At the same moment that he
smashed his spoon down upon his soft boiled egg there was a thud as the local
newspaper hit the front door mat. His wife gave him a sneering look as the
paper and letters were dumped onto the breakfast table. He sat alone today as
Samantha, his daughter, was staying a few days at a friend's house. He
recognised the buff coloured envelope straightaway. "Not another
one," he cried out. "It's so unfair."
He
wallowed in his self pity as he thought of all the money he had just spent on his
new car. A beautiful red colour. His favourite. He considered it his car as his
wife had not spoken to him since he had bought it over two weeks ago. He hadn't
even consulted with her though he knew there were so many things that needed
doing. If he didn't ask her she couldn't argue, could she?
"Well,
I can take the stony silence as long as it takes. She'll come around," he
silently said to himself.
A
little louder, but too quiet for Sarah to hear: "What's her problem
anyway? Car makers make cars capable of speed, so it must be OK to drive them
as they are meant to be driven: fast."
He had
once again misunderstood Sarah's actions.
While
he moaned, his long suffering wife had been scanning the local paper. She
managed:
"Two
young girls have been killed in a car accident. A hit and run driver. Poor
girls. It says here they were pedestrians. See what you speed merchants do.
Speed kills. My God! It's said often enough and it's people like you who cause
these incidents. They're not accidents. Accidents are not deliberate. They're
accidents. Stupid drivers who go too fast don't cause accidents. They cause
human disasters."
He
wasn't listening to her diatribe even though it was her first utterance in
days. He had heard it all before. What does she know anyway? Hardly ever drives
over 50mph and never close to 70mph even on the motorways.
Ron
was lost in his own misery as he realised it would be the third time this year
he had been caught speeding. This time it would be a little tricky. He would
have to plead with the magistrate about his need for his driving licence. Ron
was good at passing on responsibility to someone else.
"My
living," he muttered under his breath through clenched teeth. "I need
my driving licence for my job. Those damned yellow cameras."
So
bright and obvious. How had he not noticed it before it was too late? He had
even seen the warning sign about speed cameras in operation. He knew the road
so well. Every corner. Every junction. Even the school entrances where many
inconsiderate mothers in their big off-roaders drop their children at the
yellow lines.
"Don't
they realise the danger in that?" he continued as if someone were
listening to his ranting. At least when I go fast it is late at night. Why does
eveything seem to be yellow today?
Opening
the letter anticipating its content of a speeding summons, he was not
disappointed. Travelling at 59mph in a 40mph speed limit. He actually felt
quite a hero as this was something he could brag about to his friends. Just a
little over the limit, he reasoned. That's all. Just a bit. Hey! Wait a minute!
This letter is about something that happened over a week ago. I noticed the
camera flash the other night!
"Shit!"
he screamed out loud. "This speeding summons is a week old and I've been
done again!"
Sarah
had turned white and stood motionless and then fell to the floor unconscious,
the newspaper falling away slowly through the air to gently lay on the floor
beside her. He pushed his chair away and dived towards her still body. The
front page of the paper lay face up where he could see the story of the
"road accident":
The
story went on to describe scant details of the car, the registration of which
had only been partly recorded by a witness: "The car was travelling too
fast for me to get the entire number, UX55... something, but it was definitely
a new car. It looked grey under the street lights, so it must have been red. A
very bright red."
He was
transfixed, his eyes locked onto the newspaper story.
He
hadn't noticed any real impact. He'd hit cats before. Taken a slight knock.
Damned animals damaging my car, he thought. He had already started to look for
excuses. He must have been too heavily involved in his enjoyment and thrill of
the speed. Late night driving on a quiet road with the stereo turned right up.
What a thrill. Loud thumping music and handling his car expertly at speed.
There's nothing better than that. Nothing.
It had
happened two nights ago on a familiar section of road that he used. He was
there that night. The time would be on camera. No. It's not possible! Melissa
was at her friend's house, wasn't she? Melissa's parents had gone away on
holiday leaving the two of them alone in their house. Like Samantha, she too
was a responsible 17 year old and they both liked a good time. A fun time. Just
like he did.
Louis Brothnias 2005, Rev 2 2006 (Oct)