At the same moment that he smashed his spoon down upon
his soft boiled egg there was a thud as the local newspaper hit the front door
mat. His wife gave him a sneering look as the paper and letters were dumped
onto the breakfast table. He sat alone today as Samantha, his daughter, was
staying a few days at a friend's house. He recognised the buff coloured
envelope straightaway. "Not another one," he cried out. "It's so
unfair."
He wallowed in his self pity
as he thought of all the money he had just spent on his new car. A beautiful
red colour. His favourite. He considered it his car as his wife had not spoken
to him since he had bought it over two weeks ago. He hadn't even consulted with
her though he knew there were so many things that needed doing. If he didn't
ask her she couldn't argue, could she?
"Well, I can take the
stony silence as long as it takes. She'll come around," he silently said
to himself.
A little louder, but too quiet
for Sarah to hear: "What's her problem anyway? Car makers make cars
capable of speed, so it must be OK to drive them as they are meant to be
driven: fast."
He had once again misunderstood
Sarah's actions.
While he moaned, his long
suffering wife had been scanning the local paper. She managed:
"Two young girls have
been killed in a car accident. A hit and run driver. Poor girls. It says here
they were pedestrians. See what you speed merchants do. Speed kills. My God!
It's said often enough and it's people like you who cause these incidents.
They're not accidents. Accidents are not deliberate. They're accidents. Stupid
drivers who go too fast don't cause accidents. They cause human disasters."
He wasn't listening to her
diatribe even though it was her first utterance in days. He had heard it all
before. What does she know anyway? Hardly ever drives over 50mph and never
close to 70mph even on the motorways.
Ron was lost in his own misery
as he realised it would be the third time this year he had been caught
speeding. This time it would be a little tricky. He would have to plead with
the magistrate about his need for his driving licence. Ron was good at passing
on responsibility to someone else.
"My living," he
muttered under his breath through clenched teeth. "I need my driving
licence for my job. Those damned yellow cameras."
So bright and obvious. How had
he not noticed it before it was too late? He had even seen the warning sign about
speed cameras in operation. He knew the road so well. Every corner. Every
junction. Even the school entrances where many inconsiderate mothers in their
big off-roaders drop their children at the yellow lines.
"Don't they realise the
danger in that?" he continued as if someone were listening to his ranting.
At least when I go fast it is late at night. Why does eveything seem to be
yellow today?
Opening the letter
anticipating its content of a speeding summons, he was not disappointed.
Travelling at 59mph in a 40mph speed limit. He actually felt quite a hero as
this was something he could brag about to his friends. Just a little over the
limit, he reasoned. That's all. Just a bit. Hey! Wait a minute! This letter is
about something that happened over a week ago. I noticed the camera flash the
other night!
"Shit!" he screamed
out loud. "This speeding summons is a week old and I've been done
again!"
Sarah had turned white and
stood motionless and then fell to the floor unconscious, the newspaper falling
away slowly through the air to gently lay on the floor beside her. He pushed
his chair away and dived towards her still body. The front page of the paper
lay face up where he could see the story of the "road accident":
The story went on to describe
scant details of the car, the registration of which had only been partly
recorded by a witness: "The car was travelling too fast for me to get the
entire number, UX55... something,
but it was definitely a new car. It looked grey under the street lights, so it
must have been red. A very bright red."
He was transfixed, his eyes
locked onto the newspaper story.
He hadn't noticed any real
impact. He'd hit cats before. Taken a slight knock. Damned animals damaging my
car, he thought. He had already started to look for excuses. He must have been
too heavily involved in his enjoyment and thrill of the speed. Late night
driving on a quiet road with the stereo turned right up. What a thrill. Loud
thumping music and handling his car expertly at speed. There's nothing better
than that. Nothing.
The report said it had happened
two nights ago and on a section of road that he used. He was there that night.
The time would be on camera.
No.
It's not possible! Melissa was
at her friend's house, wasn't she? Melissa's parents had gone away on holiday
leaving the two of them alone in their house. Like Samantha, she too was a
responsible 17 year old and they both liked a good time. A fun time. Just like
he did.
© Louis Brothnias (2006)