through her veins.

She opened her mouth and screamed.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Can’t you be patient and wait like everyone else? You might have caused an accident – no, you did cause an accident. You might have killed someone. And all because you want to get to wherever you’re going faster than the rest of us. Well, you’re not the only one. I want to get somewhere too. I’ve got a really important interview today which, thanks to you and this bloody queue, I’m not going to make. And they’ll think I couldn’t be bothered and they won’t want to see me again, and instead I’ll be stuck in the boring old job I’ve got now. All thanks to you .’

Karen stopped screaming. She was shocked she’d said so much. Was this what everyone called “road rage”? She’d never been so rude to anyone in her life, least of all a stranger, who was now standing beside his car staring at her. And what would all the other drivers, now skulking in their cars and avoiding her gaze, think? Unexpectedly she felt like crying.

‘It’s all right, miss,’ the man said and she couldn’t help noticing his kind eyes and neat black hair. He couldn’t have been much older than herself. ‘It’s all right. Please don’t shout. Although I do have to say it was you who pulled out in front of me and …’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ she shrieked again, his words ricocheting her away from tears and back to her very public outrage. ‘It’s men like you who … who … give men a bad name. Why don’t we call the police then? Let them decide who’s right and who’s wrong.’

‘But, miss …’

‘No, don’t you “but, miss” me. You think you can get away with anything, just because you’re a bloke and I’m a woman. You think …’

‘But, miss …’

‘No, I haven’t finished yet …’

‘But, MISS …’

This time there was no mistaking the voice of command and Karen, rather impressed in spite of her feminist opinions, paused to acknowledge it.

‘But, miss,’ the man said, this time more calmly, ‘I am the police.’

Oh. Darn it. It definitely wasn’t her day.

Half an hour later, the young man – who turned out to be Sergeant Collinson of the local police station – had taken down Karen’s full name, age and contact details, as well as her current destination and what she could remember of her insurance company. Not only that, but he’d inspected both cars, announced they were driveable, and suggested that Karen present herself at the station this evening. At that, she’d been about to object that surely there was no need as no injuries had been caused – apart from injury to her pride, of course – but on second thoughts she decided that one argument with a plain-clothed policeman was probably more than enough.

Instead Karen watched Sergeant Collinson as he drove off onto the now unaccountably clear road with what looked to be a friendly wave before getting into her own car and resting her head on the steering wheel. How could she have been so stupid? And loud-mouthed too. Her mother would never forgive her. She could only hope she didn’t end up with some kind of police record. Still, one good thing though: at least her current employers would have no problems with her lateness. The damage to her car should prove a good enough alibi.

Once at work, Karen got on with her tasks and tried not to think about the police visit to come. In the meantime, she managed a sneaky phone call to Macullan’s to apologise for her non-arrival. She left the message with a secretary but didn’t dare ask for a possible rescheduling, promising instead to ring again later when her mobile was recharged. However, the rest of the day rapidly became so busy that she didn’t have a minute to herself until gone six when, of course – just her luck – it was too late to make a business call.

So, putting her career plans on hold again, Karen arrived at the police station at six-thirty for her formal telling-off. The first thing she saw was Sergeant Collinson’s now-familiar form behind the reception desk.

‘Oh. Hello. I didn’t think it would be you. Sorry.’ Karen felt her blush rising and found she didn’t know where to look. She was so hot her skin began to prickle.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but it is,’ he replied with half a smile. ‘Shall we sit down for a minute?’

He raised the reception barrier and, a moment later, was leading her to the only two chairs in the area. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Karen sat. He sat down opposite her. She couldn’t help but notice the third finger of his left hand was ring-free.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry about what happened this morning. I honestly didn’t mean to shout at you, and I know I was only doing the same as you in any case, so you have every right to be cross. I’m sorry. If you bring me whatever forms I need to fill in, I’ll do it. And I promise not to shout.’

In response, he gave her a wicked grin. To Karen’s surprise, she found herself grinning back.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Actually, there aren’t any forms to fill in. No injuries, you see. Oh, and I rang Macullan’s during the day. Spoke to the boss. They were very sorry to have missed you, they’re glad you’re all right and please could you call again to arrange another interview. They seem very keen.’

Karen gaped at him. ‘Oh. That’s very kind of you. I didn’t expect …’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Part of the service. Besides, I was the reason you were late. Sort of. It was the least I could do.’

‘Thank you. Thank you very much,’ Karen replied, and then something else occurred to her. ‘But if I don’t need to fill in any forms, aren’t I wasting police time or something? Why am I here?’

The sergeant looked sheepish. ‘Actually, it was the only way I could think of to ask you out. I like a woman who speaks her mind. Please would you come for a drink with me, after my shift? And call me Paul.’

‘Oh yes ,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’d love to, Paul. Besides, I’d better not risk offending the police a second time, ought I?’