A Mind of her Own Page 4

  Still unable to sleep she got out of bed, put on her dressing gown and made her way to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. A cup of tea might help to calm her down, she decided. Even if it didn’t help her to sleep, it might help her to clarify what she was going to do in the future. If she got her mind in order it would make things easier when it came to arguing with the family.

  She sat at the kitchen table, drank her tea and planned ahead.

  By the time she returned to bed she felt quite sleepy and within minutes of her head touching the pillow she was away, her mind occupied by a wonderful dream in which she was driving their Mercedes down the motorway.

  When she woke next morning, the memory of her dream was still clear in her mind and, as soon as she had her breakfast, she decided to put it to the test. She opened up the garage doors and surveyed the Mercedes. It was a big car and she was sure she could handle it, but would it start? That was the question. Tim was quite right, it had been standing there for quite a long time.

  Never mind, she could give it a try, she decided, as she put in the ignition key and pressed the pedal. The second time she turned the key the engine fired.

  Triumphantly she backed out of the garage and down the drive onto the main road and headed for the M4 which was less than two minutes away. Once on the motorway, she felt her confidence soaring. She stayed in the slow lane, surprised by the number of heavy goods vehicles there were at that time of day. She kept her speed low until finally she found herself almost crawling behind a heavily loaded lorry, so she pulled out into the middle lane put her foot down and felt the car react immediately. Betty was gloriously happy to be doing what she wanted; this would show them she told herself. The road ahead was so clear that she increased her speed. She looked at the dials and saw she was doing nearly ninety miles an hour. ‘I’d better slowdown,’ she muttered aloud.

  Before she had time to do so, she heard a strange noise coming from the car. As she looked into her rear mirror, she saw something lying in the road and clouds of smoke coming from the back of the car. Then the steering started to lurch and she hastily pulled into the slow lane.

  She returned to her snail’s pace as she waited for her heart to stop hammering and her breathing to slow down. That was some fright, I wonder what happened, she mused. Should she get out and walk back, and see what it was that had dropped off her car, or would that be too dangerous on a motorway?

  Before she could decide she heard a police siren coming up behind her.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said aloud, ‘do I pull over or hope that it goes by?’

  Nervously, she decided to continue on. She stayed in the slow lane and then wondered if she’d done the right thing because the police car followed her, flashing its lights at her. In her driving mirror she could see there were two policemen in it, and that the one sitting next to the driver was signalling to her to stop.

  She did as she thought she was being asked to do and put her brakes on and moved into the hard shoulder.

  The police car stopped right behind her and the elder policeman, the one who was a passenger, jumped out and came up to her car indicating to her to lower her window. He looked grave.

  ‘May I see your driving licence,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Driving licence,’ Betty frowned. ‘I don’t carry that with me,’ she said. ‘In fact I am not even sure I know where it is.’

  ‘You do have a current driving licence?’

  ‘I think so,’ Betty said vaguely. ‘I did, but it’s ages since I looked and I’m not even sure where it is.’

  ‘You mean it could have run out.’

  ‘Run out?’

  ‘Expired,’ the policeman said.

  ‘Well, it could have done as I haven’t seen it lately.’

  ‘Surely, you realize that it has to be renewed periodically,’ the policeman said in an exasperated voice.

  ‘Well, my husband saw to all those things.’

  ‘And where is your husband?’

  ‘He died about six months ago.’

  ‘Did you drive when he was alive?’

  Betty gave a sigh. ‘No, it’s years since I drove regularly, but I must say I’m enjoying it today.’

  ‘Maybe you are, madam, but not only are you exceeding the speed limit, but you have lost part of your exhaust pipe, and you have a flat tyre.’

  ‘Really! So that’s why the steering is odd. I thought you could go as fast as you wished on these motorways.’

  ‘No, madam, there is a speed limit and if you exceed it there is a heavy penalty.’

