UKAuthors - A Question of Pace

As Sandra emerged from the station she realised two things: firstly that it was starting to rain, secondly that she had left her stylish and rather expensive Italian umbrella on the train.
      One more misfortune to add to the list. The first was the big one and she didn’t want to think about that. Then the excruciating leaving-party for Earl, with fat Jason leering at her and trying to touch her all afternoon. Then he had somehow managed to get into the same compartment on the train and sit opposite her for forty minutes, alcohol on his breath, spouting incessant stupid chat-up lines – until she had snapped and told him to sling his hook. Now she regretted doing it. He was somebody she had to work with. She hoped that by tomorrow he would have sobered-up and forgotten the whole thing.
      Sandra hated confrontations. It was probably because of the scene with Jason that she’d left her cherished umbrella on the train.
      Pausing now by the station exit, she watched the concrete darkening as the raindrop circles joined up.
      I used to enjoy my life, she thought, before I allowed men into it. Jason’s drunken attentions seemed to symbolise all the cruelties, disappointments and broken promises she had ever suffered at the hands of men. Self-centred uncaring bastards, the lot of them.
      She now had a choice. Go home the long way on the bright main road, or cut across the waste ground behind the housing estate and be there in half the time. In the daylight she would have taken the shortcut without hesitation, but the light was failing and the rough path through the high brambles would be scary for a woman on her own after dark. The alternative of course was getting soaked.
      It’s not all that dark, she decided, the path will be fine. She hurried to the gap between the houses and along the alley that separated the back gardens from the high stone wall of the churchyard.
      It had seemed quite bright around the station, but here, half way along the rambling path through the undergrowth, there was just the eerie afterglow of the winter sunset to light her way. Invisible now from the road and the houses, and with her heels sinking into the damp earth, she began to regret her decision.
      As well as the incipient depression she had been fighting back for the last few days she was now in clear physical danger. How could she be making all these silly mistakes and bad decisions? What was wrong with her? Tears began to blur her vision and she paused. Should she go back?
      Through the hissing of the rain, from somewhere behind her, she imagined she could hear the drumming of heavy footsteps.
      Impossible. Ridiculous. But no, it wasn’t her imagination. Those were footfalls. She could hear twigs snapping now. Somebody was running in her direction!
      Instinct took over. Lifting her shoulder-bag to shield her face from the overhanging branches she started to run mindlessly into the gloom, ignoring the path that others had traced out, ripping her tights, insensitive to the cruel contact of thorns against her arms and legs.
      Faced now with a wall of impenetrable undergrowth, far from the path and in almost total darkness, she stopped and tried to separate the sound of the footfalls from the pounding of her own heart.
      The sounds were still there. Panting now – somebody frenzied and out of breath. Was he still running or had he stopped too?
      Why didn’t she carry an attack alarm, like other girls at work? Should she make a noise? But who would come to her aid, out here in the darkness and the pouring rain? It would just tell him her position.
      Better to be silent – crouch down – maybe he was still on the path. Maybe he hadn’t seen her flee into the bushes.
      Close to despair, she looked to right and left. Was there some other possible route, some way to get even further in? All she could see was a little hollow under the dense bushes in front of her. Maybe she could crawl in there. Make herself invisible. Maybe he wouldn’t see…
      Sudden inspiration. Her phone! Where was it? If he just saw her using it he might think twice… No time for niceties. She emptied her shoulder-bag onto the ground. Horrified, she watched everything disappear under the vegetation, the phone nowhere to be seen. She knelt down and started to scrabble through the spilled items in the wet undergrowth.
      “Where…where the… the fuck…”
      Too late. He had found her. It was a voice she knew all too well. The bitter taste of vomit invaded her mouth.
      Slowly standing up and turning around, she faced him.
      He was only feet away. Short though he was he seemed to tower above her, trembling with exertion from his run, rocking back and forth, gasping for breath as he tried to get the words out. He might not be physically fit but he had easily twice her body weight. Realistically, she didn’t stand a chance. Her spirit seemed to give up. She felt her shoulders slump.
      I don’t want to be raped, she screamed in her head. I don’t want to be hurt. God, if you’re real, have mercy on me.
      Yet when she spoke, the calmness of her voice surprised her. It came out in the kind of tone you might use to humour a child, or a madman. “What are you doing here, Jason? This isn’t your stop.”
      “Where…where the fuck are you going… in such a bleeding hurry?” he managed to stutter before returning to his panting, gathering enough breath for his next sentence. “Are you trying to… fucking kill me?”
      She looked up at him without comprehension. He threw some dim object towards her and it fell at her feet, vanishing like everything else into the tall ground-cover.
      “You left your sodding umbrella on the train,” he said between gasps, before turning and commencing his painful journey back towards the station.

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