Page 2

Grudging chivalry

My little blue saviour eventually stuttered to a halt down a narrow country road, just past a bend. The fuel had drained from the car like my rage, slowly depleting as we drove until we were both cold and empty. I’d been aiming for the layby, realising I was in a precarious position as the last fume of petrol evaporated and the engine cut-out. I pulled up the handbrake, taking a second to stretch my fingers from the position they’d become fixed in. I’d have to push the car the last few meters.

The air was soggy as I walked around the back.

“Thanks for trying,”

I whispered to the corroded boot as I bent my knees and pressed my palms down.

The road was surrounded by ominous-looking woodland. I wasn’t sure which option would be less like a scene from a horror film: girl walks alone through darkening woods, or girl sleeps in rusty car at the side of the road. I wasn’t scared of the dark, but one thing I’d never been was on my own. I’d always had people waiting for me to do something, or a horse to speak to. Mum always said I was weak; I wasn’t strong or smart. She told me I needed them, to keep me safe. Looking around, maybe she was right?

Gritting my teeth, I pushed again. My thighs shook as my wrists pinched, but I kept going, the wheels slowly edging forwards.

Until they hit a patch of mud.

The car careered off to the side, pulling away from me, heading towards the trees. I ran around to slam my hands on the front, pain surging through my tired joints.

“No, no, no!”

The mud squelched around my trainers as I fought to find grip, the bonnet slowing just in time to avoid crashing into a giant oak tree. I locked my elbows and winced, the sound of something rustling in the greenery ahead prompting me to spin around. My eyes scanned the dense branches and blanket of weeds. They would be looking for me, and they would be pissed.

I need to move.

Lifting my hands from the cold metal bonnet, I zipped my jacket up to my neck.

“You can do this,”

I told myself, shaking my fingers out.

I walked back around the car and started pushing again, this time against the right-hand taillight. My wrists bent backwards, my toes dug harder into the ground, soaking my socks, and my legs throbbed as I pushed through the drizzle. It wasn’t enough though, and as the wind whipped through the trees, I could have sworn they were laughing at me.

“I’m doing this!”

I shouted back at them.

When the wheel gave an inch, the force threw me to the ground, the splat so blatant I flinched as my hands flew down to break my fall, skidding away from me instantly. On my hands and knees, I stared down at the mud; an exhausted, lost, miserable pile of person in the earth I’d freshly churned. I couldn’t help but fold – emotionally and physically – turning to sit on my backside and pulling my knees into my chest. Thumping my head back against the bumper, I raked my hands through my hair, first frustrated, then devastated.

A shrill screech of tyres filled the air as headlights tore around the corner and a car veered across the road, the tunnel of light incising the darkness. I buried my face in the crease of my elbow, instinctually hugging my knees tighter. A door slammed before I could think; before I could run.

The car had stopped.

Was this them? Was it over already? I glanced at the muddy tracks on the road. What was I thinking? A sinking feeling of acceptance fell like lead into my stomach as I turned and clambered to my feet, ready to face my fate.

But then I felt it again – that fresh splinter of hurt; another wave of anger within my reach.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”

came a deep, well-spoken voice. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Rage was written across his strikingly handsome face, dark eyebrows furrowed behind black-framed glasses; neatly swept brown hair threatening to muss. This was a businessman in a smart navy suit – not their usual type – but I was beyond second guessing. He stopped a few steps before me, between the passenger door and the darkening treeline.

“Sorry, I—”

“You might have a death wish, but what about other people?”

he shouted, fresh creases appearing in his otherwise spotless appearance. “My family are coming through here and you’re just sat in the road! Are you stupid?”

“I—”

“What are you even doing out here?”

Shame was a painfully familiar emotion, but it was also the ignition I needed. I felt a renewed pounding of my heart; a surge of rage.

My voice came deep from my gut as I shouted back at him. “If you would let me finish, I’d tell you, or are you just planning to yell some more?”

I stepped towards the disgruntled stranger. He was taller, sure; stronger no doubt if it came to it, but the adrenaline in my blood was convincing me it didn’t matter. Or maybe I just didn’t care anymore.

He pointed aggressively. “You were sat in the road!”

“I fell!”

