Lost

Lost

I wanted to cry. I cupped my hands on the cold windowpane, squinting at the dark frosted world outside. Nothing.

Great, trapped in a bloody blizzard.

Nothing there except the stalking trees and shifting shadows.

Come on. Come on!

I turned the key in the ignition holding firmly as the engine turned over. It was no use. A tear dripped down from my eye as I reached for my phone. I watched and waited as my finger clamped hard on the thin button on the side. There was no signal. No hope of rescue. The only thing I could see was the thin long stretch of the motorway covered by a black cloud.

I tried turning the engine again. And again, and again. Until finally... no luck. I gripped the steering wheel, angrily thrashing my body back into the seat. My heart thumped rapidly as I attempted to catch my breath and wiped away the tears on the end of my sleeve.

I’ll have to just get out and look.

I lingered swearing at the world in my head before opening the door. The wind pushed it back, almost catching my finger as it forced it closed after me.

What a brilliant day to wear heels.

I stepped carefully; water seeped through the suede material of my ankle boots. My toes curled from the cold. As I walked around the front of the car, I leant hard on the bonnet feeling my way around in the dark. My eyes dropped to the front left wheel. The car had fallen off the road caught in a deep pothole hidden under a mountain of snow.

Perfect! Just bloody perfect.

I crouched down wiping the tip of my runny nose of the end of my sleeve. My back towards the forest. My chest hugged my knees for support. Torch. Phone torch. I fumbled for a second stabbing at the cold screen turning the bright torch toward the wheel.

Snow. The wheel was surrounded in thick layers of snow wrapped around it like a police clamp. Shit. I cupped my hands digging at it hoping to free it. My fingers shivered as tiny snowflakes clinged to my skin and then melted softly in defeat. The wind’s cold kiss coloured my cheeks, like it was comforting me. My body felt numb, as the cold bit my skin.

My eyes twitched as tiny slit of silver metal peered out through the snow. Yes! I smiled slightly still dripping with tears that had started to freeze. The wind howled at me, stalking me, wearing me out like a predator ready to pounce.

That enough. Try the engine. Turn the key. Come on.

Yanking hard at the passenger side door above. Harder and harder. It’s locked.

I felt the shadows herding me. Watching my every move like an audience in a cinema. I crept around the front again holding the torch Shakely in my grip. Sliding my hand under the fresh blanket of snow that rested peacefully on the cold bonnet.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, I could see the light of the torch thinning out. Getting Darker and Darker and Darker; until finally, the screen flashed an empty red battery symbol at me, I watched as it crumbled back into the darkness.

No, no, no! Not now, not yet please!

I pulled open the driver's door the wind fighting like a prison guard pushing me into a cell. It slammed behind me. The roar of the wind turned to a muffled static.

I thought of my family; of my little girl at home asleep in her bed. My husband on the sofa gripping his phone impatiently, waiting for me to call. His leg would bob up and down frantically, while he bit the nail on his left index finger. He often did that. I imagined he had the number for the police in the keypad. Ready... waiting... watching the clock as it ticked and tocked through the hand-painted Roman numerals.

Come on! Stupid car! I turned the key again. The engine churned and groaned until it stopped.

Nothing, but the taunting howls of the wind.

Switching the key back, I pulled it out as I held my forehead in my palms. Dangling it on the edge of my finger. My throat dry; I swallowed my breath, sobbing as I looked at my knees.

I screamed flapping my arms around throwing the keys at the seat next to me. My voiced croaked and my scream turned back to thick breath again.

Small crystals frosted the windscreen. The heat from my breath painted a polka-dot on the inside on the window. There was only one thing to do.

On the backseat I unzipped my duffle bag pulling out my spare change of clothes.

One pair of black thermal leggings.

One pair of fluffy socks.

One normal pair of white ankle socks.

Two thin long sleeve cropped t-shirts.

One large, oversized navy-blue woolly jumper with a hood.

One pair of white Nike trainers.

I kept the tights, socks and vest top I was already wearing, removing my red dress and then layered each item under the long black coat I had borrowed from my husband. My body shaking as it felt the chilly air surrounding it.

I reached for the glove box pulling out a small metal torch you had to twist to turn on. I pulled out the extra batteries that my husband had left the last time Annie’s annoying toy ran out, we had a screaming fit the whole was home. I counted: One, two, three... shit only three.

I grabbed my water bottle taking the last sips it contained before dropping it on the passenger's seat. I searched the glove box again.

Map... map, where is the map?

I hung my head, and I felt the empty space.

No map... great.

Just as well, I didn’t take much notice of where I was before the car’s satnav died. I put my phone in my pocket hoping that it will have a sudden miracle burst of life. And then, there was only one thing for me to do: I opened the door fighting the wind again and walked off towards the darkness.

*

I felt like I was walking on clouds. The thin, delicate powder beneath my feet shifted under the weight of cold limbs. I hugged myself, rubbing the surface of my thick coat. As if I thought it would help.

I shook my head attempting to erase the negative thoughts that creaked closer and closer to the front of my brain.

No- comfort, warmth.

The snowflakes danced in front of me almost forming shapes like clouds on a perfect summers' day. One shaped like an old-fashioned stone fireplace with mismatched stones unevenly built around a flailing flame.

There was one shaped like the large lazy dog that would look at everyone who walked in. I remember that dog, it was always curled up underneath a table in the corner beside a touchy couple on their weekly night out. I tried to picture the pub: all the times we went out for our own date night. There was a bartender: Alfie, he was Angie’s kid. He would be cleaning different-sized tumblers and pint glasses, as he watched out for who he would serve next.

