Four Warned (Quick Reads 2014) (2 page)

She flicked her headlights onto high-beam, turned on her hazard lights and blasted her horn at anyone who dared to remain in her path. She could only hope that the police might see her, wave her
onto the hard shoulder and book her for speeding. A fine would be infinitely better than a crash with a young tearaway, she thought, as the Audi estate passed a hundred and ten for the first time
in its life. But the black van couldn’t be shaken off.

Without warning, she swerved back into the middle lane and took her foot off the gas, causing the van to draw level with her, which gave her a chance to look at the driver for the first time. He
was wearing a black leather jacket and pointing menacingly at her. She shook her fist at him and accelerated away, but he simply swung across behind her like an Olympic runner determined not to
allow his rival to break clear.

And then she remembered something, and felt sick for a second time that night. ‘Oh my God,’ she shouted aloud in terror. In a flood, the details of the murder that had taken place on
the same road a few months before came rushing back to her. A woman had been raped before having her throat cut with a knife with a serrated edge and dumped in a ditch.

For weeks there had been signs posted on the A1 appealing to passing motorists to phone a certain number if they had any information that might assist the police with their inquiries. The signs
had now gone, but the police were still searching for the killer. Diana began to tremble as she remembered their warning to all woman drivers: ‘Never stop on the motorway’.

A few seconds later she saw a road sign she knew well. She had reached it far sooner than she had anticipated. In three miles she would have to leave the motorway for the slip road that led to
the farm. She began to pray that if she took her usual turning, the black-jacketed man would continue on up the A1 and she would finally be rid of him.

Diana decided that the time had come for her to speed him on his way. She swung back into the fast lane and once again put her foot down on the accelerator. She reached a hundred miles per hour
for the second time as she sped past the two-mile sign. Her body was now covered in sweat, and the speedometer touched a hundred and ten. She checked her rear-view mirror, but he was still right
behind her. She would have to pick the exact moment if she was to execute her plan successfully.

With a mile to go, she began to look to her left, to make sure her timing would be perfect. She no longer needed to check in her mirror. She knew that he would still be there.

The next signpost showed three diagonal white lines, warning her that she ought to be on the inside lane if she meant to leave the motorway at the next junction. She kept the car in the outside
lane at a hundred miles per hour until she spotted a large enough gap. Two white lines appeared by the roadside. Diana knew she would have only one chance to make her escape.

As she passed the sign with a single white line on it she suddenly swung across the road at ninety miles per hour, causing cars in the middle and inside lanes to throw on their brakes and blast
out their angry opinions. But Diana didn’t care what they thought of her, because she was now travelling down the slip road to safety, and the black van was speeding on up the A1.

She laughed out loud with relief. To her right, she could see the steady flow of traffic on the motorway. But then her laugh turned to a scream as she saw the black van cut sharply across the
motorway in front of a lorry, mount the grass verge and career onto the slip road, swinging from side to side. It nearly drove over the edge and into a ditch, but somehow managed to steady itself,
ending up a few yards behind her, its lights once again glaring through her rear windscreen.

When she reached the top of the slip road, Diana turned left in the direction of the farm, frantically trying to work out what she should do next. The nearest town was about twelve miles away on
the main road, and the farm was only seven, but five of those miles were down a winding, unlit country lane. She checked her petrol meter. It was nearing empty, but there should still be enough in
the tank for her to consider either option. There was less than a mile to go before she reached the turning, so she had only a minute in which to make up her mind.

With a hundred yards to go, she settled on the farm. Despite the unlit lane, she knew every twist and turn, and she felt confident that her pursuer wouldn’t. Once she reached the farm she
could be out of the car and inside the house long before he could catch her. In any case, once he saw the farmhouse, surely he would flee?

The minute was up. Diana touched the brakes and skidded into a country road lit only by the moon.

