Mrs Norris and the unexpected adventure

Mrs Norris was a very careful driver and shouldn’t be held in any way responsible for the accident. Up to that moment she’d been driving for over fifty years without a single accident, not so much as a point on her licence.

 

In fact, the police officer driving the other vehicle who was entirely to blame. He had, to his eternal shame, been drinking heavily while on call. Not wishing to let on when he was called out on an emergency prisoner transfer, he had agreed to drive the van, rather than face the consequences of admitting being drunk on duty.

 

Which explains why, when Mrs Norris was driving home from the 24-hour bingo finals, a police van suddenly lurched out in front of her, with the driver asleep at the wheel. She tried to break, but there was no time, and she slammed straight into the vehicle’s side. She could only gape haplessly as it lurched off the road, onto the grass verge.

 

A good citizen to her core, Mrs Norris immediately pulled onto the emergency lane and dashed back along the verge, to see if there was anything she could do to help.

The police van was on its side and the lights had gone out as a result of the crash, the only illumination was a faint light visible from the rear of the vehicle. In spite of her age (77 last birthday – you’d never know it to look at her) she was a yoga fanatic and had no difficulty scrambling up onto the side of the vehicle and trying to open the passenger door.

 

However, no matter how hard she tried, the door was stuck. Both driver and passenger were slumped, hopefully just stunned, but certainly oblivious to the world around them. There was nothing she could do to help free them.

 

‘I suppose I try the back’ Mrs Norris thought. To be honest, she wasn’t sure whether this was a prison-transfer van, or a standard police van, or whether there was a difference. Surely the van could be used for either purpose.

 

The rear door was already open when she reached the back. Indeed, the left side was hanging half loose. She opened it the rest of the way and peered inside.

 

There was a single occupant, who, in the faint light, was nonetheless clearly a prisoner – he was wearing a beige prison outfit, like taste-free pyjamas.

 

“I’m in pain,” the man said, without so much as saying ‘hello’, “I need to get to a hospital.”

“Well, if you get out I could drive you, I suppose. If it’s an emergency. Follow me to my car.”

 

“I can’t just step out love, I’m cuffed.” The prisoner jangled the chains, with which he was manacled to a thick metal bar, which stretched across the bench on which he sat. “You’ll have to get the keys from the driver.”

 

“I can’t”, she said. “I tried the passenger door, it’s stuck fast.”

 

“Ah, ah, aaaagh,” the prisoner doubled up in pain. “I’m really bad, missus. Ain’t there anything you can do?”

Pulling a hair clip from her hair, Mrs Norris climbed into the van. “Let’s have a look at those cuffs,” she said.

 

It took her just a few seconds to work the lock free. “Cor,” the man said, leaping out of his seat, “You’re a dab hand.”

 

“Well dear, if you forget your keys as often as I do you have to learn a way round it.”

 

They walked back along the verge to Mrs Norris’ car.

“I’ll get in the back and lie down,” the prisoner said.

 

“Very wise, dear. If you’re feeling unwell there’s nothing like a bit of rest. You just try to sleep and I’ll get you to A&E in no time.”

 

They drove for several minutes in silence, before the convict spoke.

 

“Actually missus …”

 

“Lilly,” Mrs Norris said, “do call me Lilly.”

 

“Lilly. Right, Lilly …”

 

“And you dear?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name. I can hardly leave you at the hospital without even knowing your name. I’m bound to get a grilling. Lots of officials with forms.”

 

“Oh, right. My name. Yeah. Most people call me CrushaSkull, but you can call me Nigel.”

 

“I’ve always liked the name Nigel,” Mrs Norris said, over her shoulder, extremely careful not to take her eyes off the road. “I think it’s much nicer than ‘CrushaSkull’. You should stick to Nigel.”

 

“Yeah, Nigel, good idea. The thing is Lilly, I’m feeling much better. I don’t think we should waste the hospital’s time. You see on the news how the NHS is running out of money, I’d hate the expense of all those tests for nothing.”

 

“Well dear, you know best. After all it’s your health. Should I turn around?”

“Turn around?”

 

“And take you back dear. Or I could drive you to the prison I suppose. Which prison were they taking you to?”

 

“Erm, actually I was being set free. I’ve served my time, you see, paid for my crimes.”

 

“They handcuff people after they’ve released them?”

 

“It’s a health and safety thing. There aren’t any seatbelts, so they use cuffs.”

 

“Oh, how silly. All this health and safety. The things I could tell you. Well, I don’t know where to take you. Not to hospital, not back to the van, not to prison. Should I take you home? Where do you live?”

There was a strange silence from the back of the car. Eventually the man spoke. “Er, no, not home. It would give my wife a nasty surprise if I showed up without her expecting me. After all, it is quite late.”

 

“But surely you were going there anyway, if you were released.”

 

“Ah, yes, but … but the police were going to phone her on the way. Because of the crash they haven’t made the call.”

“I see,” Mrs Norris said, though in fact she was highly confused. The world of released prisoners was now a confusing, health and safety obsessed blur to her. In the old days prisoners would simply be allowed to walk out the front gate and find their own way home. No lifts in prison vans, securely handcuffed to a metal bar, with late night phone calls to alert their wives.

 

“So where am I taking you then?”

 

“Well, I don’t really have anywhere. I don’t suppose I could stay with you for a night.”

 

“With me?”

 

“I know it’s an imposition, but after all, it was you who crashed into the police van. You’re the reason I’ve nowhere to stay.”

 

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. It’s just that I’ve not had a man stay over since, well, since my husband died. You know what neighbours are like. If I show up with an ex con.”

