“At the next roundabout, take the second exit.”
“What? The map says go straight ahead. What is she on about?”
She. The TomTom. Faithful navigational servant, and maybe on the blink.
“So, should I go straight or turn?”
“The map says go straight. I think she needs an update, I’ll plug her in when we get back indoors.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Down to third and the roundabout was rounded.
“Go back and take the first exit.”
“Oh, she’s insisting today. Must have her funny week.”
“Go back and take the first exit.”
“That’s not funny Joe.”
Natalie was right, it wasn’t; especially as she’d been suffering for the last few days but I just wanted to find a hint of humour in the situation.
“Go back and take the first exit.” The metallic feminine voice was beginning to grate.
“Sorry baby, just kidding. Shall I turn her off?”
“No. What if the map’s wrong, or the road’s new?”
“Nat, this road was made when Kennedy was still banging Marilyn. If anything, the TomTom’s wrong. Technology eh?”
“Go back and take the first exit.”
“Joe, I’m gonna turn round.”
“Either you drive, or I will.”
“At the next roundabout, take the third exit.”
“Why the third?”
“She wants us to go back on ourselves.”
“So…?”
“So, just drive. Nat, it’s a short-cut over the hills. It was probably just an old sheep-herder’s route years ago and they came along and stuck tarmac on it.”
“Take the next left turn, proceed for 200 metres then take the next left turn and proceed for 4 kilometres.”
“Must be the sun, it’s got to her circuits.”
“Stop it Joe, I don’t like this one bit.”
Now Nat’s voice was beginning to grate. Two hysterical women in one car and one wasn’t even human. Breath whistled between my teeth as my shoulders slumped in the seat. The road narrowed and continued its ascent as the sun did the opposite, and sank with reluctance into the sea which glowed in late evening shades behind us. Trees arched over the road and the light retreated. Nat switched on the beams. Soon the last traces of the sea fell back behind the folds of the land as we climbed further into the hills.
“What’s that sign? Slow down Nat, how fucking freaky is that?”
STAY WITH THE SHEPHERD! badly hand painted in black on an old whitewashed door which leaned against a rotting fence post.
“Homemade cheese and a little wine thrown in most probably, I wonder how much he charges, my stomach’s beginning to…”
“Turn round and continue for 7 kilometres.”
“That’s it, I’m switching it off.” My hand reached out.
“No! No Joe, don’t. I don’t want to stop here either, in fact I want to turn round now.”
The last word was final, and I knew the tone. Nat was pissed off and I understood her.
“Turn round and continue for 7.5 kilometres.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and gave in.
“You win Nat. Turn round and let’s get out of here. I want some civilization and a pizzeria.”
The car slowed and nosed into a small track which narrowed into a small dirt track barely wide enough for a car. Either side in forgotten fields lay the rusted hulks of old and battered cars. The place looked like a breaker’s yard, an auto graveyard.
Nat stuck the car in reverse and manoeuvred to turn round, her eyes wide and accusing when she glanced at me. She ground into first gear and started to accelerate. Through the open windows came a bellowing roar and from the trees burst an old tractor. A wrinkled grey-bearded man with angry eyes sat atop of it. He turned the machine to face us and it stood in the road, . The road back was now blocked. He revved the machine, and its engine rose and fell, rose and fell as the old man continued to just stare at us. He pointed at the sign and something akin to a grin, demented and evil, crossed his face in a second and was gone, replaced by the stare, red eyes burning. He flicked his beams to high, its lights pinning us as the mechanical shovel began to rise then fall, rise then fall, like some masticating prehistoric nightmare.
“Joe?”
“What the…?”
“Joe?”
The metallic TomTom voice broke in.
“I told you to turn around.”
Nat screamed.
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