Traveller's Rest

Jack was happy. Jack was tired. It was a perfect combination after two days of combining business and pleasure. He always tried to work like that. He had done all the high pressure of twelve plus harassed hours focusing on things he could not now remember. Ambition had flowed through his body and left a wiser more content man. Now he was driving back along the early summer lanes to his cosy Bed and Breakfast retreat after having spent the day walking and sightseeing.

He’d gone for a walk in the morning, had lunch in a picturesque rural pub and strolled around Stokesay Castle afterwards. All of this as a reward for a long working day before. Then he had come down from his home to see a couple who had moved away from his normal area of business. They were some of his best clients and had wanted to keep him as their adviser. Although it was some distance they were financially worth the trip. More importantly, he liked them. Liking people hadn’t really figured as part of his business plan in the past. So after a successful business meeting on the Wednesday, Thursday was his reward.

It had been raining and the roads steamed gently in the early evening warmth. He was looking forward to a gin and tonic whilst having a bath and anticipating a hearty home made dinner with a good wine. He knew he’d sleep well tonight. The sky was a rich blue whilst the sun was hidden for most of the time by the spent rain clouds that meandered overhead. They seemed so low, as though the greenery below was trying to embrace them for the gift of rain they had just delivered.

Jack had the radio on very low, playing some relaxing classical piece, so was still aware of the swish of his wheels ploughing the wet roads. He was thankful that he had been able to switch his wiper blades off. One of them caught a little on the bonnet of his car and made an irritatingly regular clicking noise. The whole sequence created a kind of swoosh, swipe, click, swoosh, swipe, click. Over and over it went and mesmerised him dangerously. He’d have to get that fixed and prayed it wouldn’t start raining again. Being mesmerised whilst tired was not a good thing.

Not far from his destination, Jack drove through a very pretty, heavily wooded area. It was lush and green and hinted at secret temptations within. The trees shed rainwater like a summer sweat. It was still warm. Rounding a bend he noticed something off to his left. He passed it but it had definitely been an orange glow; a fire? It hadn’t been too noticeable as it was still light. He slowed down and reversed to get a better look. Now he realised why he had noticed it.

About thirty yards up a straight track, that was at right angles to the road, there appeared to be quite a large fire, just to the side of this track. It looked like a car. Typical, Jack thought, that cancer of vandals and car thieves had even got out here. He’d phone the police when he got back. Slipping his automatic into forward there was a swoosh of flame from the car. And a sound that pierced his very being; a scream, a human scream that seemed to enter every hidden corner of his consciousness. The hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood guard and suddenly his relaxation was thrown out by an alertness that, briefly, reminded him of his younger self.

Stopping the engine and climbing out of his car in one movement, Jack ran up to the burning wreck. He could hear the flames and feel them as he approached. There was no other sound, only the memory of that scream clinging to his mind like a scared child. The furnace kept him at a distance and to his relief he could not see anyone or anything inside the car. He just stood there for a minute like a gawping onlooker knowing there was nothing he could do. The car looked like an old Ford Anglia and the acrid smell of burning rubber was jarring in such a beautiful setting. Pulling out his mobile quickly reminded him that the signal was non-existent. He had known that anyway but had automatically looked. It was the only useful thing he could think of, although even as he did it he knew it was a pretty crap gesture. To stay would have felt intrusive and couldn’t achieve anything so he hurried nervously back to his car, looking back at the burning car as he did so and watching it recede into the distance. The fire slowly subsided, although it was still quite fierce. The whole effect seemed to double the distance. He needed a landline.

Back in his car, it dawned on Jack that he was trembling. His hands shook. He had to sit a while to gather himself. That scream stayed with him as he switched the engine on. He couldn’t get away quickly enough but took the scream with him.

The drive back felt as though it took forever but eventually he pulled up outside his destination. It was a two-storey seventeenth century brick building that had originally been three cottages but was now knocked into one to create a long rambling affair. The warm rural appeal of the place drew him in like a baby looking for comfort. Jack was the only guest so it was quiet inside. He hurried through the entrance lobby into the lounge, through that then the dining room and finally found the owner, Simon, in the kitchen and breathlessly blurted out what had happened with Jenny, Simon’s wife, joining them towards the end of the account. Simon was a tall angular man of a similar age to Jack. Jenny was much smaller, but full figured and pretty.

