Lane

by Peter Grainger

  ‘I’m not really sure. Something to do with the fuel pump?’

  Lane’s right hand went back to the key but she did not turn it – instead she pumped her foot up and down on the accelerator pedal several times. Her gaze never left the front of the house and eventually Emily Willows followed it, only to see that the horrible oaf of a man was now back on two feet and standing on her front step. His left hand still covered that eye but the other eye was open enough for him to have seen them. He took a staggering step forward and then another.

  Lane pushed down the central locking button on the driver’s side. Then she pumped the pedal some more and turned the ignition key. The engine fired and then died again. He was getting closer, maybe just twenty feet away now, and Lane was still working the pedal before she tried the key again. When the engine caught this time, she pushed the pedal to the floor and the rev counter needle flew into the red zone. Small reached the car and began banging savagely on the bonnet – it wasn’t clear why – and then he lunged for the driver’s door as the car began to reverse away down the drive. His wrist caught behind the wing mirror and the car began to drag him along – they could hear him shouting in pain above the noise of the engine, and then he fell face-down onto the drive.

  As the car swung out backwards onto the road, Lane was looking at the man struggling to his feet again.

  ‘He’s not having the best of days, is he?’

  She drove rapidly, racing up through the gears, but when they reached the T junction that led onto the main road of the village, Lane stopped and fixed her attention on the rear-view mirror. Emily asked why and got no answer, so she turned to look back down the road herself.

  They had travelled perhaps a hundred yards. Small was standing on the pavement outside her house, still waving his arms about in anger, the pathetic man, instead of calling an ambulance. And then she realised that he was waving to someone, angrily beckoning someone from further back along the road. A blue car appeared, a large blue car, and Small went around it, opened the passenger door and got in.

  Lane pulled away quickly, turning sharply right, and the tyres squealed. The familiar houses and buildings became a blur, and then they were climbing up the steep hill, the coombe, with the woods closing in on either side.

  After a little while Lane said, ‘In case you hadn’t realised, it’s not over yet.’

  Chapter Six

  The road twisted and turned and rose and fell for three miles as it made its way north towards the first of the holiday routes that bring tourists into the west of the West Country. Whenever she could see a hundred yards ahead, Lane had the little red Skoda up to sixty miles an hour, easing down into the next bend with a mixture of gearbox and brakes. The car had never been driven like this in its life, and Emily Willows clung on to the courtesy handle above the passenger door, convinced that sooner rather than later the vehicle would slide off the road and crash into the trees.

  Twice she saw Lane take a hand from the wheel and reach downwards into her lap but it came back empty each time as she had to steer into another bend. After the second occasion, and once round the bend, Lane said, ‘Undo my jeans.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Undo my jeans and pull the zip down. I can do the rest.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, but I don’t…’

  The car shot past Mr Trebrowne’s dairy on the right – in fact, she caught a glimpse of him looking over the wall at the speeding car, and he might well have recognised it as belonging to Mrs Willows of Polcoombe. How would she ever explain all this to people?

  Lane said, in the same level, matter-of-fact voice that she had used after shooting the man in Emily’s hallway, ‘It’s where I hid my phone. Now would be a good time to make a call. You either unzip my jeans or increase the risk of us ending up wrapped around a tree.’

  Emily did as she was told, Lane lifting her backside off the seat so that the zip could be taken down further. Another bend and then Lane was fishing around with her right hand until she managed to extract the mobile phone. Then she held it towards Emily.

  ‘You had a phone all the time. Couldn’t you have…?’

  ‘When? Turns out stashing it was one of my better ideas today. I put it onto silent but forgot to turn off vibrate. That could have been awkward, couldn’t it?’

  She hardly ever smiled, Lane; Emily had realised that already, and it was impossible to tell when she was making a joke. Now Lane was driving one-handed, waiting for Emily to take the phone.

  She did, between a finger and thumb, and said, ‘Well, this isn’t very hygienic, is it?’

  ‘I shower every day, if that’s any help. Call someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  Lane didn’t answer immediately – she was looking hard into the rear-view mirror. Then she said to herself as much as to anyone else, ‘A couple of glimpses of them, that’s all. They’re hanging back. Why?’

  And then to Emily, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Start ringing your relatives and saying goodbye, just in case? Phone the garage and say the car seems fine now? The speaking clock? Nine, nine, nine?’

  Emily pressed the key three times and told herself that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. Then she said, ‘When I get through, what do I say? That’s not a stupid question. Where do I start? You seem to have some idea what to do in these situations.’

  They were on the long straight incline down to the main road, and Lane was leaving the braking until the last moment. It was a dual carriageway ahead, their own road feeding in from the left, but Lane said, ‘Bodmin left, Liskeard right, yes?’

  Emily frowned as she listened to the call connecting.

  ‘Yes. But you can’t turn right. It’s a dual…’

  Lane brought the car to a screeching halt, pointing straight across both carriageways. There was no gap in the central barrier but for a moment she seemed to be contemplating driving through it anyway – then she turned hard left as she raised the clutch pedal and accelerated again.