  ‘Oh dear! I’m sorry about that,’ Betty said contritely. ‘I’ll try and remember in future. Can I go now?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, madam. The fact that you can’t produce your driving licence is a problem, you will have to bring it down to the station. The other thing, as I have pointed out, is that you have been caught speeding. Furthermore, we need proof that this is your car and that it is insured in your name.’

  ‘The car is probably still in my husband’s name,’ Betty said. ‘I just told you my husband has died.’

  ‘Quite so, madam, in which case has the insurance been transferred to you?’

  ‘Dear, oh dear, you are worse than my children always worrying about these trivial matters. I really don’t know about the insurance. He always dealt with the insurance and little things like that.’

  ‘I see. Please wait here, madam.’

  The policeman returned to the car and talked to the driver who got out and walked across to Betty’s car. Part of the interrogation was repeated virtually word for word. Betty was becoming both alarmed and irritated.

  ‘I don’t think you should be driving at all, madam,’ the elder of the two policemen stated. ‘In fact,’ he said, taking a notebook from his pocket and noting down her name an address in it, ‘you are being charged with dangerous driving and for exceeding the speed limit, as well as not being unable to produce your driving licence, or prove that this car is yours and that it carries the relevant insurance cover. Do you understand?’ he said, as he handed her a piece of paper.

  ‘I’ve got to pay this amount,’ Betty said in dismay as she stared at the figure he’d written there.

  ‘They are all things you are not allowed to do without permission. It’s outside the law to drive without a current driving licence, without current insurance, and there is no proof the car belongs to you or you have permission to drive it. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not really,’ Betty said looking at the list again. ‘Now can I go?’

  The two policemen exchanged glances. ‘Your car is not driveable in its present state,’ one of them told her. ‘You must arrange for it to be collected. Are you a member of the AA?’

  Again, Betty looked vague and shook her head.

  ‘Right. Then I’ll arrange for it to be picked up by one of the local garages and they will let you know what repairs are necessary and their charges. Is there someone in your family who can handle this for you?’

  ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with it myself,’ Betty told him.

  ‘Very well. Can you tell me the garage you normally use?’

  Betty shook her head. She felt tears pricking behind her lids and knew that any minute now she was going to break down in tears.

  ‘Are there any personal items you need to collect from your car?’ asked the elder policeman. ‘Then we will drive you home.’

  Betty looked startled. Then she felt relieved. She knew she had broken the law, so she gave in gracefully and didn’t argue because she didn’t want to make matters worse.

  As she was driven home she started rehearsing in her own mind how she was going to explain all this to the family. Or, should she simply pay the fine and say nothing, and the whole matter would be over and she could forget all about it.

  That was impossible, she told herself, because sooner or later Tim would start asking about the car and when he looked into the garage and the car wasn’t there she’d
have to explain everything. Anyway, she would need his advice about what to tell the garage about repairing the car. Was it even worth it, or should they ask the garage to make them an offer for it?

  Six

  Betty saw curtains twitch and faces appear at several windows as the police car pulled up beside her cottage in Clover Crescent.

  It was only to be expected, she thought wryly. After all, it was not often they had a visit from the police in their quiet little backwater.

  Peter and Sally were at her door almost before she had her key in the lock.

  One of the policemen walked with her to her door and then with a brief nod went back to the car, which drove off immediately.

  ‘What happened?’ Sally exclaimed, worriedly.

  Peter stood by Betty’s gate and said nothing, but he looked equally worried and listened intently as Betty explained she had gone out in the Mercedes and it had broken down on the motorway.

  ‘Heavens above! It hasn’t been out on the road for months. It’s probably a year since Jeff last drove it,’ Peter exclaimed. ‘Why ever didn’t you let me go over it and make sure that it was roadworthy before you took it for a run?’

  ‘It started up with no trouble at all, it fired up on the second turn of the key,’ Betty told him.

  ‘What were you doing on the motorway? Where were you going?’