“Crikey, I’ll ring the police and fire service now” exclaimed Simon as he left the room to do so. From outside he shouted, “Jenny, take Jack into the lounge and get him a large G&T”. That was just what Jack wanted to hear and immediately felt a warmth envelope him as Jenny smiled and beckoned him out and back into the lounge.

He slumped into a huge soft chair; its soft, inviting cushions cloaked in floral chintz and hugged his drink for comfort. The lounge was a low-ceilinged oblong room with a door at either end and two small paned windows facing out to the front with the fireplace on the wall that backed onto the dining room. He sat near that and was gazing absent-mindedly into the empty black hole, listening to Jenny chattering away, when Simon came back in. He smiled, “All sorted, the fire service is on its way as I speak and the police will be out to take a statement from you later tonight. So in the mean time, why not take a nice bath while we prepare your dinner. I think the wine will be on us tonight too, in view of what you’ve been through”.

Feeling a little light headed and a lot more relaxed, Jack agreed wholeheartedly to that idea and slowly rose from his chair, still hugging his drink, and headed up to his room. “I’ll bring you another drink,” chirped Jenny as he went through the door. He nodded without a word feeling middle aged again, but he didn’t care.

Up in his room he ran a bath and threw off his clothes before collapsing onto his bed whilst the bath filled up. It was slow. The room was small but cosy and had been decorated by Jenny, he assumed. It was pink and floral. A knock at the door reminded him of the promised drink and his nakedness. He threw a towel around himself to answer the door to a beaming Jenny who had the good grace to flush. She held out the drink and he thanked her before closing the door.

With fresh clothes and a warm glow coursing through his body Jack sat at the dining table staring down at a bowl of home made vegetable soup. It was still light outside but table lamps were lighting up the shadier corners of the room. Simon brought in a bottle of red wine. It was a Château Neuf Du Pape. “Will that do?” Simon beamed. “Oh yes” Jack beamed in return. The pop of a good bottle of wine being uncorked was a pleasure that Jack never tired of. It promised both a wonderful taste and a mellowing of the emotions and senses that he often needed to dull his overwrought mind. And tonight it was more welcome than normal.

He finished the soup while giving the wine a chance to breathe when his main dish was brought in. It was a full-blown roast dinner. This would send him to sleep along with all the alcohol. He poured some wine and took a huge swig. By now he was feeling quite mellow and knew that finishing the wine would make him a little drunk. He didn’t care. He’d earned the right to be a little merry after that fire and that awful scream.

Drowsiness drifted over Jack after all of that. The food and wine had had the desired effect as he eased himself into the chair by the dead fire in the lounge. It was an unwelcome jolt when Simon came in and told him the police had arrived. In strolled a policeman who could have come straight out of an Ealing comedy. A country copper. He must have been about fifty and had the belly of a man who liked his pies. He was average height but appeared to be shorter because he seemed so round. A jovial, florid face, framed by cropped silver grey hair, topped all this off.

He sat down heavily in the chair opposite Jack and introduced himself as Constable Fairley. “Can I take a little of your time just to clarify what you saw?” he said as he pulled out his note-book, obviously assuming he could proceed. Jack nodded and told Constable Fairley all he had seen and heard. “The Fire Service is there now so we should be able to get to the bottom of this soon”. His tone changed and he frowned slightly as he looked directly at Jack, “By the way, which way will you be travelling home tomorrow?” Jack told him that since that incident had happened on the road south of the Bed and Breakfast he would not be going that way. He’d be heading North East. The policeman looked relieved and added that the road would be closed for a while anyway. With that he got up and left.

By now it was getting dark and at this time of year that meant late. Jack was knackered so trundled his tired body off to bed. Up in his room he didn’t bother folding his clothes. He rarely wore trousers with creases anyway so hanging them on the back of a chair would suffice. Normally it took him a while to drop off. It didn’t tonight.

