Midsummer Madness: A short story

It had been a lovely weekend. For once the weather was perfect and the children had amused themselves for hours, splashing in the shallow bay and exploring the rock pools at low tide.

Such a pity they had to leave and start the long drive home. Thinking ahead, and checking her watch, she pulled off the motorway and parked her four wheel drive at a convenience store. It was not the most salubrious of areas but she needed some milk, bread and eggs. The children would be hungry and tired and require feeding before bedtime.

Leaving the dogs in the back on guard, she dashed in, made her purchases and returned to her car. To her immense irritation she discovered a shabby Ford Fiesta parked behind her, completely blocking her exit.  What an idiot she thought. The parking area in front of the shop was hardly crowded, so why had he chosen to thoughtlessly abandon the rusty heap just behind her immaculate four wheel drive?

Are we nearly there Mummy, was the slightly fretful greeting as she slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. Not long now, Darlings, was the automatic response, checking her watch and waiting for the owner of the Fiesta to emerge from the shop.

Ten minutes later she was tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel and he still hadn’t appeared. Oh, well, she thought, he can’t be much longer surely? She gave a slightly impatient short blast on the horn, and then he appeared. Waving his fist in the air and swearing horribly he approached the car. She took in the details: Six foot three approximately, large pot-belly and distinctly unprepossessingly shabby and ill-kempt. Utterly convinced of the reasonableness of her case, she lowered the window a couple of inches and smiled sweetly.

“Oh, jolly good, you’re back. Would you mind awfully if I asked you to move your car which seems to be blocking me in? I’d be frightfully grateful. Thanks so much.”

The response consisted of a string of four letter words, a raised fist interspersed with threats of violence. Not to worry then, she said kindly, it’s not a problem, I’ll just push it out of the way. Up went the window, she purposefully put the car in reverse, revved the engine and drove backwards.

He moved rather quickly for a large man and when the bull bars were about an inch from the Fiesta, she braked and waited for him to move the car. Smiling slightly she waved him a cheery goodbye and headed back onto the motorway.

She soon spotted the Fiesta in her mirror and was quite surprised. Reducing speed gradually she waited for him to pass. He didn’t. Taking the next exit she headed down the slip road and stopped the car at the first lay-by. Turning of the engine she turned to the two sleepy children.

“Now darlings, I want you to take off your seatbelts, lie down on the floor, and keep your eyes firmly shut and put your hands over your ears. Can you do that for Mummy?” Lowering the window she watched the Fiesta pull in behind her, and waited in the dark for his approach.

“Now, I’m asking you very politely to get back in the car and stop following me. I honestly wish you would. The children are tired and I need to get back home.”

He came closer. Sighing regretfully, she raised the pistol and shot him. Twice. She made a quick phone call to the office, strapped the children back in, and set off again.

Approaching Lambeth Bridge she turned to the children.

“Nearly there darlings, I just have to pop into the office, check on a few things, and then we’ll be go home. I won’t be long.”

Five minutes later, confident that her instructions had been followed, she pulled into the driveway. Dogs and children unloaded, she scrambled some eggs, dispatched the children to bed, cleaned the firearm and poured herself a glass of wine. Opening the door she sat out on the terrace. It was a perfect night; cooler now at last after the heat of the day. The dogs settled down beside her and she waited for her husband, the soothing notes of the Brahms playing in the background.

And the moral of this tale?  It always pays to be polite; or don’t mess with well-spoken blondes in large cars; you never know who they work for!