The hold up - quick story

Hello. Clara started her swimming lessons 3 weeks ago, and since Maria and Sonny used to go there they've introduced a new rule. Parents can no longer watch the little cuties learning to swim. Instead, the instructor has to tell us how good she was at jumping in without a float, how she dived to the bottom of the pool and gave someone a black eye when they tried to pinch her ball. Meanwhile, I have a little time to kill in the car. So today I wrote a little story, initially inspired by the news stories of people being trapped in cars because of sheet ice. The pen took over; I don't really recognise most of this story! Anyway, this might entertain you if you're really bored. Enjoy x

The Hold Up

Charlie stared at the three lines of traffic, red lights vanishing as motorists switched to the hand brake, resigning themselves to the wasted time ahead.

            ‘Shit, this is all we need. How far to our junction?’

            ‘Not far, but this traffic ain’t movin’. I think we’re here for the duration.’ Charlie lit a Marlboro light and passed the packet to Ahmed in the passenger seat. ‘Wind your window down, though, pal. Think my asthma’s playing up.’

            ‘OK. I’ll get on the phone to Benny. Let him know we’re stuck. You check the radio, see if you can get an update.’

            Charlie switched to a local station then heaved his heavy frame out onto the motorway tarmac, looking for movement amongst the huffing, impatient vehicles. Through the cold, thick air he struggled to identify any blue lights or fluorescent jackets, the warning signs of authority. The occupants of the smug cars roaring past in the other direction were still busy turning their heads back to their own futures, suggesting that the blockage wasn’t far ahead of them. A police car tore past them in the hard shoulder, two lanes to their left. He squished back into the car and shut the door, closing in the poisonous warmth and Ahmed’s farts.

            ‘Will that be OK in the boot?’ Ahmed asked, as he noticed Charlie’s nervous glance towards the rear of the stinky BMW.

            ‘It’ll have to be. They can’t exactly do anything without us. What did Benny say?’ Charlie gestured to the battered phone lying in the cup-holder.

            ‘They’re at the Bank, now. They said they’ll wait. No one suspects anything yet. He reckons we’ve got about an hour before things go tits-up.’

            Charlie turned up the volume dial on the radio, scratching his bristling cheeks as he concentrated on the traffic update.

            Stationary traffic between junctions five and six of the M5 after an accident. Emergency services are at the scene. As soon as we know more we’ll update you.

            Charlie banged the steering wheel with both palms. ‘Damn.’ Weeks of planning about to be wasted.

            ‘Don’t panic, Charlie. Plan B will have to kick in if we don’t make it.’

             ‘Plan B? Ahmed, there is no Plan B. We’ve got the gear in the boot. There’ll be no blast without that stuff there.’

            The men sat silently, pulling up the zips on their matching leather jackets as tendrils of icy air whispered around the car. Ahmed rubbed a circular pattern out of the steam on the window.

            ‘There’s a policeman, going car to car.’

            ‘Oh no. That’s not good. Sit tight, I’ll go and speak to him.’

            Charlie lumbered towards the silver people carrier a few cars in front. A boy stuck his tongue out at him. He flicked and swiveled his middle finger in return, before returning his hand to the depths of his pocket. The traffic officer looked up at him as he drew to a halt at the drivers’ door.

            ‘I was just telling this gentleman, Sir, that the road ahead is closed and probably will be all night. An oil tanker has spilled its contents across the carriageway and we have quite a number of casualties. Unfortunately, we’re all stuck here. I suggest you go back to your car and try to keep warm. ‘ Vapour pulsed into Charlie’s face in time with the policeman’s words. ‘I believe that we’re sending out a van shortly to provide soup and foil blankets. We don’t want another repeat of the M11 incident three years ago …’

            ‘Thanks, officer.’ Charlie said as he found a breathing space in the officer’s speech. ‘I’ve come from the navy BMW just there,’ he pointed to where he could see Ahmed’s blurred face peering back. ‘You won’t need to knock on our window. Thanks for the info.’

            Charlie’s mind raced as he strode back to the car. He pondered the urgency of the situation and their options for getting to the Bank according to the plan. He calculated that it was approximately a mile and a half from the next junction, which was after the bridge up ahead. The night was cold and they would have the gear in the boot to carry between them. It wasn’t unbearably heavy, but it was delicate. It would be hard to be discreet with two huge holdalls bulging with sharp points. They also ran the risk of returning later and finding the motorway open and their car gone, having been impounded. Still, they must persevere. This was a rare occurrence. Something that had been planned for months.

            ‘Come on, Ahmed, out. We’re gonna have to go on foot. I’ll get the gear out of the boot.’

            Ahmed blew out his cheeks as he stepped out of the car. He peeled his leather gloves from his jacket pockets, picking off bits of fluff and tissue remnants.

            ‘You carry the loot bag. I’ll take this one.’

            The two men walked quickly, shoulders aching beneath the piercing air. Eventually they turned onto the High Street.

            ‘I reckon we’ll make it, Charlie. I think I can see the Bank ahead.’

            At that moment his brother, Benny, visualised beneath a muted streetlight. Benny walked with a twisted gait, the legacy of a violent scuffle years before.

            ‘Thank God you’ve made it. I thought we were gonna have to do it without you. And Lord knows what Maggie would’ve done. All the money involved in this…’

            ‘Well we’ve had to leave the car on the motorway so we’ll need to  hitch a lift back home, if that’s OK.’

            ‘Fine. But just let’s do this.’

            The three men hefted the two bags between them up the street and through the doors of the Bank Top Inn. Charlie squashed through the doors alongside Ahmed, and they headed towards the raised seating area that had been set aside for them.

            Charlie grabbed the microphone attached to the karaoke system and tapped it against the table for silence. Ahmed had managed to remove the large white box from his holdall and placed it on the table, removing the lid to reveal a pair of breasts, nipples of red icing rising sweetly upwards. The heavier bag lay at Charlie’s feet.

            ‘Silence! Can I have everyone’s attention, please? Sorry to disturb your evening. But today is a very special day,’ Charlie scanned the faces until he picked out the squinty, one-sided smile of his father, ‘because today is Patrick Milford’s sixtieth birthday. A birthday we didn’t expect him to see. And we have a few surprises from all of the people who love him the most. His family and friends. Dad, come on up here and see what we’ve got here for you. Thanks, everyone. Let’s party!’

            The music resumed as Charlie winked at Ahmed, ‘That were close, sweet face.’

            He greeted his father as Maggie wheeled him up the ramp towards the cake and the bag of gifts.