‘Want a lift?’
‘Please.’ I climbed out, put her backpack in the boot and opened the front for her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, kicking of her shoes. ‘I wasn’t sure if anyone would stop. Everyone’s a bit …’
‘I always stop for hitchhikers,’ I said. Now I could see her face more clearly, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her and I didn’t want to say anything for fear of sounding creepy, ‘I’m James, by the way.’
‘Nikki. You haven’t got anything to drink have you? I’m gasping.’ I handed her some water. ‘How come you’re hitching?’
‘Couldn’t get a train.’ She looked out of the window. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘After all that rain. Lovely to have the good weather again.’
‘Yes.’ Clearly she wasn’t keen to talk about our situation. I took her lead. Tried to pretend we were just a couple of people who had just met, travelling together for a while. It was better than giving into the gnawing anxiety that Yan was right, that we wouldn’t get out of here alive. ‘So what do you do then?’
‘Right now? I’m a waitress in a chippy in Penzance.’
That’s where I’d seen her before. ‘I was in there the other week. You probably don’t remember …’ She stared at my face a moment, ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I do. You wanted a saveloy and we’d run out so you had to wait. The wanker behind you was less patient, and kept shouting at me to hurry up, even though I couldn’t cook them any faster. You told him to shut up, which was nice of you, given how big he was.’
‘I wouldn’t have done it after hours,’ I said, grinning. ‘But 6.00 p.m. in daylight, with loads of people around? I’m very brave in those sort of situations.’
‘Well, anyway, I appreciated it.’ Nikki smiled back, filling me with a sense of joy that I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was crazy considering the fact we had just met, but somehow it seemed as if we’d always known each other.
‘It’s just a summer job,’ she said. ‘I’ve just finished a Masters in French Language and Literature. My parents are in Lagos with my brother and sister, so I offered to look after their house, while I sort out what next. How about you?’
‘I work in an antiques shop in St Ives.’
‘That’s unusual.’
‘For someone my age? I would have thought that a few years back when I was working in the City. But the job bored me, and I wanted to make music. So I jacked it in to come down here to play on the folk scene. The shop was supposed to be a stopgap, but I got hooked on the smell of old furniture and the music thing didn’t work out, and here I am …’
‘That’s cool.’ Phew, unlike Lisa she didn’t think it a dead-end job that made me dull. The conversation flowed for the next hour, enabling us both to pretend we haven’t noticed how long it has taken us to reach our current location. There’s been a white van in front of us for ages, blocking the view, but the road has dipped and now we can see over it to the long line of cars stretched ahead. They are barely moving. I have been driving for three hours and travelled eight miles. At this rate, we have no chance of reaching safety in time.
‘Shit,’ said Nikki. ‘That doesn’t look good.’
‘No.’
She looks away. I have a feeling she might be about to cry and not want me to see. I am close to tears myself. I was so sure Yan was wrong and I was right, but now, as I sit here and weigh up our chances, I have lost that sense of certainty. I switch on the radio to hear the news that every road north is blocked, a fact confirmed by my satnav, which is helpfully stating that the current estimated time of arrival will be eighteen hours. Eighteen hours? That’s three hours too late. We sit, staring at the road ahead, unsure what to do. It seems impossible that we could die tomorrow. We are too young, there is too much we haven’t done. Keeping moving is our only chance of surviving. The hopeful side of me wants to keep moving. Wants to pretend that the satnav is broken, the traffic reports are exaggerated. But I can hear Yan’s voice in my head, ‘You’ll get as far as Falmouth before the wave sweeps you off the face of the earth.’ Despite his tendency to over-dramatize, I’m reluctantly beginning to concede his point …
And it’s terrifying. I am twenty-nine years old. I don’t want to die tomorrow. I should have years ahead of me. Years to achieve all the goals that seem to have eluded me. I had such grand plans when I left my corporate hell hole and moved down here. I was going to record an album, live the life of a simple artist. I’ve managed none of it. I enjoy my job but all I’ve got to show for the last few years is the hours I’ve put in to pay my rent. And when Lisa came into my life, all my ambitions became subsumed by hers. What a waste.
‘I was thinking,’ says Nikki softly, ‘that woman on Facebook might be right …’
‘The one at Dowetha Cove?’
‘I saw the post while I was standing there. I didn’t want to believe her, but I’ve seen the station, and …’
‘My friend Yan is already there.’
Ahead of us, the white van moves forward but it is belching smoke and is forced to pull over to the side of the road. As we pass, I see the driver standing looking grimly at the steaming, overheated engine. I think about offering a lift, but almost immediately we come to a halt again. I look at the map, my watch, the tachometer. I look at the queue of traffic ahead that’s going nowhere. It is hot in the car and the sandwiches are getting stale. I gaze at the blue sky and the glowing yellow sun. At this time of day the sea will still be warm and I wouldn’t mind a swim. I think if I spend another hour in this car, I am likely to go mad. Nikki looks at me and nods, even though I haven’t said anything.
The road ahead is blocked, but the south road isn’t much better. Despite Nikki’s news about the station, it seems as if some still think there might be trains and are travelling in the opposite direction. Either way, we aren’t getting anywhere in a hurry. Weighing up the odds, I come to a decision. If it’s a choice between sitting here for hours waiting for the inevitable, or sitting on the beach … I rev the engine, indicate, turn out of the traffic queue, point the car in the opposite direction, and take the road south.
The sun streaming through the curtains wakes me, but it takes a while for me to come to my senses. I feel hot, my body sluggish. What time is it? I only turned over for a quick doze at nine, thinking the street noises would wake me, but I’d forgotten I switched rooms last night after being freaked out by noises in the graveyard. The back bedroom is much quieter and so I have slept on undisturbed. Shit, it’s nearly one o’clock. I’ll have to get a move on if I am going to make my train.
As I draw the curtains I remember I promised Mum and Dad that I would mow the lawn. They’ll be pretty pissed when they get back – they’re so proud of their English country garden, it makes them feel like true Brits. They’ll be mad as hell when they see the tangle of brambles smothering their rose bushes and the grass almost as high, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve been doing lates all week and just haven’t had the energy. I will scribble them a note and hopefully they’ll ask my brother, Ifechi or Ginika, my sister to do it and will be over it by the time I’m back.
I take my scarf off, rub my hair with pomegranate oil and comb it through, tying it in a pony-tail to keep it off my neck. I’m hot and sticky and still smell of chip fat. There’s no time to shower; instead, I have a quick wash, moisturize