Under that great big sky, it is easy for the rest of the human world to slip away; the space has a calming and clarifying effect. Ellen had always liked it, being a native. However, Antonia was concentrating on her Blackberry, working hard and seeing nothing else. Ellen shifted in her seat, working her shoulders, so she could see a little more of the horizon, her lovely big sky. This car was a delight - it was Antonia’s latest purchase, she’d said she’d only had it a month. It was smooth, quiet and powerful, and it was a lot more than Ellen would ever afford. It was gorgeous. The leather seat held her shoulders as she stretched again, loving the firm expensive feel of the steering wheel in her hands. Was all of this real? A fabulous car, Antonia, maybe even some prospects. Antonia indeed. Ellen sneaked a look sideways. The sharp eyes, focused on the phone, and an almost audible hiss of cerebral static as that academic brain did whatever it did that paid so well. God, this sky, this car, this woman. Really?
Antonia looked up for a moment, snagged on a thought. Saw the road winding and unwinding ahead; dips, rises, fields. She quite liked Norfolk and Suffolk, but it did take a lot of driving to get anywhere. Her driver? A chance encounter in the bookshop, a drink, an evening. Ellen was engaging and entertaining, if penniless. And she appeared to drive rather well, which was..
It felt like hitting the kerb, but it wasn't, because there was no kerb. They both jumped. Ellen had her suspicions straight away. Nervously, she looked at her passenger. Where the hell were they, anyway? And did they now have a puncture? The lumpy thud was there for sure; Ellen coughed apprehensively and stopped the car. Wintry grey miles stretched out in all directions. Cold.
“What have we stopped? Did we hit something?” Did something hit us?”
Antonia was looking at Ellen over the top of those terribly academic half moon glasses, in full interrogation mode. The Blackberry was extended as part of the question.
“It’s a flat, I think. The tyre, I mean. Pothole.” Ellen was unnerved, uncertain, slightly aggressive, defensive. In the wrong.
Antonia drew her breath in sharply. It was obviously not good enough, and obviously Ellen’s fault. A better driver would have seen and avoided the pothole. Powered by the in-drawn breath, a long and untranscribable sound of frustration and disapproval was exhaled, slowly. “Where exactly are we, then?”
“I don’t know exactly. Somewhere between Reedham and Norwich. We are on the right road, but..”
“You don’t know, do you? I’ll have to call the university, before anything else.” With that, Antonia disappeared into her hard, bright world. Ellen got out of the car and walked round to the nearside front tyre. A sad, grey bulge of rubber oozed between alloy rim and tarmac. She was hardly dressed for this, but could, and would, sort it. Summoning the AA, or whoever Antonia was with, would take time they didn't have, because she was expected in Norwich within the hour. It was just about possible, if she got a move on, and if changing the wheel on this beauty was fairly straightforward.
Ellen knocked on the passenger window. Again, the interrogation over the glasses.
“You’ll have to get out. I've got to change it.”
For a long moment, Ellen doubted there would be acquiescence, because there was a horrible stillness in the car. Then, reluctantly, Antonia stepped out, her black patent leather high heels edging a cautious path over the gravel of the verge and round to the safety of the tarmac. There, in her bubble, she continued her intercourse with the phone while Ellen found the spare, the jack, the wrench and the little plastic thing for the lock-nut.
Time passed; too slowly for Antonia, too fast for Ellen.
“Good to go.” Ellen looked up from under her unruly curls, grubby and quietly triumphant. They would get there, there was time. The phone was snapped back into the shiny black bag; Antonia resumed her seat.
“We’ll make it, no problem,” said Ellen, thinking of what might be her reward...you were brilliant? I wouldn't know how? We've made good time? No cause to worry, are you okay? We could have a coffee when we get there, if you like?
None of these did she hear; just the inevitable rattle of manicure on Blackberry, and the empty desolate wastes of Antonia’s exalted status.
The sky was impassive; a little more light, a little less cloud. The silhouettes of hard, wind-bitten hawthorns resumed their passage past the car.
This wouldn't happen again. That was something of which they were both completely certain.
No comments:
Post a Comment