Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

lay quiet. A paperboy on a bicycle passed them and pushed his way up the gentle hill leading to the main crossroads ahead. They watched the young lad negotiating the black slush as he rounded the solitary parked car, which must have been there all night as it sported a three-inch topper of snow. The windscreen had a clear patch on the passenger side where the thick sheet of snow had slipped and sagged down.

The traffic lights up ahead changed to green allowing a small white commercial Ford Transit van to trundle carefully down the road. The driver appeared to be gripping the steering wheel and staring intently out of the windscreen as the ruts of icy slush forced the wheels in a different trajectory to the driver’s intended direction. He applied the brakes, causing the wheels to lock, which resulted in Gregorio’s Italian Bread van sliding gently into the parked car. The van came to a halt as the two vehicles gently nudged together.

The chrome wing mirror positioned at the end of the van’s near-side wing, bent, toppled, snapped off and plopped into the slush. The slight jolting to the car resulted in a small avalanche that shook the snow from the side windows.

“I could see that coming. The roads must be treacherous this morning,” said Brian.

Sally stopped and pulled on Brian’s arm. “There’re always accidents since they put those traffic lights up last year. They were put in to make it safer, but it’s worse now,” Sally replied, as she gripped Brian’s arm a little tighter.

Joe slid back the driver’s door and hopped out to inspect the damage. He rubbed his hands together, then beat his arms around his body. He’d foolishly left the bakery without his coat, so was just dressed in his blue and white striped apron on top of a roll-neck jumper that covered his bakers-whites. Joe stood looking at his stricken wing mirror as he continued to rub his hands together.

“You okay, mate?” Brian called across to him.

“Yeah, think so. Although the boss ain’t going to be too chuffed about this,” Joe replied. He’d retrieved the broken wing mirror and balanced it back on the front wing as if it would just click back on.

“Don’t think you damaged the car as you only nudged it,” Brian replied.

“There’s some yellow paint on my wing, so I think I’ve scratched it.” Joe looked around as if looking for the owner. “No idea whose car it is. I’ll have to leave a note on the windscreen.”

Brian stepped onto the road and searched for where the car had been bumped. There was the slightest mark on the back wing and, after a quick visual inspection, he rubbed his gloved finger across the small white mark as if to erase it.

“It’s a tiny scratch, mate. I wouldn’t bother. Just get going, fella. Looks like it’s been here all night with all that snow on it. I really wouldn’t worry.” Brian announced whilst he continually rubbed the scratch.

“Brian. Brian, look!” Sally exclaimed.

“What love?”

“Brian, look,” she repeated and pointed to the passenger window.

Brian and Joe gingerly padded their way around to where Sally was pointing at a man slumped in the passenger seat who appeared to be asleep.

“Oh, bloody hell, someone’s sitting in there!” Brian exclaimed, as he pushed the chrome button on the door handle. The jolt of the door opening instantly woke the young-looking man, who jumped in surprise.

“You okay, fella?’ Brian asked, crouching down so he was at eye level with him.

The man yawned and stretched his arms, shaking his head.

“You been here all night, fella? You must be frozen.” Brian felt his hand. “Yes, he’s frozen alright. Colder than the dead.”

“Where … am I?” He glanced around his surroundings, a deep frown across his face, as his head shot side to side.

“You’re sitting in your car. By the feel of you, I reckon you’ve been here all night. You’re frozen, young fella. You’ll catch your death out here.”

The man stared at him and blinked a few times but didn’t reply. Then his eyes darted left and right as if his brain was now on high alert.

Sally leant forward. “Are you okay? What you doing here?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” he spat back aggressively.

“You’re parked up on Cockfosters High Street. I’m Brian, this is Sally,” he said, as he thumbed in Sally’s direction who now crouched next to him.

“Joe,” said the bread delivery driver from behind them.

“Who are you?”

“Martin. I’m Martin Bretton.”

“Okay, Martin. I think you need to get yourself off home. As I said, you will catch your death out here. You look a little confused … are you unwell?”

“Why is there snow? … It’s August … why is there snow?” chanted Martin. He stared through the windscreen and appeared to be transfixed by something in the distance, remaining still apart from the continued chant. “Why is there snow?”

Brian looked at Sally and shrugged. Sally looked at Joe, and he shrugged.

“Is he drunk?” said Joe.

“Martin, it’s January. You seem confused,” added Sally.

“Where’s Jason?” muttered Martin. He glanced at the driver’s seat and laid his right hand on it as if checking for Jason.

“Is he the driver, Martin?” Brian asked.

Martin turned to face the three of them. “We had a crash. A crash with a white van.”

“Hey, look mate, I only nudged you. I haven’t even marked your car, so I think a crash is a bit over the top, pal!” exclaimed Joe, as he leant forward.

Martin looked around himself as he tugged at his parka coat and rubbed his hand across the dashboard. He wobbled the gear stick, then stared back at Brian. “What car is this?”

Brian rocked back on his heels whilst holding the door frame, glanced at the car, and leant forward again. “It’s a Cortina, MK3 Cortina. Does it belong to your friend Jason?”

“What … What?” exclaimed Martin, as his eyes bulged.

“You got a number we can call someone for you? There’s a phone box just up there,” added Sally.

Brian turned to Sally