Wrong Turn

It is eight sharp on New Year’s Eve 1966. You wish that the bus would run a little late and you would still catch it. The sky is pouring with a heavy hand and your textile covered suitcase is already soaked and dripping from its’ edges as it swings carelessly on your left hand. As you reach the bus station you realize that actually they are running on holiday schedule and there would be no ride for another hour.

         Disappointed and angry you rethink your plan. Should you visit Pontac at all before leaving to St. Helier? But your friends would want to bid farewell. You want to say goodbye. You would need to leave your waitress job and the island the soonest possible. Thought of hiding through the holidays visits your mind since you know the first ship to Portsmouth departs only on the second of next year. Your heart is pounding and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

         Would you be safe with your friends this evening? Would he find you before you managed to escape first thing tomorrow? You felt he didn’t believe you, when you said you’d keep your mouth shut and just leave Jersey once and for all. He thinks you will go telling the police about the other girls. About the whole thing. You don’t know how far his power reaches on this island.

         As you see the fog thickening and taking the streets on its’ ghostly grasp, a fancy car pulls in front of to the bus station. You recognize the driver. It’s your friend and old neighbor, Graham.

-Good evening, darling! There are no busses really running tonight, are they? He greets you with a smile.

-No, not for another hour, you reply and are relieved it is him who spotted you.

-Where are you headed? Hop in, I’ll drive you, Graham says casually.

- To the Pontac House Hotel, you reveal to him and he jumps from the car to put your suitcase to the trunk.  Always a gentleman. You notice the rain coat on him and wonder why we wore it while driving the dry car on party night like this.

-Thank you, Graham, this is awfully nice of you.

         You sit down to the front seat and try not to wet everything. The windows are steamy and it’s hard to see outside. You take off your gloves and wipe your wet face with a handkerchief. The small transparent rain hood didn’t really protect you, only your hair-do.

-Are you staying long in Pontac with the suitcase and all? Graham chats along.

         You don’t want to answer, but you know you need to come up with something. You shift your delicate leather gloves from hand to another.

-No, just over the turn of the year. As the weather is like this, you need spare clothing, you try to justify.

-What are your plans for this evening? You shift the focus on him hoping he will go on chatting since he is a talkative type.

-Yes, there is a party at Hotel Southampton. I am going there later on after I pick up some friends. Actually, I’m surprised that you are not coming. It will be a great event!

         You wince. The topic didn’t change from your point of view at all. The rain beats on the windscreen constantly. Staring at the inefficient swipers you try to collect yourself and keep your hands from trembling on your lap.

         Graham glimpses you briefly from the corner of his eye, still keeping his look on the road. Did you pick up  a sense of nervousness?  It seems that he’ll take the faster inland tour, which couldn’t suit you better.

-I decided to have more quiet New Year’s celebration, you just say and hope it’ll be enough of an explanation.

         The car passes the Botanic Gardens at Samarès Manor on the left. They look depressed and haunted on this evening. Nothing like the sunny days last May, you recollect followed by a sad thought, that you’ll have to leave the beauty of the island behind you.

-Who needs a quiet party, says Graham just to sake of saying something.

         He goes on babbling about the car, a Vauxhall Aspire that he has borrowed from a friend. He says it is not common hereabouts and surely ladies will want to have a ride in it the upcoming summer. You are too stressed to out to listen to him, but at least his voice gives you some comfort.

         Then you realize that Graham made an error by turning left instead of taking the right on the crossing which takes you to Pontac.

-Hey, you took the wrong turn! You shout out because you can’t keep your cool.

-Oh, did I? Graham looks at you with a wondering eye.

You become to panic. You freeze.

-Well, no worries, I’ll just turn around in the next possible junction, he says to you and drives on.

         The road is narrow and slippery farm road that leads to pastures. Then, finally there is a turning point made for carriages and tractors. Graham pulls the car to the turning point and reverses so you can return to the missed crossing and get to Pontac as planned.

         The car tires roll and spin, but they are not moving. The engine screams, but only slightly, you notice.

-Looks like we’re stuck, he says and gets out the car. You wait and feel the car jerking as he tries to push the car with no success.

         As he walks in front of the car you see him on the shaft of the headlights. He has his green oil canvas jacket on and his moustache are getting wet from their ends. He looks somehow absent. There is something on his hands.

-Mind giving me a hand, the bloody thing is not moving, Graham asks when opening the door. You comply and get out of the car, since you want to get to your friends from this terrible weather and raise a glass to New Year.

         He hits you with the pasture pole from behind. You stumble and he hits your beautiful face again and again, crushing and battering it until no one can recognize you. You fall and lay down to your eternal bed on the muddy ground.