Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  12.04 pm - You return in your Volvo. Hurrah!!! They've done a lovely job - can't see the join (joke). You bring cleaner and Midget woman and pooch (held by the cleaner - how unhygienic!) to take a look at the re-spray. I entertain wicked thought about doing it again. But this would be repeating myself, and I'd hate to be unoriginal.

  12.40 pm - Midget woman goes (for lunch?).

  12.42 pm - Dog takes man out for walkies (joke). The cleaner is left in house, therefore once again you don't set alarm. Now raining v. heavily.

  Question: will he cut the dog's walking time down because of the rain?

  Note: where do they walk? Is it the same place every day? Where does Midget woman live? Not far I suspect if she goes home at lunchtime.

  2.00 pm - It's a photo-finish as Midget woman and you arrive back simultaneously!

  Note: despite rain Gil and the dog ventured out for a heroic hour and eighteen minutes.

  3.40 pm - Cleaner woman leaves.

  I'm beginning to feel the strain. The amphetamines have helped me get through but must get a proper sleep soon. I've been extremely careful, never getting too close, and I've changed my location daily. The infra-red night glasses have proved invaluable.

  I expect my feelings of paranoia are largely caused by the speed.

  Note: so far, unless the cleaner comes on different days each week, it'll need to be done on Monday or Tuesday.

  4.52 pm - Midget woman leaves.

  7.27 pm - Girlfriend home.

  11.46 pm - Lights out.

  Thursday 08 January

  7.55 am - Paper boy.

  8.02 am - Up and about.

  8.56 am - Girlfriend leaves in her Vauxhall Astra.

  9.14 am - Postman.

  9.24 am - Older woman arrives.

  Note: The morning routine has only varied slightly from day to day.

  12.41 pm - Woman leaves in Midget.

  12.55 pm - You take pooch. You set the alarm before leaving.

  Note: why this variation?

  2.06 pm - You return from walk. The older woman does not return.

  Note: could this be a regular Thursday routine or is it a one-off?

  7.32 pm - Girlfriend arrives back.

  17

  It was just after ten in the evening. Gil was at the computer in his office making an entry in his diary. Sally, whom he'd last observed lazing in the bathtub, appeared in the doorway in an old dressing gown of his that she had taken a shine to.

  "How're you doing, Mr Pepys?"

  Gil looked up and smiled, "Pepys? Pepys is no threat. He only managed nine years. I've kept this up since I was fifteen. I suppose Pepys might arguably have the edge, ever so slightly, as far as content goes ..."

  "But not by much, you reckon?"

  "Secretary to the Admiralty, knowing the great and the good, dropping by on royalty when the mood took him … as opposed to walking Spike or popping up to Waitrose for a pot of hummus."

  "Sounds fascinating. And how's your kids' book coming on?" she asked.

  "So, so," he replied half-heartedly as he clicked with the mouse on the save icon. He swivelled the chair around so he was completely facing her. "Sometimes I think I should stick to illustration."

  "So the writing went badly, did it?"

  "Not really. It's just that I've worked so long with Felix, I can't help emulating his style at times."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "It's just that it has to have some stamp of originality about it. I can't have people say I just copied Felix."

  "I'm no expert but I honestly don't think you're doing that, and I've read all his books too. You have a discernibly different voice from his. The passages you've let me read were really funny. You should trust yourself. You write well."

  "You sound just like Felix."

  "There you go then."

  "By the way," said Gil, "Megan asked if we'd like go over for drinks one evening next week."

  "Okay. Great."

  "See. I told you she was a good egg."

  "I'm sure she is. I just thought I'd stepped on her toes a bit."

  "I don't understand. Why?"

  "Why?" she laughed, "'Cos you're a bloke … men never understand. It's a variation of the eternal triangle."

  "She's old enough to be my mother!" he protested.

  "No, silly. Not that."

  "Thank God. I thought for a moment you meant she was after my body!"

