white smoke lines andwhitelines andwhitelines andwhitelines andwhitelines andwhite "I'm fed up." Pretending not to hear, he flicked the indicator left, moved into the middle lane. A bridge whooshed overhead, a blue sign - SERVICES 1m - warped across the window. She stuck her elbow out, rested cold cheek against warm palm. "I said, I'm fed up." Loud, urgent. He rubbed his nose, glanced at the mirror, squeezed the wheel. "About what?" / white lines and white lines and "Just… Life." / Scratching the side of his face: "Can't you be more specific?" / Her forehead kissed humming glass, breath stained it. Index finger drew a small curve - "Me," - big curve - "You," - small. "Everything." Crossed the top. "It's just…" -white lines and white- "Getting too predictable. You can feel it too, Mark, I know you can." Disgusting, what're you thinking of. She scribbled it out. Took Mum's advice, Sat Up Straight. Signs began to tick off the distance. [-III-] "Come off at the next services." / He looked at her. Twice. "Why? You've just been.." / "We have to talk." / "What?" Another glance. "Talk about what?" / white lines and "This," She pointed at the windscreen. "You - always in the bloody middle lane when it's totally obvious you're not over-taking a thing." [-II-] "What the hell did I-" / "Just so utterly predictable in everything you do and everything you say." / "God damnit Sarah, what the hell's brought this on?" He touched the gear-stick, let go, remained in the middle lane. "Christ… I-I've just been sat here, driving! I don't understand what-" [-I-] "Ever understand do you, never want to look it in the face, always avoiding it, same old routine, day after day… Look, the services, turn in, now, come on." / "But-" He checked mirrors, touched the indicator. "No - no we can't, Sarah, we're late already, we've got to keep moving." - GRANADA SERVICES - WELCOME BREAK - / "Mark, if you don't pull in…" Indicator, tick, tick, click. The car drifted into the outside lane. "You-! God you IDIOT what're you doing!" Overtook a Morrisons lorry, navy blue with black straps. / "Look we're not stopping and that's it. We've spent enough bloody money on this trip." Mirror. Signal. He put the car back neatly in the middle. A white volvo, dented door, crept up alongside, back-window decorated with middle-fingers and grinning kids' faces. "Huh," he chuckled, nodded. "Look. God, look at those kids, Sarah, you seen em?" Registration plate SOD, the vehicle sluggishly overtook. / "The next time we stop," she said, fishing for her bag. "I don't care if it's traffic-lights or what, I'm getting out." / "Oh for God's sake…" / "And when you arrive," Bag on her lap, tightening the zips. "You can tell John Macintosh he can sssstick his stupid proposal up his arse." / "Sarah, you don't mean any of this." / She looked up. "Why are you in the middle lane?" / "What?" / "Why-" She leaned forward, reviewed the mirror. "I said why are you in the middle lane? Why? There's nothing up ahead, nothing behind, that car there's in the outside- / "Not putting anyone in danger or anything, God, I don't see-" A metal clang. Sparks in the road. Smoke began to leak from beneath the volvo. Kids faces vanished, shadows frantic, small hands slammed against the window. "Jesus shit." / "Mark, slow down." / "What've they done? They got a flat?" / "Mark just - slow down, let him past, let-" Smoke bushed up grey, smothered red lights. The car swerved. "What's he doing the stupid-" / "Give him space, just give him-" / "He's coming across!" The steaming vehicle jounced over lines, smoke pouring, pasting the windscreen. Engine-metal-hissing, silver bits tinkling. "Shhhhit," Braking hard, he rammed into fourth. The comet swung left onto the inside lane. Windscreen flashed, faded; a clear view after thick fog. "God he has to stop-" / white and white and white and "He is, look, he's pulling in. They'll be okay, come on Mark, go faster." / Checking mirrors, gripping the wheel, looking left, he sprang his foot off the brake, lingered in mid-air. "God what if it explodes or some-" / "Drive faster!" She smacked her hands on the dash-board, threw herself back, forth. "Come ON, GO, pleeease, for chrissake just GO!" / "But- we can't-" -eyes into eyes into eyes into- "God's sake, have it your way." He accelerated, hard - 50, 60, 70 - jabbed the stick into fifth. Stroking her chest -white white white white white- aware of him watching, she peeped in the mirror, saw the car's face, open-winged with a flowing white mane. "They're alright," / "Huh. Yeah," Itching his neck. "Course they are, Sarah." / "What?" She looked at him. "They are, I can see them. They're running away, they're off up the embankment. They're alright." She slumped back in her seat. "God's sake. There was no point in stopping Mark, what could we have done? Eh? What could we have done?" / He snorted, loudly. "Jesus, a moment ago you wanted me to-" / "Look, shut up. I don't care anymore. Shut up." Another bridge flickered, train going over it at the same time. Blue sign - MANCHESTER 19m. Speckles of rain began to cluster on the glass. © Andy J Campbell 1998 |