The Poison Garden (2019 Sphere Edition) by Alex Marwood

Author:Alex Marwood [Marwood, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780751566000
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2019-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

Among the Dead

November 2016

26 | Romy

The driver smells – musty. As though he’s been kept in a damp cellar between trips in his car. A headful of unruly black curls, pubic sideburns all the way down to his jaw. One of those simian faces with eyes that narrow to slits when he smiles.

‘Looks like someone’s having a good day,’ he says, and laughs like a barking dog.

I pull myself out of my blur of rage and size up my situation. I’m sitting on a seat that feels, from the way the frame digs into my thighs and buttocks, as though the stuffing has fallen out of it. In the gloom of the interior, I see that this car is old. Older than I am, probably. The winding handle for the window to my left has fallen off, just a cog in the door where it should be. On the dashboard, a plastic model of a piebald bull terrier nods and nods and nods, and a length of silver sticky tape holds the glove compartment closed. Around my feet, a sea of paper and old soft-drink containers.

I look at him. He’s grinning at the road ahead through the windscreen, his teeth improbably white.

‘What you been up to, my duck?’ he asks. The heater blows scalding air onto my feet, yet my shoulders are surrounded with chilly autumn draught. I pull my hoodie up to cover the back of my neck. Stupid, stupid me, letting the red mist override my ability to look before I leapt.

‘Been to visit my grandparents,’ I tell him.

‘Grandparents, eh?’

‘Yes,’ I say. Not sure how to play this. Friendly, so he thinks he sees a come-on, or standoffish, which would be likely to enrage? Or tough, so he knows not to fuck with me?

‘And what do they think to a great-grandbabby?’ he asks.

Babby. There’s something primeval about the misuse of the word. I’m in a lot of trouble, here. ‘They’re old-fashioned,’ I say.

That laugh again. ‘Babby got no daddy, eh?’

I’m going for standoffish. Let him think I’m a dumb chick who thinks that grand manners are enough to keep her safe. ‘What an intrusive question,’ I say.

The grin flashes off. ‘Oh, no offence, maid,’ he says, and turns onto the motorway slip road. We’ve not slowed down enough at any point for me to try the door. Not without risking harm to you, baby. ‘Although on second thoughts it’s a bit late to be calling you maid, eh?’

He puts his foot down as we hit the motorway and the car roars and lurches into the centre lane. I’m probably safe at eighty miles per hour. It’s when we return to the side roads that I need to be prepared.

Maybe if I engage him. At least I can get the measure of him then. He might just be very, very stupid; not realise how he comes across. Or I might be paranoid. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility; I was raised paranoid. And he’s not done anything yet. Much.

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