Diana banged the palms of her hands on the steering wheel. Had she made the wrong decision? She glanced up at her rear-view mirror. Had he given up? Of course he hadn’t. The back of a Land
Rover loomed up in front of her. Diana slowed down, waiting for a corner she knew well, where the road widened slightly. She held her breath, crashed into third gear, and overtook. Would a head-on
collision be preferable to a cut throat?

She rounded the bend and saw an empty road ahead of her. Once again she pressed her foot down, this time managing to put a clear seventy, perhaps even a hundred, yards between her and her
pursuer, but this only offered her a few moments’ relief. Before long the familiar headlights came bearing down on her once again.

With each bend Diana was able to gain a little time as the van continued to lurch from side to side, unfamiliar with the road. But she never managed a clear break of more than a few seconds. She
checked the mileometer. From the turn-off on the main road to the farm it was just over five miles, and she must have covered about two by now. She began to watch each tenth of a mile clicking up,
terrified at the thought of the van overtaking her and forcing her into the ditch. She stuck firmly to the centre of the road.

Another mile passed, and still he clung on to her. Suddenly she saw a car coming towards her. She switched her headlights to full beam and pressed on the horn. The other car retaliated by
copying her actions, which caused her to slow down and brush against the hedgerow as they shot past each other. She checked the mileometer once again. Only two miles to go.

Diana would slow down and then speed up at each familiar bend in the road, making sure the van was never given enough room to pull level with her. She tried to concentrate on what she should do
once the farmhouse came into sight. She reckoned that the drive leading up to the house must be about half a mile long. It was full of potholes and bumps which Daniel had often explained he
couldn’t afford to have repaired. But at least it was only wide enough for one car.

The gate to the driveway was usually left open for her, though on the rare occasion Daniel had forgotten, and she’d had to get out of the car and open it for herself. She couldn’t
risk that tonight. If the gate was closed, she would have to travel on to the next town and stop outside the Crimson Kipper, which was always crowded at this time on a Friday night, or, if she
could find it, on the steps of the local police station. She checked her petrol gauge again. It was now touching red. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, realising she might not have enough petrol
to reach the town.

She could only pray that Daniel had remembered to leave the gate open.

She swerved out of the next bend and sped up, but once again she managed to gain only a few yards, and she knew that within seconds he would be back in place. He was. For the next few hundred
yards they remained within feet of each other, and she felt certain he would run into the back of her. She didn’t once dare to touch her brakes – if they crashed in that lane, far from
any help, she would have no hope of getting away from him.

She checked her mileometer. A mile to go.

‘The gate must be open. It
must
be open,’ she prayed. As she swung round the next bend, she could make out the outline of the farmhouse in the distance. She almost screamed
with relief when she saw that the lights were on in the downstairs rooms.

She shouted, ‘Thank God!’ then remembered the gate again, and changed her plea to ‘Dear God, let it be open.’ She would know what needed to be done as soon as she came
round the last bend. ‘Let it be open, just this once,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll never ask for anything again, ever.’ She swung round the final bend only inches ahead of the
black van. ‘Please, please, please.’ And then she saw the gate.

It was open.

Her clothes were now drenched in sweat. She slowed down, wrenched the gearbox into second, and threw the car between the gap and into the bumpy driveway, hitting the gatepost on her right-hand
side as she careered on up towards the house. The van didn’t hesitate to follow her, and was still only inches behind as she straightened up. Diana kept her hand pressed down on the horn as
the car bounced and lurched over the mounds and potholes.

Flocks of startled crows flapped out of overhead branches, screeching as they shot into the air. Diana began screaming, ‘Daniel! Daniel!’ Two hundred yards ahead of her, the porch
light went on.

Her headlights were now shining onto the front of the house, and her hand was still pressed on the horn. With a hundred yards to go, she spotted Daniel coming out of the front door, but she
didn’t slow down, and neither did the van behind her. With fifty yards to go she began flashing her lights at Daniel. She could now make out the puzzled, anxious look on his face.