  ‘I was just going for a drive,’ she said lamely. ‘Well, if you must know, Tim wanted to sell the car and I was against it. He said that I’ve never driven it and I wanted to prove to him that I could drive it.’

  ‘You seem to have done that all right,’ Peter said. ‘What you going to tell him?’

  ‘I was contemplating not telling him anything. I don’t see that there’s any need to do so.’

  ‘He’ll find out, don’t you worry. Anyway, where is the car now?’

  ‘Well, that’s the problem. You see, the exhaust came off and one of the tyres went flat so the car is still by the side of the motorway. The police are asking a garage to come and collect it.’

  Peter shook his head in dismay. ‘That’s going to be expensive!’

  ‘Yes, yes I know about that,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve also got a heavy fine to pay because I couldn’t produce my driving licence, and I wasn’t sure who the car was insured with or where the documents were.’

  ‘It probably isn’t insured at all,’ Peter commented, a worried look in his dark blue eyes. ‘After all, it’s six months since Jeff died and he hadn’t driven it for at least three months before then.’

  ‘If that’s so, I’ve got a hefty fine to pay,’ Betty repeated.

  ‘More reason than ever to tell Tim,’ Peter said solemnly. ‘You can’t hide it all from him,’ he went on. ‘For a start, if he is set on selling the car then won’t he wonder where it is when he comes to collect it?’

  ‘I don’t want him to sell it, I want a car to drive.’

  ‘You know I will always drive you anywhere you want to go,’ Peter told her.

  ‘Yes, I do know that but I want to be independent; to be able to jump into the car and go off at a moment’s notice, without having to ask or explain to anyone where I am going or why!’ Betty proclaimed stubbornly.

  ‘Tell Tim that. Let him sell that big old brute and get you a smaller car, one that is only a couple of years old, not an old banger out of the Dark Ages,’ Peter told her.

  ‘One like yours, you mean. Small, neat, and modern but run of the mill,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘See what Tim thinks,’ Peter said, ignoring her jibe.

  ‘He’ll be so furious about what has happened that I daren’t mention having another car at all,’ Betty sighed. ‘Still, let’s get this matter settled and then I can rethink the whole thing and perhaps talk him round.’

  Tim was aghast when Betty told him what had happened. His brown eyes darkened, his mouth tightened and his chin jutted out aggressively as he stared at his mother.

  ‘Don’t be cross!’ he exploded. ‘What do you expect me to be? In the first place, why didn’t you say that you were going out in the car and then I could have advised against it, or suggest you had the garage give it the once over before you took it out.’ His voice rose, ‘It’s been standing in the garage for almost a year! The types were bound to be flat and it’s a wonder the engine didn’t seize up! I simply can’t believe you could have been so st—’

  He stopped himself from saying ‘stupid’ but he was so angry that, for the first time in her life, his mother felt frightened of him.

  ‘Even so,’ she spoke sharply. ‘That’s how matters stand, Tim, so I’m asking you to help me to sort them out. You can do whatever you wish about getting rid of the car. Contact the police and ask them to give you the name of the garage, find out what repairs are necessary and get them done, and then sell the car. I don’t want to hear any more about it; do you understand!’

  Tim stared at her in silence for a minute, then at last he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Betty stood where she was for several minutes trying to collect her thoughts and regulate her breathing. Her heart was thumping, and she felt that if she moved she would probably fall over. It felt as if every ounce of energy had been drained from her.

  She hated rows but then so did Tim, so he claimed, which no doubt was why he had said nothing.

  Once the car was disposed of then, and only then, would she suggest buying a smaller one to replace it. Something like Peter was driving. She was sure that she could manage that quite comfortably. She had to admit that driving the Mercedes had been nerve-wracking. It was such a big car, which was one of the reasons why she had taken it on the motorway as she had thought there would be no pedestrians and therefore fewer hazards.

  ‘Well …’ She shrugged her shoulders and slowly walked back indoors. What was done was done and there was no turning back; she’d learned her lesson, she thought.