  "Women are creatures of habit. Also, we've enjoyed an inferior status in society, so we're possessive about the things important to us. Megan has been with you for years, feels protective towards you … doesn't entirely appreciate me muscling in. Look at mothers-in-law and all the jokes they've spawned!"

  "I always got on very well with Marjorie."

  "Yes, but you're a bloke. Every daughter-in-law has a mother-in-law and will one day possibly become a mother-in-law, so how come their relationships are often so tense?"

  "I don't know. Why?"

  "Because they're both vying for the attention of the boss man!"

  "So is this an introduction to Freud or Feminism or something? Are blokes to blame then for the abrasive state of affairs between mothers and daughters-in-law?"

  Sally rolled her eyes, "You can't ever hope to understand us … we're a different species. Megan will come round. Just leave her to me."

  18

  11.57 pm - Lights out.

  Friday 9 January

  7.47 am - Newspaper.

  8.00 am - Awake.

  8.52 am - Girlfriend leaves.

  9.17 am - Postman.

  Note: no Midget today.

  12.51 pm - Walkies. You set alarm.

  2. 03 pm - Arrive back.

  Note: Gil is in the habit of setting the alarm each time he goes out except on days when the woman in the MG Midget returns before he gets back with the dog.

  Thursday or Friday I'd be up against the alarm and Wednesday would probably mean giving Mrs Mop a little tap on the head.

  Realistically, if I'm going to break in, it will have to be Monday or Tuesday.

  5.50 pm - Girlfriend gets back.

  6.43 pm - Drives away in her Astra. You set alarm.

  19

  Gil and Sally decided that completing the first working week of the new year warranted a celebration. After a brief discussion about the options, they chose La Boissonière again. It was quite early, before seven when they arrived; even so the restaurant was quite full and once again they hadn't booked.

  They were greeted by Robert the patron, who hadn't been present during their previous visit. "I'm afraid, Monsieur Harper, I shall not have a table free for a little while," he explained in a French accent just short of being a cliché, "That is, unless you wouldn't mind dining in the other room?"

  Eating in the rear room was not a problem.

  "That'll do us fine, Robert. Thank you for squeezing us in."

  "Not at all. It is a pleasure to see you again Mr Harper. It was my evening off, but my son recognised you when you dined here the other night." Robert composed himself before adding discreetly, "We were all very sad to hear of your tragedy."

  "Thank you Robert." Gil made an involuntary gesture, touching Sally's shoulder as if for reassurance.

  "Are you okay?" Sally asked Gil after Robert had shown them to their table, "You look a little disorientated."

  "I must be feeling tired," he replied, then thought better of it and added, "Actually, I was a little shaken by Robert ... what he said."

  "About Jules?"

  "Yes. I'd forgotten that we used to eat here quite regularly. Isn't that incredible? After her death it's like I stopped thinking or something."

  They were interrupted by the wine waiter. Gil didn't feel like drinking much and Sally was driving, so they ordered half a bottle of red wine and some sparkling water. After he left them, Sally asked, "So why did you and Jules move out of London?"

  "George and Marjorie lived here then … that's her parents."

  Sally no
dded that she already knew this.

  "Jules grew up in Sevenoaks, went to school here. Also Felix was close by."

  "See, it was different for you. You and Jules had a purpose here. You weren't just doing a runner. I had a nice little flat in Battersea. When my mother died, swiftly followed by dad, I suddenly felt terribly unsafe. All I could think about was getting away. I mean there was nothing wrong with where I was. I just felt this awful insecurity. I desperately wanted some knight in shining armour to ride by and offer me his protection ... arguably, how I got myself mixed up with Michael. Although, I'd long established a pattern for being attracted to shits."

  "Not still, I hope?" Gil enquired tentatively.

  "I hope not. The therapy was pricey," she laughed as she said this. "I suppose that's what he was alluding to on New Year's Eve, about my shrink."

  Sally glanced over at Gil and smiled.

  "What?" he asked.

  "I was just thinking that on a shittiness scale of one to ten, you'd barely register."

  "That's good isn't it?"

