So Charlie had been in no doubt he’d see familiar faces in the bar, a few individuals who knew his name, would speak to him to say hello and would remember he was there. The landlord had a good memory for customers, and was always sober, even if none of his regulars were.
As soon as he got the first whisky in his hand, he’d begun to feel a bit more comfortable. The man in the red rain jacket had scared him, he had to admit. The thought that the stranger had come out of the woods made him go cold. He and Sheena had been in there only a few minutes before. He couldn’t stand the idea that the man in the red jacket might have been a lurking presence, watching them all the time. What a bastard. He ought to be locked up.
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? It would involve talking to the police, and telling the story. The one thing that Charlie couldn’t do.
He checked his phone for messages while he waited for the garage door to complete its arc. When it had stopped, he put the phone back in his pocket and looked up and down the road impatiently. He was supposed to be giving Barbara a lift this morning, dropping her off at the hairdresser’s in the Market Place to get her roots done. She was scared to death of reverting to her natural colour. He couldn’t even remember what it was now.
Sheena had been terrified on that roadside last night too. She’d told him many times that she was sensitive, that she could detect things about people by some sixth sense. It wasn’t quite like reading auras, she said, but close to it. Dean didn’t know what auras were, or how you’d read one, but he didn’t say so. It was easier just to let Sheena talk when she got going. If she was interrupted, she got confused, and then tetchy. So he’d allowed her to tell him over and over again about this business of her sensitivity. She’d look at someone and say they were sad, or that she had a positive feeling about them. And Dean would nod and grunt, as if he understood. It was enough for her.
But when they’d stood by the side of the road that night and the stranger’s car had pulled up behind them, he’d noticed an expression on her face that he’d never seen before. She looked like one of those young women in a horror film when they see the monster for the first time, or hear the deranged killer approaching. In the car headlights, he’d seen the pale oval of her face, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. Terror and dread. The frozen rabbit expression.
And for the first time, he’d believed that she might be sensitive about people. Because he’d felt it himself a few moments later, a sensation like a dark shadow falling across him, even though it was night-time. A chill that struck to his heart and made the tiny hairs stand up on the back of his neck. My God, he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Charlie noticed Barbara standing in the lounge watching him through the window. She’d be wondering what he was up to, as usual. She was on the phone, of course, chatting to one of her friends, and no doubt complaining about him. But rather than concentrating on the conversation, she’d moved to a position where her eyes were fixed on his movements, staring with hawk-like intensity. She was gossiping about him and spying on him at the same time. And probably making an obscene gesture towards him with her other hand. He supposed she would call that multitasking.
He gave her a thin smile and rotated his finger in a ‘hurry up’ sign. But she stared straight through him and carried on talking. Charlie sighed. He and Barbara had been married for ten years and he’d been experiencing the seven-year itch for nine of them.
Last night in the pub, he’d taken a long gulp of Scotch and tried to think seriously about his relationship with Sheena. They’d met on a driving course at a hotel in Chesterfield. That was ironic. It was like a reversal of speed dating. They’d both moved a bit too fast once, driven over some artificial speed limit by a few miles an hour on an empty road, and got caught by one of those damn cameras. They’d had to sit in a classroom for four hours and be lectured about what naughty children they were. He liked to refer to it enigmatically as an SAS course. Let people interpret it in any way they wanted. He knew that SAS stood for Speed Awareness Scheme.
But four hours. And no driving involved.
‘What?’ he asked a mate who’d done the course before. ‘So that’s four hours doing … what? Sitting in a classroom being lectured?’
‘You get to watch a video.’
‘Oh, great.’
Four hours. It was enough to make you want to jump in your car and put your foot flat down on the pedal, just to prove that the rest of the world didn’t move so slowly. Four hours. It felt more like a year off his life. He hadn’t been kept in detention since his last year at school, and that wasn’t for four sodding hours. He could have reported the school for breaching his human rights, if they’d tried it. But because his car registration number appeared on that camera, he was stuck in a room all afternoon to avoid getting three penalty points on his licence. It would have been terminally boring without Sheena to look at. Their speed had led to their meeting, but their first encounter had been slow.