Outside the White Lines

Prologue - Page 1 of 3

As the tiny voice began to speak another huge lorry thundered past. Spray laden swirls swept around his lower legs, flattening damp trousers against his shins. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ the man said.
Patiently the voice resumed. ‘I said, try and get your head right into the telephone casing. It will cut out a lot of background noise.’
He did as he was asked and instantly appreciated the advice as the voice clearly said, ‘Can you hear me better now?’
‘Yes much,’ he replied and stopped pressing the telephone receiver quite so hard against the gristle of his ear.
‘OK sir, could you tell me what number is on the inside of the door?’
He angled his head to the side and read out the luminous white number.
There was a pause and the voice said, ‘Right – so you’re just beyond junction 14?’
He didn’t know, but trusting whatever information the voice had to hand, he replied, ‘Yes, that sounds about right.’
The voice then went on to ask him various questions about his vehicle, before finishing with, ‘OK sir, have you got breakdown cover with any motoring organisation?’
‘I have,’ he answered, and pre-empting the next question, he continued, ‘shall I read out my membership details?’
‘Please.’

He held the card down at arm’s length, and using the orange flash of his hazards, read out four numbers with each blink of light.
Drips from the telephone casing fell steadily onto the back of his head as his details were processed. Whilst waiting he reflected on his situation, stranded in the middle of the night on a deserted and unlit stretch of motorway. There was no way he was getting any more than a couple of hour’s sleep before work the next day. Today in fact, since morning was now only a few hours off. He felt frustrated at how his car’s failure had also rendered him completely powerless; up until now he’d always been one of the warm and cosy drivers speeding past the dark, cold cars, parked on the hard-shoulder. Suddenly he appreciated just why these telephones were called SOS points: no-one stops to help on a motorway.

He’d counted 127 flashes of his hazards before the voice spoke to him again. ‘OK sir – you’re down as a priority case, so a van should be with you in just under an hour. I know the conditions are bad tonight but I must advise you and your passenger to remain outside your vehicle, preferably well clear of it and up the grass verge.’
‘Right, thanks for your help, is that everything?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ the voice replied. ‘Of course if there’s no sign of any van after an hour feel free to call us again.’ The line clicked dead.
‘Thanks,’ he said, feeling strangely vulnerable now the voice had gone. He replaced the receiver on the blank grey telephone, shut the little orange door and stepped back towards his car. With one hand on the roof, he looked through the rear passenger window at his sleeping daughter. Way off to his right, lights began to pierce the darkness. Squinting into the rain he watched them grow in strength until the lorry rumbled past, rocking the car beneath his hand. To his relief she stayed fast asleep in the booster seat. Moving her outside the car was ridiculous he thought, glancing uneasily at the, for now, empty lanes. Guiltily, he climbed into the front passenger seat and quietly pulled the door shut. The dashboard clock read 3:18 am.

* * * * * * *

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	Outside the White Lines

	Prologue - Page 1 of 3 As the tiny voice began to speak another huge lorry thundered past. Spray laden swirls swept around his lower legs, flattening damp trousers against his shins. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ the man said. Patiently the voice resumed. ‘I said, try and get your head right into the telephone casing. It will cut out a lot of background noise.’ He did as he was asked and instantly appreciated the advice as the voice clearly said, ‘Can you hear me better now?’ ‘Yes much,’ he replied and stopped pressing the telephone receiver quite so hard against the gristle of his ear. ‘OK sir, could you tell me what number is on the inside of the door?’ He angled his head to the side and read out the luminous white number. There was a pause and the voice said, ‘Right – so you’re just beyond junction 14?’ He didn’t know, but trusting whatever information the voice had to hand, he replied, ‘Yes, that sounds about right.’ The voice then went on to ask him various questions about his vehicle, before finishing with, ‘OK sir, have you got breakdown cover with any motoring organisation?’ ‘I have,’ he answered, and pre-empting the next question, he continued, ‘shall I read out my membership details?’ ‘Please.’ He held the card down at arm’s length, and using the orange flash of his hazards, read out four numbers with each blink of light. Drips from the telephone casing fell steadily onto the back of his head as his details were processed. Whilst waiting he reflected on his situation, stranded in the middle of the night on a deserted and unlit stretch of motorway. There was no way he was getting any more than a couple of hour’s sleep before work the next day. Today in fact, since morning was now only a few hours off. He felt frustrated at how his car’s failure had also rendered him completely powerless; up until now he’d always been one of the warm and cosy drivers speeding past the dark, cold cars, parked on the hard-shoulder. Suddenly he appreciated just why these telephones were called SOS points: no-one stops to help on a motorway. He’d counted 127 flashes of his hazards before the voice spoke to him again. ‘OK sir – you’re down as a priority case, so a van should be with you in just under an hour. I know the conditions are bad tonight but I must advise you and your passenger to remain outside your vehicle, preferably well clear of it and up the grass verge.’ ‘Right, thanks for your help, is that everything?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ the voice replied. ‘Of course if there’s no sign of any van after an hour feel free to call us again.’ The line clicked dead. ‘Thanks,’ he said, feeling strangely vulnerable now the voice had gone. He replaced the receiver on the blank grey telephone, shut the little orange door and stepped back towards his car. With one hand on the roof, he looked through the rear passenger window at his sleeping daughter. Way off to his right, lights began to pierce the darkness. Squinting into the rain he watched them grow in strength until the lorry rumbled past, rocking the car beneath his hand. To his relief she stayed fast asleep in the booster seat. Moving her outside the car was ridiculous he thought, glancing uneasily at the, for now, empty lanes. Guiltily, he climbed into the front passenger seat and quietly pulled the door shut. The dashboard clock read 3:18 am. * * * * * * * home / next page >> / << Previous page