I spat. “Trying to move the car out of the road so that no angry arseholes would pull over and yell at me!” My voice sounded strong, yet I couldn’t deny the flinch of fear at what might follow.

We stood for a second in silence as rain collected on his glasses, the brown eyes behind them staring at me, meeting the challenge in mine.

“Hold this,”

he remarked with disdain, extending it to me.

I flinched as his movement broke our stand-off. “Why?”

“So I can push this car out of the road before you cause an accident.”

“I don’t need your help,”

I snapped, still riding on my rage trip.

I could’ve sworn he smirked.

“You don’t need my help?”

He didn’t retract his arm, insinuating I would be the one backing down. Not today. Not anymore. It was a small rebellion, but it meant something. If I could stand up to him, maybe I could stand up to them.

I shook my head and folded my arms, pressing dampness into my chest. “No, thank you. Not from you.”

“From who, then? Because as far as I can see, you’ve already nearly hit the tree, and soon it’ll be pitch black. You may have a death wish, but I have a meeting to get to.”

I glanced over his shoulder, noticing his polished, silver Audi parked in the layby ahead. “So get back in your fancy car and go.”

He looked back at the car, considering it, before fixing me with a disapproving glare. “What the hell is your problem?”

I stepped forwards, looking up at him. “Clearly, many things. For one, I’m sick of being yelled at, so either you calm down and help me, I thank you, and you go to your meeting. Or, you piss off.”

“Great,”

he replied quickly.

“Super.”

He didn’t look away though. He just stared at me, unmoving. The mist from his breath drifted over my head.

After a few more slow seconds, during which my brain quickly kicked into overdrive, he lurched forwards, grabbed the door handle and dropped his jacket onto the Ford’s back seat. Rolling up his sleeves, he walked straight past me, expensive shoes squelching in the mud as he lined himself up at the rear of the car.

I took a step towards him, preparing myself to push again. “Thank you.”

“What’re you doing?”

He gestured to the car. “Get in there and steer.”

“What? Why don’t you steer, save your suit?”

I meant it genuinely – I was already filthy – but it came out snarky and I was too fed up to correct it. This whole exchange needed to be over with.

He pointed to the open door. “Get in the front, or I’ll push this tin can into the goddamn trees.”

Nope, snarky it is then.

I relented, muttering ‘arsehole’ loudly under my breath.

Infuriatingly, as soon as my legs were in, the car lurched forwards as if it weighed nothing. It slid as I fought to steer it towards the layby and finally off the road. When I heard him shout, I pulled back on the handbrake, trying to hide my relief. The back door clicked open and he retrieved his jacket, before slamming it shut, shaking the whole car. I swung my legs out to face him, noticing the new splattering of mud up his trousers.

“Thanks,”

I mumbled.

He nodded brusquely. “You’ve called it in, at least?”

he asked, staring at his own muddy hands as if he was unsure what to do with them.

“Of course,”

I lied, wondering if I had a cloth in the car or something to help him clean up. He was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Definitely not a country boy.

He glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. “I’ll wait,”

he insisted, the notion clearly as unpleasant to him as it was to me.

“Not necessary,”

I blurted out. “My boyfriend’s on his way.” Why did I say that?

He scowled. “I can’t just leave you here in the dark.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“You were sat in the road.”

“I fell.”

I felt silly sitting in the seat looking up at him, but he was stood too close; I didn’t want to risk any contact by standing.

He looked back down at his watch. “How long will he be?”

“Five minutes.”

He glared down at the mud on his arms once more, then at the road, looking left and right. “Fine, just stay in the car and lock the door; that corner is treacherous. If he doesn’t get here soon, there’s a garage in town you can call.”

“I got it,”

I asserted, digging my nails into the thin material of the car seat.

He paused, taking a breath, before evidently deciding against whatever he was about to say. He stepped away and I stood, watching his bright headlights flash as he pulled the key from his pocket.

“Thank you,”

I called as he paced off, suddenly not wanting him to leave.

Wanting to stand and argue with him a little longer.

He turned to look back, standing by his door, light reflecting off the rain between us as if the very air was electric. My clothes felt heavy; strands of wet hair blew across my face.

Nodding, the stranger lowered himself into the car, and before I could shout after him, he drove off into the night.