  ‘OK, Bodmin. If anyone ever answers, tell them which road we’re on and where we’re heading. Tell them there’s been a shooting at your house and that we’re being pursued by the people who did it.’

  Lane glanced to her left and read the questions in Emily’s face.

  ‘I know that isn’t strictly true. I’d rather explain later. We’ve got company again.’

  Lane was watching the rear-view mirror as she continued to accelerate. Then she said, ‘They’ll want various other details, and they’ll probably ask you to keep the line open. Tell them we’re heading for the police station in Bodmin, and what’s going on behind us.’

  Emily could hear a woman’s voice on the line now, and things went very much as Lane had predicted. The only thing she was asked to repeat for confirmation was that there had been a shooting, and she was not surprised – this is Cornwall, after all. She had been present when it took place fifteen minutes ago but she could hardly believe it herself.

  The speedometer climbed to past seventy but still Lane was pushing it higher. Eighty… Eighty five. Emily Willows had no idea that her little red car could go so fast.

  She said grimly, ‘It’s a good thing there’s hardly any traffic.’

  ‘No, bad thing. That Volvo does 130 or 140 tops and they’ve got the room to come past us whenever they want. They must have realised what we’re going to do, so they have to make that move in the next ten minutes. Unless they intend just to run us off the road and finish it that way.’

  Emily looked back over her shoulder. The car was eighty or ninety yards behind them, and Lane was right, it was keeping its distance – there was no other vehicle in between. In her ear she could hear the call-handler’s voice trying to reassure her, and other voices further back, shouting and sounding very busy, but she ignored all that for a moment and said to Lane, ‘Run us off the road? You mean make us crash? Surely if they want us as hostages…?’

  Oh, Lane does smile occasionally but apparently only at the naivete of others.


  ‘First, they never did want us as hostages, so I’m surplus to requirements. Second, things might have moved on and this might now be more about eliminating witnesses. And third,’ pausing briefly to steer into a wide right-hand bend at almost ninety miles an hour, ‘we have to remember that, incredible as it might seem, the brains of this particular bit of the operation is bleeding out in your hallway. I doubt if the two behind us can muster a GCSE in Art between them but one of them is really big and really pissed off.’

  Somehow she still found a split second to glance at Emily and say, ‘Pardon my French.’

  The call-handler was asking for more information. Emily looked into the mirror before she said, ‘I can’t read the registration – it’s too far away and we’re going too fast.’

  Then came another patiently-asked question – these people are so good under pressure, she thought, it’s all the training – to which she replied, ‘Well, it’s blue… And it’s a Volvo,’ remembering what Lane had said earlier.

  Lane said then, without looking, ‘It’s an S60,’ and Emily repeated the information.

  She listened and after a moment said to Lane, ‘She says we’re doing really well.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘She says help is on its way.’

  ‘Even better.’

  Another two or three minutes, another three or four miles covered, and by Lane’s estimation they were getting close to the outskirts of the town of Bodmin – more traffic, more witnesses, more CCTV. If they could get there, they might be safe. A police BMW shot by on the other carriageway and she saw the driver looking across – they would be heading up to get behind the Volvo; if they managed that, it was game over for their pursuers. She allowed herself to think that they had made it, and before she could rebuke herself things happened very quickly indeed.

  A red Golf GTI appeared from nowhere and overtook the Volvo, continued down the outside lane and passed them before pulling in front and slowing down. Emily said, ‘Is it the police?’

  Lane could see two figures in the Golf. Instinct told her that the answer to the question was a negative one – an interception would have targeted the car behind, surely. The Golf was braking hard, forcing her to do the same and before she looked into the rear-view, she knew what she would see; the Volvo was coming up fast behind. They were being boxed in.

  She said to Emily Willows, ‘Tell your new friend there’s a second vehicle involved now. Red Golf GTI, registration – well, I hope you can see for yourself, it should be close enough as long as you’re up-to-date with your eye tests.’

  As she spoke into the phone, Emily glanced back and realised what was happening. Then she looked down into the space beneath the dashboard and said uncertainly, ‘We still have the gun…’

  Forced to slow down now, Lane swung the car out from behind the Golf but they were too quick, following suit and blocking the escape. But she stayed there, in the outside lane, her eyes searching far down the road.

  ‘Oh. You want me to shoot some more people now?’

  Emily was silent and suddenly afraid again. They were slowing down, the needle falling from seventy to sixty to fifty, and the cars in front and behind were edging closer.

  Lane said, ‘Sorry, no need for that. Here’s the situation; I count two men behind and two in front. There are two more shots in the gun – I checked. Waving it about might discourage them a bit but even if I nail two of them, there will be two left. Still not great odds.’

  Emily Willows watched her companion then for a few moments. Lane’s eyes moved systematically from the car in front to the rear-view mirror and then back to the road ahead, as if she was searching for something in particular. She was concentrating, frowning, but didn’t look afraid – she didn’t look afraid at all, and for Emily at that moment this was the oddest thing of all.

  Lane said, ‘Open your window and have a look upwards. Is there a helicopter?’

  The men would see her do this of course, but her best hope, her only hope, was to do exactly as Lane said; there was no doubt about that now.

