Metal Box - the short story

The forecourt was full of cars, some old and some new. The woman wandered between the rows, peering in the windows to ascertain the mileage on the clock. It was not always easy to see and she tried to create some shade with her hands so that she could more easily read the numbers.

She had been doing this, on her own, and totally engaged in the process of assessing each of the vehicles. She had liked the blue one, particularly with the fuel injection, not too sure what this was but it sounded good. She was a little confused with the letters on the backs of cars, not really knowing what GLX meant but pleased that she knew what the 'i' indicated.

She passed by several large cars, probably Volvos, and felt that these were not her style: she came to a group which were smaller and more intimate. She stopped, did her hand-cupping exercise, peered in and read 42,576 and was then not sure if this was good or bad. If it was very old, then it was quite good, but if it was just a couple of years old, or even less, then the car had done more than the average of 10,000 miles per year. She was about to follow this line of thought when she stopped and stepped back slightly. Its dark blue shape suddenly looked familiar. She hesitated before proceeding to the front of the car, not daring to see if it had the registration number she remembered. Yes, she read off the numbers and letters which she knew by heart and realised that after all these years, here it was.

She was unsure what to do. She walked to the back of the forecourt and again looked at the numbers and letters. She could see the salesman engaged in an earnest conversation with a potential customer so although he was keeping a discreet eye on her, he was not yet ready to pounce. She slowly circumnavigated the car, walking about a yard away and trying to see if it had been damaged, repaired and whether it had been cared for by its owner. She looked again at the interior. Yes, it was still the same. Some kind of mild tartan seating, rather tired looking now and a bit grubby, not not surprising really as she calculated it was something like nine years old.

To allay suspicion she walked back down the line, appearing to appraise some of the other cars, but then she slowly made her way back to the old Ford. As she did so, the memories she had locked away returned. She thought first of all of the last time she had seen it. Five years ago, outside her flat. He had dropped her off, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she had walked slowly up to the door, key in hand, before half turning to wave farewell both to him and the car.

She remembered with pain the hour before. The ride down from London to Winchester. They had had a pleasant afternoon in the park, and then a meal, which was adequate but unremarkable. The drive from London had been slow and only as they passed the Winchester City signs did he suggest a nightcap. She had been a little surprised but thought nothing more of it.

As she stood by the passenger door she traced the worn handle with her finger. She realised that door handles on cars had become somewhat more sophisticated over the years. She looked wistfully at the driving seat. She could now see that the back seat was cleaner than the rest, but if she had been giving it her housekeeping test, she would have accused it of having dog's hairs on it.

Her thoughts returned to that night so long ago.

"Let's have a nightcap" he had suggested. "I know a nice little place just up the road".
They parked in a side street and walked up the road in silence. Inside he asked what she wanted, rather than doing what he normally did and ordering a glass of red wine. She replied that she would prefer something non alcoholic and he said "OK. Orange juice?" "Fine", she replied.

Even then, as he came towards her she did not read the signs. He smiled and handed her the orange, and put his whisky in front of him.
"I've been worried lately about the children. John's been having a spate of nightmares, and Adrian keeps getting these headaches. Jean's been at the doctor's upteen times over the past few weeks. I'm beginning to get the feeling that she knows something"

And that was it. He expanded on the problems of the family, almost unaware of her sitting beside him. She said nothing. She wanted to say, "What about me? What about my life? What about the children I don't have? What about my job? etc. etc." But she said nothing.

The salesman was coming towards her now and she could hardly bear to hear his voice asking "Would you be interested in this one then?"

She tried to compose herself and turned to him with half a smile, "What are you asking for it?"
He told her a ludicrously high figure and she nearly exploded with the thought of what he wanted for this box of memories.

"Only one owner, and less than average mileage". She started to laugh and the man thought she was mocking him, after all he was only following instructions. How was he to know how precious this car had once been, how her life had been played out in it, how it had made her smile and had made her sad. How it came to represent to her all that was selfish in the man she had so adored and how now it was nothing more than a tin can, a metal box, for which she would once have paid so much and now how she only wanted to see it scrunched up in some scrapmetal yard.