  "Very."

  "As long as it doesn't in any way correlate to physical attractiveness and sexual prowess?" he told her, puffing out his chest.

  "Don't fish!" she said.

  They had both experienced a busy week, and the food and modest amount of wine consumed began to have a soporific effect somewhere between dessert and coffee.

  Gil tapped his PIN into the card terminal the waiter brought to the table.

  "Thank you, Monsieur Harper," he responded to Gil's generosity.

  "Thank you," replied Gil.

  Gil slipped the credit card and payment slip into his wallet and followed Sally who was already on her feet. They went through an arch which led into an area that served as a coffee-making station. At the end of this corridor was another arch which brought them back into the main restaurant. It was very full, with three waiters busily navigating their way with nimble expertise around the diners. Robert was standing behind a counter near the door checking bills. Sally's body-language alerted Gil that something was wrong when she stopped abruptly.

  "You evil bastard!" she called out.

  Gil was now alongside her, and able to identify the problem himself. There, grinning broadly, holding out a glass of red wine towards them as though proposing a toast, was Michael Chilvers.

  "Why? Why are you doing this? Haven't you done enough?" Sally cried.

  "I've no idea what you're talking about!" he said, his seeming incredulity only just enough to mask an underlying sneer. "I came here to enjoy a quiet meal." He took in and played to the acquired audience at the tables round about. "My ex-fiancée thinks I have nothing better to do than follow her and her new boyfriend about," he confided to the couple at the next table.

  "You're sick!" Sally screamed, before turning to flee from the restaurant.

  Gil was left facing Michael Chilvers. There seemed little chance this could be a coincidence coming so swiftly on the heels of their previous encounter when Chilvers had gate-crashed Klaus and David's party.

  "You really have a problem on your hands there Gil," confided Chilvers, "Wouldn't you agree that her behaviour is neurotic?" He asked this question of an elderly couple who were sitting a few tables away and who immediately looked away in embarrassment.

  "Shut up!" said Gil, now seething with anger.

  "Come on Gil. This is embarrassing … sit down, let's talk things over."

  Gil leaned down at Chilvers and growled, "Keep out of my way. Do you hear?"

  "I think I'm being threatened," said Chilvers, innocently looking round at the other diners.

  Gil's eyes remained on him.

  "Monsieur Harper, please."

  Gil felt Robert's hand on his arm.

  "Monsieur Harper, please. My restaurant. Please."

  Gil came to his senses. He broke eye contact with Chilvers, who looked, if anything, disappointed.

  Robert held Gil's coat for him. "I am sorry about this Monsieur Harper," he whispered as he helped him into it, "I assure you, that gentleman will not get a table here again."

  "Thank you," Gil replied, "I'm very sorry about the scene."

  "Pfoo!" The patron said dismissively, "Sometimes a little scandal …" he joked with a Gallic arm gesture.

  Gil managed a brief smile.

  "The lady ran out without her jacket," said Robert.

  Gil placed Sally's coat underneath his arm and left. He didn't glance back.

  20

  9.47 pm - Hello! Gil arrived home alone - on foot! And he didn't look very happy! He glanced uncertainly up and down the road several times before he went into his house. Lovers' tiff?

  21

  Gil was surprised to find no Sally and no car when he reached the parking place. He walked home; it wasn't far, just fifteen minutes away. He'd kept meaning to give her a spare set of keys but so far had forgotten to do so. When he didn't find Sally waiting outside the house, as he'd expected to, he became quite concerned for her.

  Spike made to greet Gil, who for once ignored him and went straight to the telephone.

  There was a message from Sally.

  'Gil. Forgive me running out like that. I just had to get away. I'm at home. I hope you understand … I'd like to be on my own tonight. Please, I'd rather if you didn't ring me after you play this. I'll speak to you tomorrow.'

  The message ended and an unavailable tone replaced her voice. Spike who had been gazing up at him turned tail and left the room.

  Gil felt very alone.

  22

  10.30 pm - All lights extinguished.

