I took the next turning to Rushford and pulled into the multi-storey car park. There was a hairdresser’s just over the road and yes, they could do me now. I told them what I wanted and settled back while they got on with it. I left the salon with a tiny, chic little ponytail bouncing and swinging as I walked. I loved it. Female historians have yards of hair. It’s in the rules and regs. This was about as radical as I could get and still not be handed my P45. I got out of Rushford without much mishap and headed for St Mary’s.
Now for Stage Two. I waited until I was off the main road – I didn’t want to be arrested until I’d finished. For starters, I ran the car up onto the grass verge. There were several bangs as it connected with boulders and branches, but there didn’t seem to be a great deal of damage. Curse this superb German engineering!
I changed down to second, put my foot down, and watched the rev counter climb. By now, even I could hear the engine complain. However, it was whingeing in German and I was listening in English, so much good it did.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
Two very large boulders blocked the entrance to a forest track. I pulled up and reversed back into them a couple of times. That felt good. There were tinkly noises. There were some very satisfying graunchy noises. I turned around and drove into them front first. More noises. I pulled alongside the poor abused boulders and slammed the driver’s door into them a couple of times. By now, I was getting hot and tired. It took several goes to inflict any sort of damage at all to the door panel. Bloody Germans!
I got out and looked at the results so far. Lights gone on one side, boot caved in. Ditto the front. Water dripped down into a puddle, so the radiator was shot. The driver’s door – finally – was nicely dented.
I frowned. Not a lot to show for all that effort. I picked up a rock and chucked it at the back windscreen. It just bounced off. Unbelievable! In a spurt of temper, I raised it above my head and hurled it with all my might. The glass crazed. That would have to do.
I had another idea. Pulling the travel rug off the back seat. I tugged on the bonnet catch. Using the rug, I got the oil cap off. The engine did start, but it definitely wasn’t as enthusiastic as it had been. I shoved it into gear and we clanked our way down the road. Lights on the dashboard winked and flashed. Not my problem. I think I’d lost a part of the exhaust somewhere along the way, because by now we sounded like a tank, and something was dragging along the road behind me. There was the odd spark. Steam hissed from under the bonnet. Black smoke billowed from somewhere and there was a bit of a funny smell. Probably because I was still in second gear.
People came out to stare as I drove through the village.
I drove nonchalantly up the road and through the gates, waving cheerfully at Mr Strong’s worried face. The engine was really straining as we crawled up the drive. The noise was tremendous. Still, not much further now.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
Over to my right I could see the Friday afternoon football match had halted through lack of interest. Everyone was watching me instead. Even the Boss was out on his balcony. I suspected there had been telephone calls. I couldn’t see the expression on his face. At the end of the drive, I should turn left and go round the side of the building to the car park.
I turned right.
The car was now making legitimate complaints in a language even I could understand. We banged along the terrace. There were a few people sitting at the tables watching the game and enjoying the sunshine. They stared, mouths open.
I shouted, ‘Get out of the way, you morons.’ At the last moment, they leaped for their lives.
I clattered through the garden tables and chairs, got something caught in a wheel arch and felt the steering wheel jump in my hands. The car bounced heavily off a large stone urn full of geraniums.
We clonked across the grass, shedding garden furniture faster than election promises the day after the results are announced. I had hardly any speed at all, but it was downhill now. I clipped a silver birch, to the detriment of the wing mirror, but that was going to be the least of his problems.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
Nearly there.
I floored the accelerator to build up the revs. We surged sluggishly forward. With the engine screaming and trailing clouds of smoke, steam, and glory, I drove Chief Farrell’s car straight into the lake.
The engine died and everything was suddenly very quiet. Smoke drifted serenely across the surface. There a little bubbling and hissing but otherwise everything was surprisingly peaceful.
If I hadn’t been getting wet, I could have sat there all afternoon. With some difficulty, I forced the door open and fell out. The water was nearly up to my waist. I struggled to the bank. What seemed like the entire unit lined up on the bank, faces blank with shock. Guthrie, still in his mud-and blood-stained football kit said, ‘What the …? What happened? Are you hurt? Where’s the Chief?’
I was tempted to say he was in the boot.
‘Still in the hospital.’
‘But why …? What …?’