My stomach rumbled and I folded my arm around my waist, chattering my teeth like the baseline of the wind's symphony. I imagined walking in to be handed a large roast platter, fresh from the oven, evidenced by the crisp steam radiating off the golden potatoes and gravy. I watched every detail of the inn I had painted in my head, wishing, and praying I would walk into one any second now.

My pace picked up. My eyes cautiously scouted at the woods that lined the motorway. Inspecting each tree and each shadow waiting for something to attack me or a large animal to appear. They say your life flashes through your mind just before you die. I tried to think of the first memory that was in my head.

My wedding day- that feeling of sweating through the ivory lace. Maddie, my maid of honour cooling me down with the cold setting of the hair dryer. It didn’t help but I was focusing more on the white noise it made. The frantic search for water-proof mascara because I was panicking that I would cry, and it would smudge. I remember that day so clearly, everything I thought could go wrong did.

That panic only left my body when I saw him there. Charlie. His hair in small distinct curls bouncing in the breeze, that made the whole wedding smell like the large pink and white lilies that decorated the venue.

My mother still tells me she wished I chose roses. But I never liked them.

They were too expensive anyway. We were saving up for our honeymoon.

We never did get to go. We had planned to go once Annie has become more confident in school. She had been getting bullied. Kids are dicks these days.

When I was a kid, we were taught: ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ Although now I start to panic if another mum at school pick-up looks at me the wrong way when I wear the same top as yesterday. Don’t worry mum’s, I've showered.

*

There was a stick that cracked in the distance; the wailing wind tried to disguise it- but I know what I heard. I stopped looking around for anything that may move. What am I doing? Keep moving!

I looked down at my shoes as I pushed through the snow, watching out for hidden puddles of ice ready to surprise me. My feet were soaking now; the soles squelched with every step. Darkness coated the road ahead. It mocked me. I wondered if there was a light just there in front of me, only to walk, and walk and still not come across anything, no buildings, no other cars, or people. Nothing.

For a second, it seemed as if I was the only person in the world. As if there was something to gain and everything to lose all at once, that apocalyptic isolation.

That phantom light was back. It had doubled now. It was a trick of the light; the moon's reflection, something like that. I would hear a loud car horn and find it barrelling towards me, using its lights as a lighthouse guiding me to civilisation or, scanning for me in hope that I could be rescued. The light started to dim until they faded back to one misty blur in the distance. I kept walking

It was colder now; the air was bitter and sharp. Almost dehydrating. I swallowed a few times to try and moisten my throat. It didn't really help. My calf started to ache; out of energy I started walking slower. A tear tried to escape, and I cried out loudly: ‘Help! Please someone.’ I wanted to scream it as if I were being attacked. Maybe then someone would hear me.

I’ve always been afraid of the dark. When Annie started walking to school, I would follow her, not too close, but behind making sure that she looked left and right, like I was afraid of daytime too. I remember putting a bright neon green slap band around her wrist with my phone number in thick sharpy in case she was ever lost. Charlie said I was mad, deranged- that I was ‘smothering’ her.

My grandma told me when I was her age that if I was ever in trouble:

‘Scream Mum as loud as you can, and you are more likely to get help then just shouting help. At the very least you should have a few women running up to find you.’

I would try it now, but I don’t think it would work. I thought about all the horror films I watched with Charlie when we first started dating.

Maybe I shouldn't draw attention to myself.

My body wobbled from side to side slightly as I pressed on through the clumped snow; which was now up to my ankles. I thought of the Christmas tree in the bay window in the lounge. The family bells are strung up on pine branches. Silver ringing bells that had all our names inscribed. ‘Mummy, Daddy, Annabel.’ I could almost hear them ringing. A sharp note passed the side of my ear as if it were in the distance. I flicked to the woods to see if I could see a light or listen to the shout of a man driving a dog sled. Anything.

No lights shone; no driver let out a shout. But the bells still rung. that must be something, I thought. I listened attempting to isolate the sound and pinpoint its location. The bell rung clearer and louder. It only took a second, I heard them. I heard them! “Carol singers!” Sprinting, I made my way towards the sound and what I hope was salvation and a working phone. I stopped at the start of a road that led off from the left.

I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t even notice that fairy lights stretched between the buildings that lined the street. Or the small Christmas trees hanging out of the walls.

‘Help please. Anyone!’

I could hear them singing. I followed the sound. They stood in a line in front of what I assumed was the local pub. I read the wooden sign hanging above the door:

The leopard’s spot.

A small wonky building with oak features painted black and white stone walls.

I pushed my way inside to the waft of warm air from the roaring fireplace. I looked around panicked for anyone with a working mobile phone. It took seconds for the bartender to lock eyes with me. A short plump woman with gorgeous rosy cheeks and a bright Christmas cardigan. She waddled over and took my hand.

‘My dear, are you alright?’ She had a charming smile I could not help but cry.

‘I need to call my husband; my car broke, down and my phone, is dead.’ I tried catching my breath, but I couldn’t. Tear pouring down my face again. Within seconds, she took out her phone, unlocked it and then offered it to me.

‘Here pet, call who you need, and I’ll get you a warming cup of mulled cider.’ I shivered as I sat down. ‘Oh, maybe a bucket!’ She said with a chuckle as she went. “-And I’ll grab you a blanket.” The phone rang...

‘Hello-’

‘Evaline?’