 

“They won’t know I’m an ex con.”

 

“Your uniform dear. That’s a point, why didn’t they give you your clothes back when you were released.”

 

“Er, they were stolen.”

 

“Stolen?”

“There are lots of bad people in that prison. Anyway, if I borrow your coat to go in, nobody will notice what I’m wearing, then in the morning. Perhaps I could borrow some of your husband’s old clothes.”

 

“Oh, no dear. Derek had no eye for fashion. I’m sure there’s nothing in his wardrobe that you’d want to wear.”

“Still, it’s better than these things, Lilly,” he said.

 

By the time they reached Lilly’s home she was won over, and, as she made a big pot of tea – “I’ve not had a decent cuppa in three years,” he rifled through her husband’s wardrobe, eventually selecting a moth-ridden black suit and a black shirt.

 

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Lilly laughed, shocked at seeing a handsome younger man in her husband’s old clothes.

“Yeah, I am. I’m going to the funeral of the old me. I’m gonna go straight this time Lilly, get myself a proper job, a place to live and not make the old mistakes.”

 

So much did CrushaSkull enjoy the pot of tea, that the mood became quite festival. You would never know that just a short while earlier he had thought he needed to be rushed to hospital. “You got anything to put in this, Lils,” he said (she had become Lils almost the second they walked through the door, as if Lilly was just the name she used when driving).

 

“I don’t know dear. You’ve already got milk in it. And three sugars. Not to mention the biscuit that dropped in it when you were dunking. I don’t think there is anything else. There isn’t room.”

“I was just thinking, maybe a little whisky. Or brandy. Something to help me sleep. Only, it’ll be odd, sleeping in a strange bed. Of course, if we hadn’t had the accident I’d be tucked up in my own bed, with my wife, snuggled up like …” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

 

“Derek did keep a few bottles of whisky. He was a bit of a collector.”

 

The two of them sat up late into the night, Nigel working his way through a bottle of whisky and Lilly telling him all about her life. Eventually they retired to bed, Lilly having made up the bed in the spare room. “I’ve given you six pillows,” she said, “more than you’ll need, but you can use as many of them as you like.”

 

He used all six, as he crashed onto the bed and slept in the clothes he’d been wearing, oblivious to the pillow-excess.

 

They awoke late the next day. Mrs Norris put the radio on while she was making tea and toast.

 

“And finally,” the radio news said, “police are seeking a dangerous criminal, who escaped whilst being escorted to a secure unit. Nigel ‘CrushaSkull’ McPherson is described as a dangerous and anyone spotting him should alert police and should not attempt to approach. A criminal gang is believed to be behind the breakout.”   

 

“You lied to me,” Mrs Norris said, as she brought Nigel his tea in bed. “You told me you’d been set free, but the radio says you’ve escaped.”

 

“Ah, sorry about that,” he said. “It’s just that I’ve got another twenty years to serve. I’ve learnt my lesson, I just want to start a new life. One free of crime.”

 

“So how will you do that, dear? You can hardly get a job if you’re on the run.”

 

“Well, I need one last job. If I can make enough money I can buy a new ID, set up a small business. Do you have any biscuits at all?”

 

“Oh, sorry Nigel. I’m such a bad host.”  She dashed off and returned with some fig rolls.

 

“Anyhow, if you could help me I swear I’ll go straight.”

 

“Help you? Me? What on earth do you mean?”

“The way you unpicked my handcuffs. I reckon you could open any lock in town. Plus, nobody would ever suspect you, you’re the perfect accomplice.”

 

“I’m really not a master criminal, Nigel dear.”

 

“Well, the problem is you’ve already helped me break out, so the police will be after you too. It’s in both our interest for me to be off, so really, you’ve not choice but to help me. These are amazing,” he said, holding up the last of the fig rolls, “have you got any more?”

 

“I’ll just pop down to the corner shop,” she said.

 

xxx

 

That night, Mrs Norris was surprised to find herself dressed in her funeral attire, including veil, clambering over the wall of ‘a nasty little banker who deserves bringing down to earth’ and picking the lock of the front door, which opened in a trice. She really was a natural.

 

“What if it’s alarmed dear?” she said.

 

“It is,” he said, and as if to confirm the fact a faint ringing noise emitted from a box in the hallway. “Don’t worry, that’s just the warning signal, we’ve got a minute before it alerts the police.”

 

“Then we should run away now, before they get here.”

“No worries. He pressed in some numbers on the keypad and the ringing stopped. “A friend of mine installs these. He does all the alarms in this area, he’s half the price of his competitors. The reason he’s so cheap is that he sells the codes on to people like me.”

 

“He sounds quite an astute businessman.”

 

Mrs Norris stood by the front door keeping guard, while Nigel went round finding the valuables.

 

Suddenly there was a violent barking from the rear of the house.

 

“Are you all right?” Mrs Norris shouted.

 

“I’m fine,” Nigel called, from somewhere, and the dog suddenly went quite.

 

Silence ruled for a long time, until eventually Nigel appeared, pushing a wheelbarrow full of electronic gadgetry and jewellery.

 

“It was only a dog,” he said, “Don’t worry, there’s nobody else here. I’ve put it to sleep. ”

 

They laughed, loudly, excessively, a laughed fuelled by natural endorphins, the natural high you get every time you break into a house, or so I’m told.

 

Mrs Norris opened the front door and they carried their haul to her car, which was parked just round the corner.

 

This was, Lilly realised, the most fun she’d had since her husband had died. ‘I’m almost sorry it’s just a one-off’ she thought.