Driven by Fate

 

It’s misty and chill and the car needs choke to start, but because up here the weather’s always different Fate takes a chance and turns left out of the village for the scenic route. We go over the ridge and into a cloud, seeing nothing to left or right, then start the long wind downward and yes, there’s sunlight and watercolour blue over the valley.

We wait at the lights at the bottom of the hill, bonnet steaming. I look out at sleeping windows. Then the lights change and where I would stick to second Fate takes it up to third and then fourth and screws the car into the spiral sliproad tighter than a turntable, spilling us on to the dual carriageway already doing sixty.

“I see,” I remark. Never one for early morning chat, Fate stares straight ahead.

Despite the speed I do start to relax as we drive into the sun. There’s no traffic to speak of, we have lots of time, why worry? I reach under my seat for the CD case and take pot luck. Hank Williams: perfect for an empty valley highway.

I wind down my window to share the pleasure. But before Hank can finish his first note Fate drops his hand from the wheel, stabs EJECT, plucks the disc from the slot and skims it smoothly out into the air. Which I call uncalled for.

I fold my arms and watch the hard shoulder. Fate’s smiling now, I don’t have to look to know. He starts to hum that dreary tune, the only song he knows. Between Fate and Hank Williams, I choose Hank.

The sides of the valley are like twin sofas, casually draped with matching oak-tree throws. We speed along coffee table mountain, leaning into curves. It’s noisy, because of the cheap concrete finish to the road. The buzz coming up behind us doesn’t resolve into the sound of a vehicle until it’s almost level.

Someone overtaking is a thing Fate cannot stand. A flicker of disbelief hardens to clenched eyebrows. Fate pulls the wheel toward him, digs his heel into the pedal. We lunge forward, making a dollar-sign out of the next double-bend.

The buzz comes with us. They’re hard to make out in the glare, but the figures in the green Mondeo don’t even seem to know we’re here. No sideways lean of recognition, no acknowledgement that another lump of metal’s doing eighty ten feet off.

“Let it go,” I say. Fate turns his head to give me a hard look. I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he’d concentrate on the road.

“OK,” I say, “you’re driving.”

Fate tips up his chin, looks past his cheekbones at the road.

I grip the upholstery, jam my feet against the dash. Just in time: like a smack in the face the car rips up to ninety, Fate laughing at the ceiling as my head hides between my shoulder blades.

In the name of God, the green car is still there. Worse, it’s creeping past, a tortoise at one hundred miles per hour. And as we glide through the valley of the shadow of Christ knows what the sun blots out and I can see them. The passenger has hands over her face. The driver has a grin like an axe-cut in a tree. It’s a woman, of course.

You cannot beat Fate. He just won’t have it. There’s no way Fate can pass the green car and no way that he can follow. So he rams it at forty-five degrees.

We lurch on impact but we don’t slow down. The Mondeo spins away like a plastic toy. We interrupt the central reservation and bounce off, a big circle of scenic beauty drifting by and plenty of time to think. I should never have let Fate drive. But could you say No, when he looks at you that way?

Here comes a speed camera in a big orange box. It takes a picture of Fate’s face, close-up. We’ve stopped.

Then I hear a drone and the green car reverses into view. It stops. The two women get out and the passenger comes over to my window, asking if I’m all right.

“I feel OK,” I say. She puts her arm through my window and takes hold of my hand. Her hand is very warm, or mine is cold. She’s looking at me with concern.

Meanwhile her driver pulls open the other door. Fate tumbles out like a sack of grain. I wake up a little then, get out and walk round the car and help them drag the body to the verge. We stand and look for several minutes. Then, because there’s no-one else around and, unbelievably, not one of us has a phone, we get into the green Mondeo and drive off. The woman sits in the passenger seat with her Fate at the wheel. I’m in the back with a blanket. It’s as if it’s all been settled long ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Malcolm Wallis           [email protected]