Page 59 of Merry & Bright
“That was the plan.”
“Well, you’ll have to go by Oban if you want to get there tonight.”
“What about the military road?” Cam asked hopefully. “Will that be opened?”
“Not before tomorrow morning.” She shrugged. “If I were you I’d forget Glasgow and head down to The Stag. That Oban road is a long one and like I said, there’s bad weather coming.”
Cam swallowed against the sudden lump that had wedged itself in his throat. “Thanks,” he managed, dredging up a weak smile from somewhere. “I’ll bear that in mind. Have a good new year when it comes.”
“You too. And mind, you’ll have to move the barriers when you get to the junction—we’ve already closed this road off at the bottom. Just make sure you put them back, okay?”
He gave a jerky nod. “Will do.”
The engine of the Volvo stuttered when he turned the key in the ignition, giving him a moment’s panic and making the policewoman glance his way again, but on the second attempt it came to life and he was able to turn around and drive away with no more hitches.
He was extra careful, all the way down the road, taking care to change gears smoothly and slowly, but by the time he was approaching the junction, he knew the Volvo’s luck was running out. The groaning, scraping noise from the clutch wasn’t getting any better—it was probably getting worse—and he was becoming worried about turning off the engine in case it wouldn’t start again.
He had no choice but to stop the car when he had to move the barriers at the bottom of the road, but since he was pointing downhill by then, he didn’t bother switching the engine on to steer it through the gap, just put the car in neutral and rolled through, before stopping again to put the barriers back in place.
When he got back in, there was no getting away from it though—he closed his eyes before turning the key, wincing when that stutter came again, worse than before. And not just once, but again and again. On the fourth try, the Volvo finally started, but Cam’s relief was overshadowed by the realisation that there really was no way he was going to reach Glasgow tonight—not in this car. The disappointment was so sharp he felt physically sick.
He’d needed this night out so badly, and now it wasn’t going to happen.
There was nothing else for it but home. Back to the cottage for another night on his own in front of the TV. Just him and his bottle of warm Champagne.
“Save it till you’ve got something to celebrate.”
Christ.
As he crawled towards the junction, Cam considered, just for a moment, taking the main road into Inverbechie village instead of going home. He could go to The Stag and order a double whisky. Just down it in one and order another straight after. The thought was so seductive, he put on his left turn signal and sat there for a minute with the indicator flashing.
In the end though, he flipped the signal to the right and took the narrow, winding road that wrapped round the loch instead. The road that led to his tiny, miserable cottage.
He’d barely gone a quarter of a mile past the junction when the snow started. Just a few aimless-looking flakes at first, but soon they were coming steadily. Then heavily. And that was when, at last, the Volvo died. It happened as soon as the road started to climb. The car began struggling—Cam could feel it. He dropped it into second gear but the engine was already stuttering, stuttering then bucking and shaking, and finally seizing, right in the middle of the road. On a hill.
Two hundred yards from Rob Armstrong’s cottage.
Shit. It would have to happen here, wouldn’t it?
Cam dropped his head onto the steering wheel, hard. The pain was weirdly satisfying so he did it again.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He let himself wallow for about another five seconds before he put on his hazard lights, then he checked his phone—unsurprisingly, there was no reception—grabbed the torch out of the glove compartment and climbed out.
Sharp, icy pellets of snow stung his face as he emerged from the shelter of the Volvo. There was already a thin layer of the stuff underfoot and when he twisted to slam the driver’s door shut behind him, his right heel skidded and he went down heavily, falling on his arse into cold, gritty wetness. His thin trousers were soaked instantly and he cursed as he rose to his feet.
Clearly, the universe was determined to shit on him today.
He took stock and determined that the first thing he needed to do was get the car off the road before it caused an accident. Someone could easily come round the bend and plough right into it. He switched on the torch and investigated the road above and below, locating the nearest lay-by a short way up the hill. Moving it uphill was far from ideal, but moving it downhill round a sharp bend wasn’t an option at all.
Cam glanced at Rob Armstrong’s cottage. Its white walls glowed in the darkness, and a low light shone from the front window, suggesting its owner was home. He pressed his lips together, thinking. He really didn’t want to ask for help—especially not from Rob, even if he had been more friendly than usual the last time Cam had seen him.
He’d at least give it a go on his own first. He was a big guy, after all.
Aw-light, okay.
Opening the driver’s door wide, Cam took hold of the edge of the roof in his right hand, bracing his feet against the road as best he could in his slippy sandshoes, before reaching inside to gingerly let off the handbrake.