Lost and Found
Lost and Found
by Peter Tennant
The car had been running on empty for the last five miles when Stephenson saw the woman dash out into the middle of the road. He pulled hard on the wheel and hit the brakes. The car swerved off the road and skidded a few yards before slewing to a halt. A plastic carrier bag brushed against the side window and then danced away on the breeze. Stephenson laughed with sick relief and knuckled the tired eyes that had so badly deceived him. He tried to get the car moving again. The engine gave an asthmatic wheeze and finally died.
Grimacing, Stephenson beat his hands on the steering wheel with frustration. All things considered it had been a totally dreary evening. First off, Shirley had been her usual outgoing self and flirted with every man at the dinner party, showing him up in front of the whole department. Then somehow they’d managed to take a wrong turn coming out of Ashburton and got hopelessly lost on the network of roads traversing the Dartmoor National Park. And now, to cap it all, the car had run out of petrol, leaving them stranded miles from anywhere, and of course he’d left his mobile phone at home in his briefcase. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway; reception in this area was temperamental at the best of times. My life as a horror story thought Stephenson, and wondered what else could go wrong.
Shirley, who had the enviable knack of being able to sleep through almost anything, shifted in her seat and smiled at him. ‘What’s the matter darling? Why have we stopped?’
‘We’ve run out of petrol.’
She laughed and put her hand on his thigh. ‘Just like old times.’
‘We’ve no time for that.’ Stephenson glared at her and pushed the hand away, simmering with resentment.
‘There’s never time for that now,’ pouted Shirley.
Ignoring her, Stephenson got out of the car and shivered in the cold wind cutting across the moors. He found the sense of emptiness vaguely unsettling. They were on the eastern edge of Dartmoor, an area dotted with tiny villages and farmhouses, but apart from a few lights on the distant horizon there was no sign of civilization; they could’ve been back in the dark ages. It was hard to believe that he’d got so far off the beaten track.
‘Look at the stars,’ said Shirley as she joined him ‘Isn’t it romantic?’
‘Freezing cold is what it is.’
Of course it was Shirley’s fault that they were now in this mess. He’d asked her to fill the tank this afternoon when she’d gone into town, but no doubt she’d forgotten, distracted by travel agents, fashion boutiques and all the other things she deemed essential to her lifestyle. His wife was scatterbrained. Ten years ago he’d found that quality endearing, but now it irritated him intensely.