Dark Road by Chris Curran
My life ended on a dark road. A road that gleamed and twisted beneath the shadows of trees and cloud. Twin beams shone ahead, and two faces flashed in a dim mirror. Then the pinpoints of cats’ eyes swerved suddenly away – and – a stab of brilliance, a sun in the night, and a chaos of jolting, screeching and skidding.
Do I remember, or imagine, the stunned horror? The violent burst of the airbag against my face, my teeth grinding into my tongue, the screams, the pain, the heat – the last, desperate struggle? I don’t know. I do know how good it was to let myself sink away from it all.
Into silence. Into oblivion.
But they made me come back, the cool, hated hands, and, after five years of worse than purgatory, here was another road; a bright road, spooling away in mirages of sparkling water.
‘OK Clare? Won't be long now.’ Alice must have seen my knuckles, white, on the edge of my seat. I pulled down the sun guard; my eyes, in the tiny vanity mirror, flinching from the speed and the sun into a million creases I’d never noticed before. My mouth was sticky, a foul taste at the comers, my thighs damp as I shifted on the seat that hugged me too close. Something cold shocked my burning hand — Alice nudging me with a plastic bottle. ‘Here you must be thirsty.’
The water, sharply carbonated, stung my mouth and throat, replacing the sourness of the bile on my tongue with a harsh metallic taste. Alice leaned closer and I flinched towards my window, as she twisted a dial and the car's fan whirred louder. Was it another tiny movement from my sister, or my own instincts that had my eyes flying open as we approached the turn off for Lamberhurst? This time her hand touched my knee, and if she felt me recoil she didn’t show it. ‘It’s O.K. I won't force you, I haven’t told him it’s today. And maybe it is better to wait till you’re settled.’
I breathed again as we headed on, the road curling its way through the heat, the tarmac shining. Another swig from the bottle, but the gassy stuff seemed to dry rather than moisten my mouth. There was acid in my throat now, and the threat of nausea. ‘Alice, sorry, I need to stop.’
She pulled into a pub car park and I was out, legs trembling, one hand at my mouth whilst the other tore at the stiffness of my shirt and the cling of my jeans. Alice walked briskly round to open the boot. ‘Look why don't you put on something cooler. Pop into the loo here, and I'll get us a drink and some lunch.’ The thought of food had my gorge rising again, but I pulled out the holdall and followed her.
The toilets were cool and clean, a bowl of potpourri between the two sinks, but as I rifled through my clothes, the prison odour that lingered on them was enough to overwhelm the faint scent of lavender. My face in the mirror was bleached stone beneath the mop of dark curls, and when I pinched my cheeks and ran my fingers through my hair it made no difference. I pulled out a thin blouse and cotton trousers, and locked myself in the cubicle to strip off. The floor was cool under my bare feet, and I rested my head on the metal door until the chill brought on a flurry of shivers.
All the same I felt better for the change. But in the bar panic rose again. The place had been tarted up, with gleaming floorboards, leather sofas and pine tables, but there was no sign of Alice. I placed the conspicuous bag on the floor, my armpits prickling as I scanned the room. 'Don't look so scared darling. Your friend's outside.' I recognised that look. You get it even in jail. The one that imagines fucking you, making you squirm. I wanted to tell him what I was – to warn him – but instead I clenched my teeth and went out through the French windows.
She was sitting on a balcony by a narrow stream, her blue dress hanging over the edge of the wicker chair, pale legs in strappy sandals stretched out before her. Slinging my bag down on one seat and myself on another, I tried a smile as she motioned to the drinks. ‘I got you still water.’ She raised her own glass, full of white bubbles. ‘Ordered us some sandwiches too; you should have something.’
I took a sip, grateful for an excuse not to speak, or look at the girl who approached with two plates. ‘Tuna or cheese and tomato?’
Alice smiled up at her, and then back at me. ‘Oh we'll share shall we Clare?’ For all the world as if we were friends out for a summer's jaunt in the country. Two men in suits glanced over at us, as they brought their drinks to a table alongside; the younger giving Alice's long legs an appreciative look up and down. She tucked them under her chair, with a small smile, and his glance flickered to me for an instant, before returning to his pint.
We were nothing like sisters, of course, and I wondered if we even passed for friends. Alice's simple dress shouted its designer label, and her hair dropped like pale water over the back of her chair; I knew my own was tousled enough to match my creased trousers and shabby trainers.
She rattled a set of keys in the air before passing them to me. ‘I hope the flat's OK I paid six months' rent in advance, so no need to worry about that for a bit.’
‘Thanks, I'll pay you back as soon as I get a job.’
‘There's no need Clare. It's your money as well as mine.’ I shook my head, but said nothing more; we had been over this too many times, and she knew how I felt. ‘Anyway, I've mentioned you to a friend who owns a shop nearby. She might have some work for you, if you're interested.’
‘What did you tell her … about me I mean?’ The reality of my future life had my heart thumping.
‘The truth – more or less.’
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