  That's me finished too. I'm exhausted. I've been getting by on about two hours' sleep. Feeling very paranoid. See you again on Monday, Gil Harper.

  23

  Gil slept badly. The scene at the restaurant had shaken him up. It somehow triggered the revisit of an unwelcome night terror he hadn't experienced for some years now, but which had plagued him for many months following the crash. It portrayed, in clinically accurate detail, what he remembered in the moments immediately after the collision. This ordeal sometimes recurred over several nights. It had driven him to the brink of despair, and in his darkest moments he'd considered taking his own life in order to break free of it.

  The nightmare happened exactly as the events were recorded in his memory. Upon impact, he'd blacked out, perhaps for a minute or two:

  His eyes are shut, he is aware of physical constriction but no pain. He is disorientated, thoughts all jumbled-up, unable to recall where he is or what has just occurred. A warm stickiness bathes one side of his face, the side nearest to Jules.

  Yes, Jules; where is Jules?

  Concern for her encourages him to open his eyes. What has just taken place? Why is the car bent and distorted out of shape around his body?

  He blinks several times as if to cast away the obfuscation in his mind. He looks out through the shattered windscreen; it makes no sense; the tangled mass of wrecked machines, the brilliant afternoon light bathing his face.

  That looks like blood, he thinks. So much; is it his own blood? Then he realises he can turn his head. He looks across to Jules and suddenly he remembers. He sees and remembers everything.

  At this point he always woke up screaming.

  It was a minute after 5 am. Gil turned on the bedside lamp. His heart was pounding and he was drenched in sweat. He knew it would be impossible to return to sleep again and headed for the bathroom. Spike, at the bottom of the bed, raised an indignant eye and snorted before promptly going back to sleep.

  The heat of the water in the shower brought soothing and comfort. Gil dressed, made coffee and began writing up his diary, which he'd felt too despondent to attend to after getting home. There was certainly plenty to say. He recorded 'the horror' too, which was the way he'd always referenced the nightmare in his diary.

  Of the encounter with Chilvers at La Boissonière, he wrote:

  … everything had been good up until then. Poor Sally must be feeling rotten
about herself. The whole thing had to be engineered by the thoroughly vindictive, shameless Michael Chilvers …. but for Robert's intervention I came close to punching him. Actually, I think this is just what Chilvers would've liked. I can't deny that smashing his teeth might have brought some satisfaction. However, had it come to this, I daresay Chilvers would have slaughtered me. I was never much good at any of that macho stuff, my most recent pugilistic experience being as a pre-pubescent at school; I lost. At least my embarrassment is not compounded by recalling myself as one of two bloody-nosed men rolling about on the restaurant floor.

  Spike rose around 8 am and looked in on Gil. "Ah, yes, I suppose the little lord will be wanting breakfast," he commented on the dog's look of expectancy.

  He'd finished his diary entry, so he made porridge for himself and Spike. He desperately wanted to contact Sally. However, she had been clear about needing time alone and he knew he must respect this. He passed the morning listening to the radio and reading the newspaper.

  When the telephone eventually rang he pounced on it.

  "Hello," he said, trying to project casualness into his voice. He was certain it must be Sally.

  "Gil?"

  He was thrown by the initially unrecognised male voice and mumbled something in response.

  "It's Klaus Williams."

  "Yes, of course," he replied with some relief. For a moment he'd thought it was Chilvers, "Klaus."

  "I'm ringing for Sally."

  "What's happened?" asked Gil anxiously, his mind's eye picturing Sally sprawled on her cottage floor amidst spilled wine, pills and vomit.

  Klaus, already on his wavelength, reassured, "She's fine … well, as fine as you'd expect under the circumstances. She told us what happened. That man is a complete shit!"

  "I'd have to agree with you there," replied Gil. "I expect he followed us."

  "Of course he did."

  "Is Sally at her cottage?"

  "Actually, she's with us. She rang last night. She was very upset, and terrified that bastard might've followed her. We suggested she came to stay."