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Just a thought.’

  A black van came down the inside lane, passing them and blaring its horn at the strange behaviour of the three vehicles. This seemed to trigger a response from the Golf, which slowed again dramatically, forcing Lane to follow suit – for a moment there were only inches between the two vehicles, and then the Volvo was only feet behind. They were trapped.

  Then Lane said in a whisper, ‘At last!’

  She was staring intently ahead. They were on a left-hand bend which was opening out into a straight. Emily could see nothing.

  ‘OK, Emily. If you were wearing a hat, I’d be telling you to hold onto it. Reach down and pick up the gun. You don’t have to shoot anyone. I just don’t want it flying about if this goes wrong and I roll the car.’

  ‘What are you going to do? I…’

  But she could see it then as she got hold of the gun, the gap in the central reservation, and the hatched area of road surface where one vehicle could wait in relative safety. Beyond the eastbound carriageway she could also see a single-track road leading away opposite the crossing point – this must have been put in place for a farm when the road was originally constructed.

  Lane was allowing the Skoda to drift into the middle of the road – there was a momentary pause before the Golf followed suit, and a slight space had emerged ahead of them. The gap was no more than fifty yards ahead, and Lane braked firmly, the needle dropping to thirty five, thirty… Behind, the Volvo had backed away a little, anticipating something but not guessing correctly.

  Twenty five, twenty – and then Lane took her foot off the brake, revved as she de-clutched and pulled on the handbrake. The front wheels held position but the rear of the car slewed to the right – the wrong way, surely. But Lane spun the steering wheel, the skid was corrected and the Skoda shuddered to a halt crossways, perfectly in line with the gap in the central reservation. Emily had been thrown first forward and then sideways against the passenger door. The gun became suddenly very heavy and she let go of the phone so that she could hold the weapon with two hands. There was a long, angry blast on a horn, and a huge lorry thundered behind them, half on the verge as it managed to avoid the rear of the car.

  Further down the road, the Golf was stopping but it was at least sixty, maybe seventy yards away. Another car, a white Mazda saloon, squeezed between the front of the Skoda and the barrier, another blast of horn and then, as they watched, the driver of the Mazda realised that the Golf was slowly reversing back up the outside lane. He or she braked immediately but a little too firmly, and the Mazda slid gracefully into the rear of the Golf.

  At first Emily could see no sign of the Volvo but then she followed Lane’s gaze and saw it up on the grass verge not quite so far away - maybe fifty yards further along. Lane revved again, pushed the gearbox into first and went through the space onto the opposite carriageway – there was a bang and a scraping sound down the driver’s side as she caught the end of the metal barrier.

  An iron gate blocked the entrance to the farmer’s road, and so Lane turned right onto the main carriageway, and began racing up through the gears again. Emily was simply speechless.

  Lane said, ‘If the line’s still open, you’d better update control on the situation. We’re heading for Liskeard now.’

  Emily reached down for the phone that lay near her feet. The screen was dark. She shook it a little and tapped it a little with no particular aim in mind – it was an iPhone thing and she had never seen the need to spend that much money on a mobile. She told Lane, and was ordered to press the central button below the screen. There was a flickering – on momentarily, then off, then on again. She half-shouted – she didn’t know why – and was relieved to hear that the voice was still there, asking what had happened and whether they were alright. When she had finished the update, Lane said, ‘And while you’re at it, ask them if they’ve only got one bloody police vehicl
e in the county! If so, we’re behind it now!’

  Emily thought that she most certainly would not say any such thing, and Lane had said it loudly enough for the woman to have heard anyway, but she did inquire whether they could expect help any time soon. She was told that an armed response team had been mobilised. They were to drive quickly but safely and to stay on the main route; their phone signal was being monitored now.

  Lane appeared to be back in control of her temper. She said after a silence, ‘Sorry about your door.’

  ‘In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter, does it? Especially today.’

  ‘Should be an interesting insurance claim, though.’

  ‘Yes. Particularly as it will be the first I’ve ever made.’

  ‘Seriously? How long have you been driving?’

  Emily thought and then said, ‘Thirty one years.’

  ‘And you’ve never claimed anything? Wow…’

  Wow? Wow? What were they doing having a conversation about car insurance when… Emily looked down and saw that she still had the gun in her left hand. She loosened her grip on it and said, ‘What shall I do with this?’

  ‘Stick it in the glove compartment. With any luck, we won’t need it now.’

  ‘Luck? Surely you don’t think they’ll continue this? The red car was hit. I do hope the people behind weren’t hurt.’

  After a while, and with no response from Lane, Emily Willows said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, where exactly did you learn to do that, with the car?’

  Lane was back in the routine again, checking the mirrors every few seconds and watching the road far ahead.

  ‘The handbrake turn? I was a big fan of ‘Life on Mars’. Remember it on the TV? They used to do it all the time in the Quattro.’

  It was a nonsensical answer – as if one could learn such a thing from watching television. After a time, Lane sensed that she was being regarded, glanced across and said, ‘We’re about eight or nine miles from Liskeard, aren’t we?’

  ‘Closer to twelve.’