  Peter looked very relieved when she told him she’d decided to sell the car.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he told her. ‘It was far too big for you to drive. Great cumbersome thing! I never did like it. I thought Jeff was crazy to buy it in the first place, but then he always did like something ostentatious when it came to motors I remember …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Ah well, you don’t want to hear all that again, do you,’ he said briskly. ‘Put your coat on and I’ll take you out for a coffee.’

  ‘Oh dear, is that a good idea?’ Betty said worriedly. ‘By now everyone there in the village will know about the accident, because they will have seen the police car bring me home, and be talking about it.’

  ‘Yes, I expect you’re right so the sooner you face up to them the better. Put a brave face on it, there’s nothing to worry about. Most of them will be worried in case you’ve been injured. When they see you out and about drinking coffee they’ll know that everything is all right. Go on, get your coat.’

  Betty looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘When did you become so bossy?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘Oh, I can take command if I have to. Remember I was a captain in the navy.’

  ‘That was a 100 years ago,’ she said, with a teasing smile.

  ‘Not quite, but we won’t argue. Get your coat, let’s be off.’

  She pulled herself together.

  ‘Did you tell Tim about your decision about the cars?’ Peter asked as they sat in the café drinking their cappuccinos.

  Betty nodded her head. ‘Well, I told him to go ahead and sort out the repairs on the Mercedes and then sell it. I told him to pay my fines out of the money he gets for the car. I didn’t mention replacing it with a small car though. I thought it best to let the matter die down and be forgotten before mentioning that. It’s bound to cause an argument and I don’t want to stir up any more anger than I have to.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to appeal the fines they’ve imposed on you?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s the point? I committed the offences so I’d sooner pay up and forget about it.’

 
‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Accept that the punishment fits the crime.’

  They sat in contemplative silence until Peter said, ‘So you think that the money you get for the car should cover the cost of your fines.’

  ‘Of course!! I expect to get more than that,’ Betty stated.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Peter warned. ‘Old bangers don’t fetch much these days, especially ones that have been involved in an accident because it’s not easy to get hold of the spare parts. Tim will want to get rid of it as quickly as possible so he may even suggest to the garage that they handle the sale after they’ve repaired it, or else buy it from him for scrap.’

  ‘Oh, let’s forget it for the moment and see what happens,’ Betty said firmly.

  Peter was right. A few days later Tim turned up at her door holding out an envelope. When she opened it, she found a few notes and coins inside.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘That, my dear mother, is the change from selling your car and paying your fine.’

  ‘Is this all?’ she said in a dismayed voice.

  ‘What did you expect? You’re lucky there was enough from the car to cover the fines! I hope you take it to heart and that you’ll be a bit more careful in the future. Thank heavens you won’t be driving again.’

  It was on the tip of Betty’s tongue to argue with him on that point, then she felt it would be more prudent to say nothing; to simply take the money and look contrite.

  Tim wouldn’t stay for a coffee, he didn’t want to discuss the matter any further. He had done a deal as she had asked and, as far as he was concerned, that was the end of it. Betty had no chance to ask him anything about another car. Anyway, she didn’t think it was the right moment to do so. She would let his anger subside, and the incident be forgotten, before she brought the subject up but she was more determined than ever to have a little car of her own.

  Having your own car was a mark of independence, she thought. It meant you could go where you wanted, when you wanted, and not have to ask a friend or relative to take you. She knew she was lucky, and that Peter would take her wherever she wanted to go, but that wasn’t the point. Sometimes she just wanted to go somewhere on the spur of the moment, like into Burnham Beeches; park the car, sit in it, and watch people go by or to go for a stroll on her own. Peter couldn’t understand why she wanted her own company, nor would anyone in her family, and to take a taxi just to go for a walk seemed to her to be something you just didn’t do. In her young days taxis were only used in an emergency, certainly not for frivolous things like going for a walk because you felt like it.