Short Story # 5

Dear Micks,

Here is another short story by novelist and professional short story writer, Della Galton. To find out more about the author, visit: www.dellagalton.co.uk

Della's latest book, The Dog with Nine Lives, is on sale on 26 October, 2010

Map Reading and Murder

By

Della Galton

Jack was beginning to get seriously irritated with Marion. This holiday in the Purbecks was supposed to be a chance to wind down, relax and take in the scenery, but she’d been bending his ear ever since they set out. Being screeched at, because she didn’t like the route he was taking, was very wearing.

“I have been here before,” he muttered, fixing his eyes on the road ahead. “I know it might not be on the map, but it’s a shortcut, I remember it. So please quit griping and let me concentrate.”

To his intense relief, she shut up. Bliss. And for the next few miles, she was silent. Sulking probably. He hoped he was right about the shortcut. It was true he had been here before, but not for at least thirty years. For all he knew they might have changed the road layout and he had to hand it to Marion – she was efficient. Unlike, Connie, his ex-wife, who’d never had an up to date map.

He’d been twenty-two the last time he’d been to the Purbecks. Young, free and single and looking forward to getting married and having children. He hadn’t had a clue, he thought wryly.

Not that he didn’t love his kids, they were great kids. They took after him and not their mother, fortunately. But the marriage bit – well to be honest he wished he hadn’t bothered. He and Connie had never really had much in common.

She’d thought she was an expert map- reader, too, he remembered ruefully. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad, but she’d been so smug with it. She’d delighted in telling him he was stupid as often as possible.

Jack remembered one nightmare journey when they’d been trying to find a B&B in Devon. She’d spent the entire three hours barking out instructions and telling him what an idiot he was when they came too late for him to act on them.

He’d snapped eventually and veered onto a grass verge, which had wiped the smug look off her face temporarily.

“Look,” he’d yelled. “It’s no good you telling me it’s the third exit when I’ve already taken the fourth. What am I supposed to be, a mind reader or something?”

To make matters worse he’d discovered belatedly that the grass verge was soft and when he’d tried to pull back onto the road he realised they were stuck. He’d had to flag down a passing truck and beg a tow. And all the time Connie had bent his ear from the passenger seat, not lifting a finger to help. Then, once they were going again she’d spent the rest of the journey telling him that if he’d listened to her in the first place they wouldn’t be in this mess.

She’d sulked for the rest of the week too, which hadn’t done much for the relaxing break he’d planned for them. Things had come to a head soon afterwards – it was a shame for the kids’ sake that it had ended like it had. But they were grown up, they’d coped – Jack had a feeling they’d secretly admired him for standing up to their mother, once and for all. But all Jack had felt was blessed relief that he’d never have to hear her grating voice again.

He couldn’t believe he’d landed up in a near identical situation with Marion. She’d started wittering again, that they’d taken the wrong turning, but he was doing his best to ignore her.

A lesser man would have snapped completely by now, he thought, wondering how many murders had been committed over map reading arguments.

A few minutes later, he indicated right, ignoring her snide remarks that they were going the wrong way and pulled over into a viewpoint that overlooked the whole of the Purbecks.

No-one could fail to be impressed by this view, he thought, gazing out at the purple heather-clad hills and taking a deep breath. Not that Marion had anything to say about it. Perhaps she’d given up. Jack had to admit she’d been right about the earlier directions. His shortcut had taken them down a road that had got narrower and narrower and finally turned into a farm track with grass growing down the centre of the road. He’d turned round and they were now going in the opposite direction, but they were still hopelessly lost.

“OK, you win,” he said eventually to break the stifling silence. “We’ll do it your way. And this time I’ll listen to you. How’s that?”

There was no answer; he hadn’t expected one. But she soon started up, once they were back on track. “Turn left at the next junction.” Her voice wasn’t as grating as Connie’s had been, which was something, he supposed. And at least she gave him plenty of notice.

Maybe he was being oversensitive he thought, when they finally pulled up at their destination. A grey stone cottage that was every bit as lovely as it had looked on the brochure. And they were only an hour and a half late. Not bad for a man who’d once taken eight hours to do a three-hour journey.

“Got there in the end, my darling,” he murmured, grinning and getting out to stretch his legs and get the bags out of the boot.

And they wouldn’t have to drive anywhere now they were here. He’d spotted a country pub a mile or so back. It would be better to walk up there than risk his licence. Then he had a week of peace to look forward to. He breathed in a huge lung full of fresh, country air.

Marion wasn’t all bad, he decided, crossing to the front door and sliding the key into the lock. Nothing like Connie if he thought about it. He thought of his ex wife’s shrewish face and shuddered.

No, Marion was actually quite an asset for a man who couldn’t find his way around. And if he didn’t want to, then he wouldn’t have to hear her voice again until they drove back home.

If she wound him up too much he could always implement the final solution and do what he’d threatened to do earlier. Silence her permanently and find his own way home.

That was the beauty of satellite navigation.