The Drive Home

The party had been a big success; friends and family celebrating the golden wedding anniversary with a barbecue in the beautifully landscaped gardens of her grandparents house. They had hoped that the party would go on until the evening, but the weather had intervened. Now everyone just seemed to decide that it was a convenient time to leave; so they finished their wine quickly, and they left to drive home. They would be home sooner than they had intended but it did not really matter.

Things had rather petered out after the thunderstorm; although it had only lasted for ten minutes or so, the rain had been torrential. Now the sun was beginning to assert its dominance in the sky once more as the large banks of grey clouds rolled away. The air was fresh now; the humid heat of the day washed away leaving the unmistakable smell of the damp ground. The sound of the thunder fading all the time with only a hint of the wild lightening that had rent the sky with vivid streaks only a few minutes earlier.

They had hoped to wait for a few hours after the wine that they had drunk, but they did not want to be the only guests remaining. Anyway it had only been four glasses, and the drive home was through the back lanes so the chances of meeting a police car were minimal. The only place that a police car might be encountered was where the lane crossed the dual carriageway, but at seven o'clock on a summer's evening it was very unlikely.

Their son was happy sitting in his Winnie the Pooh car seat, smiling at the back of his parents' heads and talking the happy nonsense that only a two year old can talk. They settled into the comfortable leather seats, feeling as if the expensively sculpted backs were enfolding them like the safe arms of a lover. She always loved the smell of the leather it imparted that wonderful sense of luxurious elegance. The engine quietly came to life, humming smoothly, yet hinting at its power: like the deep purring of a sleeping lion.

Knowing the road well gave a sense of confidence, reinforced by the relaxed sense of well being after the excellent food and expensive chateau-bottled wine; the drive home would be quick. The little boy in the back was beginning to yawn now, ready for bed after a tiring day as the centre of attention for most of the adults. His fair hair, bleached almost blonde by the sun, was tousled and tangled, his bright blue eyes shining despite the eyelids that were obviously becoming heavy.

They turned into the lane, waving out of the open windows to the family and friends who waved their goodbyes in return. The feeling of confidence was strong now: the familiar bends in the road, the little stone bridge like an old friend waiting for them to cross it, the oak tree by the farm gate, its branches waving to them as they passed. Each familiar landmark left rapidly behind as the car sped faster in its efforts to get them home quickly.

The rabbits scurried back into the hedgerows at the approach of the hissing black behemoth, its headlamps like the eyes of a predatory hunter seeking its next meal. The crows that were feasting on the sad corpse of a previous victim hopped to the grass verge to allow the temporary interruption to their evening meal. Flocks of small birds burst from the hedges and danced in their flight along the road before dipping to the fields.

Now the car approached the gap in the hedgerow on the right hand side, where it was possible to see down the first lane of the dual carriageway. The approaching cars, or absence of them, were easily visible; time it right and it was possible to continue straight across the junction to the central reservation, without needing to stop at the sign at the end of the lane.

There was nothing to be seen through the gap. The little boy in the back was not interested in the traffic on the main road; he noticed a sign on the grass verge by his window on the left; 'Road works ahead' meant nothing to him. His parents were both looking through the gap knowing the road well and each aware that they both checked for danger, sure of their trust in each other to work together. Their confidence was undiminished, fuelled by the relaxed happiness at the end of a good day and the familiarity with the road.

Happy in the knowledge that there was nothing on the carriageway that they were crossing, the car prepared to stop in the central reservation; it rushed past the circular sign with the word 'STOP' in a red circle, confident that there was plenty of room to stop in the middle before the other carriageway, despite the wet road.

The sound of the crash was deafening inside the car, but the occupants hardly noticed.

The driver of the forty-ton juggernaut had been taking it easy, but having just come down the hill, he was still travelling at thirty-eight miles an hour. Despite his attempt to go a little faster, he reflected on the irritation that he must have been causing, slowing the progress of the other drivers in the contraflow; suddenly a black saloon leapt from a side turning on his right. He had only enough time to take his foot off the accelerator pedal, before the lorry hit the side of the car. Inside the car, the adults did not even have time to shout before the impact; in the cab of the lorry the driver saw the faces looking at him; with horror, he realised that one was a child; then he felt the pain on his legs as the bottom of the cab took the impact. There was the awful screech of torn steel scraping the tarmac, the sound of the glass breaking from windows and lights, then just as suddenly, silence: a quiet broken only by the strange creaking and ticking noises of cooling metal from exhausts and engines.

Thanks to Evanslily for checking. Any remaining errors are mine

©2008 Tory del Ricoh