Thequestion was a hell of a belated one.They’d jounced the length ofthe rutted track that led from Hagerawl Point into the tinyvillage, sleet lashing the windshield.So far Merou had seemed toknow what he was doing.“That’s right,” Priddy said warily as theyapproached the junction.“And brake.Brake sometimes.Fucking hell,Merou—brake!”
Theyground to a hot-rubber halt five inches from the kneecap of DorytySharp, affectionately known as the Hag of Hagerawl, who’d beenancient when Priddy was born and showed no signs of giving up yeton a world so richly deserving of her malice.She’d hated Priddywith great persistence since his earliest childhood.She zeroed inon him across the top of her horn-rims, raised one blue-veined fistand began to shake it.“Oh dear,” Merou said, without signs ofobvious dismay.“That was very rude of me.”
Carefully he applied the handbrake, made sure the car was inneutral and got out.Priddy remained where he was, frozen inhorror.This could only end in blood.But Merou sidestepped a swipefrom the tin-loaded shopping bag, and extricated it neatly from hergrasp.He held it out so she couldn’t grab it again, and in itsplace offered his arm.
Priddycouldn’t hear what he said to her, but something extraordinary hadhappened.After eight straight-faced decades, the Hag was smiling.She toddled tamely to the far kerb on Merou’s arm, and when hehanded her back her shopping bag, she reached up and patted hischeek.
Meroujogged back to the car.“She seems a bit of an old dear,” he said,swinging behind the wheel.“Shame if I’d mowed herdown.”
“Fuck,” was all Priddy could manage.“Fuck.”
“You seem stressed.”
“I...No.I’m fine.Just be careful.”
“Naturally.A car’s a deadly weapon in the wrong hands.What’sthe speed limit in your weird little towns?”
“Thirty.In all of them, not just our—”
“And outside them?”
“National, technically.Sixty on single carriageways.Butnobodydoesthat,Merou—not in the lanes around here.”
“Got it.Hold on.”
He drovewith impeccable courtesy the straggling length of the main street,giving way to oncoming traffic when faced with parked cars on hisside, waiting patiently at the zebra crossing for a harried-lookingmum to herd her brood across the road.Then, the moment they’dpassed the end-of-zone sign, he gently squeezed his footdown.
“Merou, careful.”
“What’s up?”
“The sixty thing.It’s notional, I told you.”
“Thought you said national.”
“I did, but...For God’s sake.The speed limit’s notional.Youcan’t...”
Merouput out a hand.He laid it softly on Priddy’s knee.“Priddy, don’tyou trust me?”
Ofcourse not.Why should he?They’d only just met, and Merou was acard-carrying nutcase.But the trouble was that Priddy did.He fellback in the passenger seat, suddenly drained.A fragile peacedescended on him.“All right.Take the little track up towardsMadron.That goes out over Craddon moor, if you’re serious aboutthe picnic.But we’re gonna freeze.”
“No, we’re not.Look.”
Meroupointed ahead.The granite brow of Carn Gulva was frowning throughthe mist, but beyond it the skies over Craddon had cleared, apurity of winter sunlight opening up the day.Priddy tipped hishead back, and the car seemed to swoop up into it, Merou takingadvantage of the brief straight stretch before the road narrowed.And it looked as if the sixty limit wasn’t notional for him at all.For a man who’d had to check five minutes ago that the gas was onthe right, he was a superb driver, opening the Vauxhall out todevour the track wherever his view was clear, pulling her backsmoothly to make the curves, tucking tight enough over to the leftthat the wing mirror brushed, but never quite tapped, thegorse-clad walls.Priddy could’ve put out a hand to touch theirflowers.
So manyflowers, butter-gold streaking by in the sun!They bloomed all yeardown here but by November were thinned out and sparse.This lookedlike a summer’s worth, and when Priddy cracked down his window, thecoconut-honey tide of their scent rushed in.“You’re right.It’s abeautiful day.”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“Did you take a turn somewhere?I’m not sure I know this track,and I’ve lived here all my life?”
Merouchuckled.“You say that as if you’d been around forcenturies.”
“Feels like it sometimes.”
“If you had been, you’d know a few side routes.Do you likethis one?”
Now itwas Priddy’s turn to laugh.He felt as if Merou had held out aselection of routes and afternoons, like chocolates on a tray, forhim to choose.“Would you change it if I didn’t?”
