I risk a glance away from the mirror to look at the dashboard clock. It’s a few minutes before six and three full minutes pass with nothing happening. I have visions of being here in an hour’s time, or later when it’s dark. Of a queue of traffic building up behind us as people at the back wonder who the lunatic is at the front.
There’s nothing else for it. I shift the car into gear, turn right and put my foot down. The hedges and trees fizz past, blurring into one long stream of green. I’m a few hundred metres along the road when I check my mirror and see that the blue car has turned left. I squint into the mirror, leaning towards it as if that will give me a better view of something happening so far behind. It doesn’t of course, but when my eyes flick back to the road, I realise I’ve drifted into the centre, straddling the white line. There’s a car in the distance and I swerve violently back onto my own side. There’s a howl of complaining tyres, a terrifying screech of machine overpowering man. The back wheels spin as the front wheels lock and by the time I pull the wheel back in the other direction, it’s already too late. The car groans as it lurches into a spin. I think there’s a moment where I take my hands from the wheel, possibly close my eyes, definitely scream. I don’t know for sure because everything happens at once.
There’s a lightning flash of leaves and tarmac, a bone-creaking thump and then, somehow, the road is directly in front of me once more. I’m at a stop as the approaching vehicle thunders past with a lingering beep of the horn.
I barely notice.
I’m not sure if the car spun in a complete circle or if I imagined the whole thing. My blouse is clinging to my arms, small pools of sweat discolouring the cream. I’m out of breath and that pain is back in my chest once more. I pinch the loose skin on the back of my hand to make sure I’m awake. To know this definitely happened. There’s no sign of a blue car in my rear-view mirror and the other vehicle that was coming towards me has already disappeared into the distance. Was the blue car ever there?
It’s only me on the road and, as I pinch myself once more, I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me.
Chapter Eighteen
The Cosmic Café is on the furthest outskirts of North Melbury, closer to the dual carriageway than it is the town. It’s a mix of a truck-stop, old-fashioned diner, and a proper English greasy spoon. It’s been a fixture for longer than I’ve been alive, although not always under the same ownership.
It’s almost nine o’clock when I pull into the car park. There are a few lorries parked in the furthest corner, shrouded in shadow, the drivers perhaps settling down for the night. There are also half a dozen cars directly outside the entrance, illuminated by the light stretching from inside. The Cosmic Café is open twenty-four-seven – which I can understand all by myself, without the need for Declan to mansplain it to me. Not only is it popular with lorry drivers and locals, it’s something of a hangout for young people. It’s not as if there are many places for teenagers to get out of the way of their parents in the town. If they spend any time loitering in the centre, the police get called by NIMBY locals. It wasn’t that different in my day. Ellie, Wayne, Jason and I would escape to the watermill but there were plenty of people our age who opted for the Cosmic.
Olivia got a job here about six months ago. She catches the bus to start her shift for one o’clock and then takes a taxi home afterwards, paid for by the owner, Rahul.
There’s a gentle buzz of voices and clinking cutlery when I enter. If it wasn’t for the darkness outside, it could be any morning. The café smells of baked beans, frying eggs and sausages. I wasn’t hungry before but it’s hard to walk into this place and not have the insatiable urge for a fry-up.
The walls are covered with the faded record sleeves of bygone eras. Vinyl records might be making a twenty-first century comeback – but the cardboard covers here are the originals. It was decorated this way when I was Olivia’s age and little has changed.
Someone calls my name and, when I turn towards the corner closest to the window, I see Rahul sitting by himself in a booth. He’s originally from India, a beefy chunk of a man with a smile almost as big as his belly. He waves me across and I slot in opposite him. The red leather of the bench has long faded to a murky pink and there are small tears across the length of the seat. I’d guess this is much the way customers prefer it. There’s a definite charm to this place.
‘No taxi tonight,’ Rahul says.
‘I told Liv I’d pick her up.’
‘You have any other daughters at home?’
‘Huh?’
He grins. ‘Your Liv’s a hard worker. Good worker. Could do with another six of her.’
His smile is infectious and I find myself melting into the booth. After everything of the past couple of days, it’s good to hear something positive.
The door jingles as a couple enter hand in hand. He’s wearing a suit and she’s in a short green dress. It’s not too late, but it looks like they’ve been out to the theatre, something like that. Perhaps for a few drinks. His shoes are shinier than anything in the diner but they slot into a booth and grab a pair of menus. There’s something wonderful about the breadth of the people who come here. There’s a group of five teenagers in one of the other booths, empty milkshake glasses scattered across the table. Four or five truck drivers are sitting by themselves, reading the paper or tucking into the all-day breakfast. There are men and women; old and young; privileged and poor; white, Asian, whatever. No one worries about anyone else. It makes me proud that this tumble dryer of humanity is on the edge of my town.
‘Long day?’ Rahul asks.
I blink at him, wondering how he knows. It must be me, of course. Everything about me.
‘Is it that obvious?’ I reply.
‘You work too hard. Take some time off, lay on a beach, read a book. Tell your boss Uncle Rahul said it was fine.’
He laughs and so do I. It’s hard to do anything else when in Rahul’s presence – as if he’s carrying something infectious that automatically spreads happiness.
‘I’ll try that,’ I tell him.
His eyebrows raise as he looks over my shoulder – and then Olivia appears at the edge of the table. She’s slightly flushed, her dyed pink hair greasy and stuck to her scalp. Her sleeves are rolled up, showing off the teddy bear tattoo on her arm. At first glance, it’s something sweet; a symbol of childhood innocence. On closer inspection, the teddy is clutching a knife and holding it above his own head threateningly. We’ve never talked about it and I haven’t asked about any others. I don’t think I want to know.
Olivia turns between us suspiciously.
‘Have you been talking about me?’
Rahul throws his hands up, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Of course. All about you. It’s always about you, Livvie, my love.’
I’ve never heard anyone call her ‘Livvie’ but it’s so systematically charming in the way Rahul says it.
‘I checked the toilets and Tracy’s logged onto the till,’ Olivia says. ‘Everything should be set for night shift.’
‘You’re too good to me, Livvie. Too good. Young girl like you should be off seeing the world, breaking the hearts of all those boys.’
She wraps her arms across her front, flattered yet embarrassed because I’m here. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she says, before turning to me. ‘Can we go?’
I use the table to push myself up, fighting and losing the battle against giving the old-woman sigh.
Olivia says nothing as we head to the car, clambering into the passenger seat and then resting her head on the window. I touch her gently on the knee and she neither flinches, nor kicks me away.
‘Where would you like to go?’ I ask.
‘Bashington. There’s that block of flats on the outskirts, near the park. D’you know where I mean?’
I tell her that I do. Bashington is the closest town to North Melbury. Our nearest rivals, if you will. There was uproar a few years back when Bashington won a Britain in Bloom commendation and we didn’t. This is the sort of place in which we live.