With thirty yards to go she threw on her brakes. The heavy estate car skidded across the gravel in front of the house, coming to a halt in the flower bed just below the kitchen window. She heard
the screech of brakes behind her. The leather-jacketed man, unfamiliar with the terrain, had been unable to react quickly enough, and as soon as his wheels touched the gravelled area he began to
skid out of control. A second later the van came crashing into the back of her car, slamming it against the wall of the house and shattering the glass in the kitchen window.

Diana leapt out of the car, screaming, ‘Daniel! Get a gun, get a gun!’ She pointed back at the van. ‘That bastard’s been chasing me for the last twenty miles!’

The man jumped out of the van and began limping towards them. Diana ran into the house. Daniel followed and grabbed a shotgun, normally reserved for rabbits, that was leaning against the wall.
He ran back outside to face the unwelcome visitor, who had come to a halt by the back of Diana’s Audi.

Daniel raised the shotgun to his shoulder and stared straight at him. ‘Don’t move or I’ll shoot,’ he said calmly. And then he remembered the gun wasn’t loaded.
Diana ducked back out of the house, but remained several yards behind him.

‘Not me! Not me!’ shouted the leather-jacketed youth, as Rachael appeared in the doorway.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked nervously.

‘Ring for the police,’ was all Daniel said, and his wife quickly disappeared back into the house.

Daniel advanced towards the terrified-looking young man, the gun aimed squarely at his chest.

‘Not me! Not me!’ he shouted again, pointing at the Audi. ‘He’s in the car!’ He quickly turned to face Diana. ‘I saw him get in when you were parked on the
hard shoulder. What else could I have done? You just wouldn’t pull over.’

Daniel advanced cautiously towards the rear door of the car and ordered the young man to open it slowly, while he kept the gun aimed at his chest.

The youth opened the door, and quickly took a pace backwards. The three of them stared down at a man crouched on the floor of the car. In his right hand he held a long-bladed knife with a
serrated edge. Daniel swung the barrel of the gun down to point at him, but said nothing.

The sound of a police siren could just be heard in the distance.

The Queen’s Birthday Telegram

(from
And Thereby Hangs a Tale
)

Her Majesty the Queen sends her congratulations to Albert Webber on the occasion of his 100th birthday, and wishes him many more years of good health and happiness.

Albert was still smiling after he had read the message for the twentieth time.

‘You will be next, ducks,’ he said as he passed the royal message across to his wife. Betty only had to read the telegram once for a broad smile to appear on her face too.

The festivities had begun a week earlier, building up to a celebration party at the town hall. Albert’s photograph had appeared on the front page of the
Somerset Gazette
that
morning, and he had been interviewed on
BBC Points West
, his wife seated proudly by his side.

His Worship the Mayor of Street, Councillor Ted Harding, and the leader of the local council, Councillor Brocklebank, were waiting on the town hall steps to greet the honoured guest.

Albert was escorted to the mayor’s parlour where he was introduced to Mr David Heathcote-Amory, the local Member of Parliament, as well as the local MEP, although when asked later he
couldn’t remember her name.

After several more photographs had been taken, Albert was ushered through to a large reception room where over a hundred invited guests were waiting to greet him. As he entered the room he was
welcomed by a spontaneous burst of applause, and people he’d never met before began shaking hands with him.

At 3.27 p.m., the precise minute Albert had been born in 1907, the old man, surrounded by his five children, eleven grandchildren and nineteen great-grandchildren, thrust a silver-handled knife
into a three-tier cake. This simple act was greeted by another burst of applause, followed by cries of
speech
,
speech
,
speech!

Albert had prepared a few words, but as quiet fell in the room, they went straight out of his head.

‘Say something,’ said Betty, giving her husband a gentle nudge in the ribs.

He blinked, looked around at the expectant crowd, paused and said, ‘Thank you very much.’

Once the people realised that was all he was going to say, someone began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, and within moments everyone was joining in. Albert managed to blow out seven of the
hundred candles before the younger members of the family came to his rescue, which was greeted by even more laughter and clapping.