LOST
BY
JEAN MALLENDER

 

 

Gusts of wind and rain buffeted us as we trudged along. My sister squeezed my arm and pointed. A red car drew to a stop, brakes squealing, and sprayed us with muddy water. Olivia walked off to look in a lit shop window, sheltering from the deluge under the overhang. I peered through my dripping hair. The driver was Rob – used to be a mate at school till he left, started work, and went his own way.

‘Aye up Sean. Get in, sharpish.’

‘Ta, I could do with a lift. Ol!’ I shouted my sister over.

‘Nah, no chicks.’

‘It’s my sister – can’t leave her in town.’

‘She’s grown a bit – look lively.’

It was good to be out of the rain. Rob did a racing start and we fair clocked it up the High Street and out onto the bye-pass.

‘You look wet.’ It was the passenger speaking – Grebo from school too. He was a bit of a weed, the sort of guy who is always hanging round, but never quite a mate. He was eying Ol and I didn’t like it. She looked away.

‘Where are we going?’ I said. ‘Thought you’d just drop us off. Nice car, had it long?’ Rob didn’t answer and Grebo sniggered and muttered something like ‘Not long.’

Ol reached behind her and pulled out a teddy and there were children’s books on the floor.

‘You’ve not got a kid, have you?’ I asked. Rob shook his head.

‘No money for kids. No money; no job; no anything.’ He laughed but there was no humour in it.

There were no streetlights now, only the headlights filtering the mist and picking out the driving rain and sheets of water on the road. The speedo was flicking up to ninety and Ol was grabbing my arm.

She whispered, ‘Nicked.’

‘What?’

‘Nicked – he’s nicked it.’ Rob must have heard.

‘Too right,’ he said.

‘You didn’t – why?’ I asked.

‘You’re not chicken are you? Just for a buzz, a dare, a shot in the arm.’ He looked as bad as he sounded.

Grebo sniggered again. ‘I dared him.’

‘The owner was asking for it – hadn’t even locked it,’ said Rob.

The blue flashing light of a police car passed us on the other carriageway.

Rob smacked his head. We looked behind, and sure enough it had stopped and was turning round.

‘No sweat, man.’ Grebo’s voice sounded high. ‘I know a good spot.’ We rounded a sharp bend and Grebo shouted ‘Now, hard left,’ and we shot down the entrance to a narrow track. ‘See, the pigs'll never even see it. Been down here loads of times.’

Rob had to drive slowly. There were high banks on either side, and the surface of the twisty track had turned into a stream.

‘Sh--!’ The wipers had packed up. ‘I can’t see.’ Rob tried to peer ahead.

‘It’s all right,’ said Grebo, ‘we can’t go much further anyway, it gets too narrow.’

Rob banged his hands on the steering wheel. ‘Well done Grebo. You’ve brought us down a dead end.’ Rob stopped the car where an old bridge went over the track. ‘You’re a stupid bastard!’

‘Here.’ Grebo lit up a fag and passed one to Rob and they puffed for a minute. Ol sniffed hard and her eyes flicked up to the roof. Of course – joints.

‘I’m getting out,’ she said. There was just enough room for her to push open the door, certainly no room to turn the car round. She paddled and squelched her way to the front of the car, where an earth bank blocked the way. Spouts of water cascaded down the sides of the bridge and were blown into a pool of mud in the middle of the track.

‘Quite a looker, your sister.’ Rob snapped off the lights and cut the engine as he edged out of the door.

‘What do we do now?’ I asked as I joined him.

‘Oh, I can think of things.’ Rob sidled up to Ol and traced the edge of her cheek with his fingers.

‘Gerroff!’ She gave him a shove and climbed up the bank. She was shivering.

‘Leave off Rob - she’s only thirteen. I’m freezing. You’ll have to back up. I promised Mam we’d not be late.’

‘Promised Mam.’ Grebo mimicked as he joined us. ‘What about the Rozzas?’

‘They’ll be long gone.’ I had to get Ol home.

‘Cold, are you?’ Rob was looking at the car. ‘I can soon sort that.’

It was a moment before I realised what he meant. Then I could hear the wail of a siren and a howl from Grebo. Ol grabbed me and we scrambled right up the bank onto the bridge. I turned to see headlights and, much nearer, the broad beams of torches swinging about. The roaring of the fire and the screaming has haunted me ever since. Grebo must have been caught in that first spurt of flame. We ran and ran, stumbling along field edges through the nightmare, till we hit the road near to home.

Grebo was in hospital for months. Ol took him some grapes, but I didn’t go. I was still too scared. She said he looked different. They caught Rob and he did a long stretch in prison. I don’t want to see him again – ever. As far as I’m concerned, my old mate was lost in that fire.

© Jean Mallender 2007

 

 

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