Copyright Oggbashan September 2019
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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I was cursing my own impatience and stupidity. I was cold, wet and faced many more hours before I could be warm and dry. I was driving in the dark through pouring rain that sometimes became sleet. The headlights on my car were pathetic and I was peering through the windscreen to see an almost invisible road. The wipers struggled to keep the screen clear of rain, and were almost useless in the sleet. I couldn't go faster than 30 mph or I would be driving blind.
The weather protection on this open tourer would have been inadequate when it was new. Now, twenty-five years after the car had been made it was worse. The side screens didn't fit, flapped in the breeze and let water around them. The hood was mainly sound but let water in where it fitted at the top of the windscreen. That water dripped on my soaked woollen gloves and my hands that felt like blocks of ice.
It had all seemed so logical and sensible when Peter rang me at work. He was working on a project in Plymouth and staying in the company's flat. If he worked next Saturday he would finish with a week to spare and could take a holiday for the next week and still use the flat. The flat had room for several guests and the two of us could use it as a base while touring Devon and Cornwall. At worst, we could use public transport, but Peter knew I had recently passed my driving test. If I bought a cheap car, that would probably be less than the cost of a return train ticket to Plymouth and we could use it while there. OK, the insurance would mean the total was more, but I would have the car when in Plymouth and for the whole following year.
Near my office was a bomb-site car trader that specialised in very cheap but usable cars. About four of them were in my price range and any one I could drive would be suitable. That lunch time I went to look at the possibles. I ignored the large pre-war Vauxhall. The insurance would cost too much and the petrol consumption would be too high. It was a shame because it looked like a sound and very comfortable car. I liked the look of the two Morris 8 saloons of the mid 1930s but there was a severe snag with both. I and my feet were just too big. I couldn't use the clutch pedal without depressing the brake pedal too, or the accelerator without the brake. That left just one car, a Morris 8 Series E tourer of 1939. The pedals were slightly further apart than on the earlier Morris 8s and just enough for my large feet.
I arranged to buy it and insure it. At the time I was very pleased with it. In the early 1960s it was just fast enough to keep up with the traffic except on the new stretches of motorway which I would probably never use. I was only the third person in my group of early twenties friends who had their own cars. The other two owned 1930s Austin Seven saloons. I could never have driven one and even as a passenger I had to fold myself into a very uncomfortable position. My Morris 8 E was much roomier and spares and servicing were easy. I would have preferred a saloon but couldn't afford one.
As I accustomed myself to driving the Morris I was very pleased with it except that it might overheat in a queue of traffic. I knew that the A38 around Exeter could become very congested but I thought if I left London after midnight I should pass Exeter before the traffic.
+++
All might have been well but my younger sister Angela needed me. She was having a Halloween party on the Saturday night for invited friends but several recent parties had been wrecked by aggressive gate crashers. Could I be a doorman to keep everybody out except her friends, please? Of course I agreed. I liked Angela's friends and they seemed to like me. As I stood outside Angela's flat almost all the women, even if with their male escorts, kissed me. They were all in costume and some of the women were displaying more breast than they would normally. That was pleasant when pressed against me in a hug.
Angela or her flatmate, Maggie, kept me supplied with nibbles or soft drinks.
About eleven o'clock a group of drunk males approached the flat. I shut the door behind me and stood there.
One of them asked 'Is this a party?'
"Yes," I replied. "A private party for invited people all of whom have arrived."
One of the others seemed to think he would challenge my statement. The man who had spoken took a look at my size and stance and they decided to try a less well-protected event.
Just after midnight the party ended. As the guests left I was kissed and hugged again, sometimes very enthusiastically by slightly drunk young women. I felt slightly jealous of the men with them. However I felt ancient despite being only a couple of years older than the oldest. I had a responsible job as an office supervisor. Angela and her friends were either still at university or office juniors.
Angela and Maggie invited me in for a coffee which Maggie made.
"You look slightly sad, Mike," Maggie said as she put the coffee in front of me. It was an implied question.
"You and your friends make me seem old and staid," I said.
"You're not!" Maggie retorted. She jumped on my lap and kissed me passionately.
"Maggie!" Angela remonstrated. "You're engaged!"
"But Alan isn't here. Mike is, and he needs our thanks," Maggie answered.
"Thanking him is acceptable. Raping my brother isn't."
"I wouldn't and you know Mike wouldn't let me if I tried. He is my friend, and Alan's. Mike would stop me if I went too far. You would, wouldn't you, Mike?"
"Yes, Maggie," I said, lifting her off my lap and standing her up. Angela threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
"I love my big brother," Angela said, looking at Maggie.
"So do I, Angela. He is a good friend," Maggie said.
"But no more than that?" Angela said.
"True. No more than a friend we can rely on, Angela. But they are rare and need appreciation."
Maggie's hand ruffled my hair as Angela was still holding me.
"But could I drink my coffee?" I said plaintively. "I've got a long drive tonight."
A quarter of an hour later I was hugged by Angela, kissed by Maggie and I could start my journey.
+++
The first twenty miles on well-lit suburban streets were OK. As I left them behind to move on to unlit major roads it started to rain becoming heavier and heavier. About thirty miles beyond Guildford I thought I saw two white shapes beside the road in the darkness. If I had been driving faster, and if the rain hadn't temporarily eased I doubt I would have seen them. One seemed to be holding a thumb out. I stopped the car about twenty yards beyond them.
Whoever they were, at worst I could take them to the next town with street lighting where they might be seen. Where they were, they were miles from anywhere and unlikely to get a lift and the rain might start again soon. I opened the passenger door. A young female head leant in.
"Can you give us a lift?" She asked.
"Yes," I said. "This car isn't much but it goes. Get in the back, it's drier there."
She climbed in followed by another young woman. They were both wearing lightweight summer short coats that were soaked through.
