The Most Wonderful Time of the Year by Jenny Oliver

Author:Jenny Oliver [Oliver, Jenny; Morrey, Maxine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474048507
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Rob grabbed the remote control, pressed a button and his TV came on with a little welcome message. He punched in some numbers with his thumb and BBC News 24 came up.

‘…with all main routes out of London currently extremely slow or blocked entirely.’

I looked at Rob and pulled a face. ‘That doesn’t sound too promising, does it?’

‘Don’t give up yet,’ Rob smiled, ‘let’s consult The Oracle.’

‘The Oracle?’

He grinned. ‘Twitter.’

He switched back to the main screen on his laptop and pressed the tile for the Twitter app. His timeline immediately filled the screen and I leant over a little to see what was trending. Sure enough #snow was right near the top. Rob tapped on it to see what opinions were being given out on the subject. Typically, there were various versions of ‘America gets tonnes more of the stuff and things don’t grind to a halt.’ Rob and I glanced at each other and rolled our eyes. ‘That old chestnut’ the exchange said silently. The fact that America got tonnes of the stuff was exactly the reason why things didn’t grind to a halt. I imagined that the same people who were moaning about the situation now would probably be the same ones moaning if a fleet of highly expensive snow ploughs were sat in a shed unused for ninety-nine per cent of the time because ‘it’s not like we get tonnes of the stuff very often.’ Rob skimmed over those tweets and looked for something more constructive.

He found a tag labelled #Londonsnow and touched it. Another stream opened up. Silently we scanned over the tweets. I glanced at Rob and could see that even his optimism was failing. From the television we heard the announcement that they were ‘…now going live to our reporter, Beth Sanders.’ Beth thanked the anchor and began her report, advising that she was standing on one of the main arteries in and out of London to the south, which was now entirely blocked due to the snow. Behind her we could see lines of cars, some off at an angle, clearly abandoned. The reporter began an interview with one driver who had chosen to stick with his car. Looking completely fed up and frozen to the bone, the man relayed how, even though he’d left work early, he’d still now been stuck in his current position for over five hours.

I groaned audibly. ‘Oh, that poor man.’ I looked over at Rob and could see him weighing something up in his mind. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Ok, look,’ he turned to me, reducing the volume on the TV a little, ‘obviously those roads are pretty blocked up, but I know you want to get home. The Range Rover will go pretty much anywhere and I know a couple of short cuts–’

‘No! Absolutely not!’ I cut in.

Rob looked slightly taken aback at my vehemence.

‘I’m not getting home tonight and that’s that. There’s no way I’m going to ask you to put yourself at risk to get me there.

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