She screamed. He saw the face clearly and it was terrified. He woke in a sweat. In seconds he realised he’d dreamt it and looked at his watch, the image of the young woman still in his mind. It was three o’clock, silent, and dark. He lay back down finding difficult to get the woman’s face out of his mind. She seemed familiar for some unexplained reason. He eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep with her face still implanted like some photographic limpet.

Jack woke late. It was after eight and that was late for him. He was usually up before seven. He wasn’t feeling particularly refreshed either, probably all the alcohol the night before. Slowly he went through the morning ablutions, deliberately taking his time to see if that would help him feel a little more alert. It didn’t really work.

He took his bags down to the car, as much in the hope that a breath of fresh air might do the trick as anything else. That didn’t work either, even though it was a clear, fresh summer morning with those early morning scents teasing the nostrils while the birdsong did the same to his ears. His mind was detached and fuzzy though.

In the dining room Jack sat at a different table. He chose one near a window so he could gaze out at the beautiful morning. Sitting down, he let his eyes roam the opposite wall and got a jolt at what they found. That face, the nightmare face, was staring down at him from a photograph. Now that did wake him up. Maybe he had seen it and subconsciously recorded it for his dream. He got up and went up to it but there was nothing to tell him who she was. A pretty brunette with wavy mid length hair and a natural smile gazed back at him, a huge contrast from the expression on the same face the night before. Judging by the clothes and hair he guessed that the photo was maybe thirty years old, but he couldn’t be too sure.

Simon walked in, looked at Jack and then looked at the photograph he was peering at. He smiled quickly, “Pretty woman eh?” to which Jack nodded with an appreciative “Hmm”. “My first wife. It’s a long story so I’ll not bore you with it if you don’t mind.” “Would you like a full English breakfast?” changing the subject. “And is it coffee again, with brown toast?” Jack reluctantly peeled himself away from the photo and absent-mindedly acquiesced. Sitting down he couldn’t think of a decent reason for pursuing his curiosity without seeming pushy. Telling Simon he had dreamt of her the previous night would have seemed silly.

The generous breakfast with its local produce all washed down with excellent coffee revived him and set him up for the journey ahead. He’d thrown his stuff in the boot of the car and only had to settle the bill so he lingered over the last pieces of toast, home made marmalade swirled in amongst a greedy amount of butter. He’d never lose that tummy of his he thought, smiling. Jenny gave him a jar of the marmalade, which Jack had half-heartedly declined with all the sincerity of an electioneering politician before leaving the building for his car, the jar firmly clutched in his hand.

It was bright and now that the morning had gained maturity it was warmer too so Jack drove off with his window down. There was no traffic in the village or on the narrow hedge lined road leading to the main north-south route. Without thinking he indicated to go right. That was the way home but at the junction he paused. There was no traffic. He suddenly had an unexplainable impulse to go and drive past the scene of the fire. So he swung left and swept off in that direction feeling a little uneasy and wondering how foolish he would feel if Constable Fairley was at the roadblock he expected to come to. He stayed on course though. He didn’t know whether it was curiosity or a feeling of unease that he just couldn’t put his finger on. Either way he was determined to persevere. It wouldn’t take long.

And it didn’t. There was no roadblock either. No evidence of any activity of any sort. Puzzled and wary he stopped at the end of the track looking up expecting to see tape and a charred wreck. Nothing. He got out to a silent wooded track, even the birds seemed to be listening in an uneasy silence. Squinting towards the place where he had remembered seeing the burning car he couldn’t really make anything out, just a lot of undergrowth. But as he got closer he could make out some russet. It was rust. A rusty old car started to become recognisable as he stopped a few yards from it. And pulling some of the vegetation away from it he could see it was the same make of car that he had seen the night before. A Ford Anglia that hadn’t seen a fire in a long time.

He froze. A breeze reminded him that he was alone. He suddenly became acutely aware and very sensitive to every movement and sound around him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in futile guard, yet again, as he turned and walked as briskly as he could with dignity, all the while his eyes scanning around as he shortened the distance between that unexplainable wreck and the sanctuary of his own car.