‘I’m okay.’
He leant in and offered a hand to help me clamber out, steadying me as I navigated the gap between the back of the car and the sodden grass.
Ouch.
In answer to his second question, yes, I hurt. Almost everywhere. My numb fingers found a bump on the side of my forehead, coming away smudged with blood, and I vaguely remembered my head smacking against the window as I’d bounced into the ditch. The man released one elbow, and I staggered, my knees buckling until he grabbed it again, peering anxiously into my face.
‘Are you all right to ride in my car? It’s about thirty minutes to the hospital. If I call an ambulance it could take hours to get here.’
‘No!’ I shook my head, instantly regretting it as a bolt of pain ricocheted around my skull, but my voice was a hoarse whisper and I needed him to understand. ‘I don’t need to go to hospital. I’m just stiff and a bit sore.’
I straightened my body as far as possible to prove it, biting back a wince as I took a step away from his grip, managing to stop wobbling after a couple of seconds.
‘I really think you ought to get checked out.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Thank you.’
We stood there for a moment, surrounded by the stillness of the storm’s aftermath. Murky fields stretched out beyond the verges on either side of the road, the horizon crowned with the scattered silhouettes of bare trees against a background of soft pink and gold, watery streaks of winter dawn. The man, who looked to be somewhere in his early thirties, glanced at the muddy Jeep parked a few metres away and then back to me.
‘I can drop you at the surgery then. The nurse will be able to get you cleaned up.’ He gestured at my head, frowning.
‘Honestly, it’s a few bumps and scrapes. What I really need is a hot shower and a change of clothes.’ I did my best to put on a nice, normal smile. ‘But my phone died last night so I can’t get hold of anyone. Would you have time to give me a lift to Damson Farm? I got totally lost last night, so I don’t even know what direction it’s in.’
He folded his arms, the frown deepening.
‘It’s near Ferrington. Salters Lane?’
‘I know where it is.’
Well, that was a start. Although he didn’t appear very willing to take me there.
‘Or, if you don’t have time, could I quickly borrow your phone and call a taxi?’ My weary legs wobbled again, causing me to suck in a sharp breath as pain shot up my back. I limped back a few steps and leant against the side of my car, which promptly slipped several inches further into the ditch.
‘Come on.’ The man had grabbed my arm just in time to stop me tumbling backwards into the empty space where the car had been. He started walking me over to his car, one arm around my waist as I rested my weight against his thick raincoat, too spent to argue.
‘Oh, I need my stuff!’ I only remembered this crucial information once I’d reached the Jeep and he’d helped boost me into the passenger seat. Before I could say anything else, he’d jogged back and fetched my shoulder bag. Finding the keys still in the ignition, he locked the car.
‘No, my things from the back. And the boot.’
‘I’ll fetch them later.’ He slid up into the seat next to me.
‘I really need to change my clothes.’ Or, more accurately, change into clothes that didn’t create the impression I’d absconded from a care home.
‘It’s fine.’
‘No, it really isn’t fine!’ He started the Jeep and began pulling away, leaving me beginning to wonder just who I’d willingly climbed into a vehicle with on a deserted road at no-witnesses o’clock. For all I knew he was part of this whole thing –you idiot, Eleanor!I swivelled my aching neck around to get proper look at him. Hmmm. Tufts of dark hair poking out from under his woolly hat. More than a smidgen of stubble covering a tough-looking jaw and mouth set in a firm line. Wary hazel eyes fixed on the road ahead. I didn’t think his thick, curling eyelashes were relevant to this assessment, but the faint scar slashing from his eyebrow down to his earlobe was undeniably interesting. His hands were definitely working hands. Rough hands. Murderer’s hands, ready to strangle a woman and leave her for dead in a dirty ditch, far enough away from her abandoned car not to arouse suspicion?
As if echoing my increasingly lurid thoughts, a thin wail erupted behind me. The driver simply sighed.
I inched my head further round to find a baby in a car seat. I didn’t know a lot about babies, but from what I could make out of this one, face poking out from the giant orange ski-suit thing she was engulfed in, she was too small to walk, or talk. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath and let out another wail, scrunching her tiny face up and waving stubby arms, hands hidden in the sleeves of the suit.
Without taking his eyes off the road, the man flicked a button, the pulsing tones of hardcore dance music filling the car.
‘Really?’ I couldn’t help asking. Even I knew this was not standard lullaby fare. But within a matter of seconds, the baby had stopped crying, stuffed a suit cuff in her mouth and now stared at me with giant hazel eyes, as solemn and unnerving as her dad’s.
And while the frenetic music pounded at my headache, I felt a prickle of excitement at the choice of tune. This was one of Charlie’s favourites. A coincidence – or a sign?
I was about to find out. Before the first song had come to an end we had turned off the road and bumped our way down an unpaved track up to Damson Farm. I rested my head against the back of the seat and blew out a long sigh. The dashboard display told me it was 8.17 a.m. The odds were a three-way split that Charlie would either still be in bed, still be up from the night before, or be up and dressed and on her way out the door to catch a helicopter. Either way, I really hoped she’d be in. I was in desperate need of a bathroom, a cup of tea and somewhere I could rest my battered bones.
