Sarah-Jane's
Story
On the
headland, overlooking Douglas harbour, stand a row of tall Victorian terraced
houses. Most were small hotels when the
tourist industry was still thriving, but now they have been split into flats,
or bedsits. The gardens are too steep,
and the stairs too numerous for family homes, and there is not enough parking
to go around. In the early 1990s, when
Sarah-Jane's story took place, most of those living on Head Road were young
adults. Many were unemployed. There were drinkers there, and junkies
too. A youthful tide of people without
other options. The houses were mainly
owned by big landlords, who didn't take good care of them, and their old
glamour was faded and tired. The tenants
survived on low benefits, or low wages, kept heating to a minimum, and ate a
lot of broth.
The night of
Sarah-Jane's story was cold, with few clouds.
Stars shone, the constellation of Orion hanging with his sword ready to
go to battle with the moon, which was nearly full. Although it was December, there were no
Christmas lights up on the headland, and the street lights were turned off at
night, so the moonlight silvered the edges of roofs, the windows, and far
below, the edges of the waves washing up the harbour mouth.
Number 10
was nearly empty. The bills had not been
paid, and the tenants had been turfed out, but the landlord had let Sarah-Jane
stay on. She had been the only girl in
the house when it was full, and had tried valiantly to fight the tide of
neglect that the boys had pushed forward.
Now they were gone, and she could keep an eye on the place, until he was
ready to do it up a bit and get new tenants in.
He was thinking of splitting it into flats, but would wait for the
influx of Irish builders in the spring.
In the only
room in the house with a still-functioning fire, Sarah-Jane lay sleeping under
a pile of blankets and sleeping bags.
She couldn't afford to have the fire on at night and the heat leached
through the massive single-glazed window, so she had all the blankets she could
find on the bed. She didn't like to be
by herself in the house. She'd liked the
hustle and bustle and general madness of the boys being around, and she was
always aware of how alone she was here.
She once slipped down a flight of stairs. She wasn't badly hurt, but it had brought
home to her that if she was, she could be stuck there for a very long time
before anyone came. Of course, she
didn't have anywhere else to go. She wouldn't
stay otherwise. However, she was working
on it. She was going to leave the
island. She'd applied to some
universities on the mainland, and was waiting to hear back. Her boyfriend, Dave, had said he'd come over
with her, but she didn't know if he would.
Dave was great, but it felt more like a friendship than a
relationship. Mind you, some great
relationships started out as friendships, so she would see what happened.
The
old-fashioned alarm clock on the window-sill brought her sharply out of her
sleep when it rang. She had to get out
of bed to switch the light on and check what time it was. Three minutes to five. She felt aggrieved that she'd not managed to
get the tiny hand in exactly the right place, and so had missed out on three
minutes precious sleep. She hated being
on Earlies. Dave had helped her get this
job, in the care home where he worked up in Ramsey. She didn't have a work permit so it was
really hard to get work on the island.
But The Ashes home was a bugger to get to, so they couldn't find enough
islanders to work there. Dave had been
kind enough to switch his shifts to make sure he was on Earlies when she was,
so he could drive her up there, but she had to get to his house in Onchan first,
so she'd best get a move on.
The first
thing to do was make the house seem lived in.
She turned on the fire, lighting it with a match. While the match was lit she lit a cigarette
and turned the radio on. Then she ran
downstairs and mixed the oats, dried milk, water, and salt for her porridge. It all went in the one pan she was willing to
use, and onto the hob. She gave it a
quick stir, poured and drank a glass of apple juice, then thought she heard
something in the hall. She turned all
the lights on and went to look, to put her mind at ease. The hall turned into a sort of bridge that
went over the yard below to the street.
It was long, and it was dark. She
went along it, accidentally standing on the wobbly floor board, but stepping on
the other side of it to 'surf' it flat again, to the front door. She looked out of the peep hole. It was pitch black. She was being daft. She checked the toilet. There was a dribble of water going into the
bowl from the cistern. Maybe it was
that. Ash fell off her cigarette onto
the floor. She ran back to the kitchen
to stir the porridge, then back up to her room, hating the darkness up and down
the stairs that wound round and round like a snake through the middle of the
building. She locked the door, just in
case, balanced the cigarette on top of the fire between drags, and pulled on
her hideous uniform, while listening to the DJ on the radio playing requests
for truckers.
White
knickers and bra, because anything else showed through. Nasty 'honey' beige tights which were new now
and would doubtless be laddered by the end of the day, and a too-short green
dress, with her name badge pinned to it, and fastened with poppers, presumably
to allow any idiot who wanted to to yank it open quickly. She put a grey lambswool cardi' on top. It was freezing out there, and she loved the
soft material. She wouldn't risk wearing
the nasty white lace-ups she had to wear, and they were already in her bag, so
she pulled her Doc Martins on, eschewing the top two holes, but wrapping the
laces around the boots instead. Nearly
ready.
Dressed, she
stubbed out her cigarette, turned off the radio and the fire, and headed
downstairs, leaving her bedroom door unlocked.
Although she locked it while she was in there, she didn't actually have
the key, but she didn't have anything worth stealing either. She put her coat on and then ate her porridge
from the pan. It was lumpy. She kept close to the hob, for the
warmth. She rinsed out the bowl, spoon,
and pan for tomorrow, grabbed her bag, and then thought she heard a noise from
the old lounge. This house was getting
to her. Would she go and
investigate? No, she'd already been on
one wild goose chase, she'd best get out of it.
Outside it
was still incredibly dark, and freezing.
The moon lit tiny fragments of ice on the path, but it didn't look too
treacherous. Even though the street
lights weren't on up here at this time it still seemed a much deeper, denser,
darkness lay across the road where the moorland began. She couldn't even look at it now, although
she loved looking out at it in the daylight.
She hurried down the hill. No
shortcuts here in the morning, the harbour bridge was open (to boats, so closed
to people) until 6am, so she'd have to run around. It wasn't especially windy this morning,
although the island was always windier than most places, and she could hear the
ting ting ting of taut ropes on masts as she came close to the fishing
boats. The tide was too low for them to
go out yet, but the lads who were staying on their boats were up, eating their
breakfasts in lit up cabins, providing tiny islands of light and warmth on this
dark morning.
As she came
around the harbour and closer to the bus station the orange streetlights
started to flicker on. She broke into a
run, she couldn't miss this bus. She got
there before it did, and lit a cigarette to try to make it come. Standing under a strobing light, made to feel
the darkness more somehow by being in and out of brightness. Bits of rubbish were being blown about, each
taking her by surprise. She was on edge
this morning, and longed for the light and relative warmth of the bus. Maybe she could close her eyes for a few
minutes.
She was
halfway through the cigarette when it pulled in. It was the chatty driver. He wouldn't take her money, but she felt
she'd have to pay in another way, putting up with his inane prattle, and thinly
disguised flirting, until she got into Onchan.
Still, she was in, she was on her way.
She felt compelled to stand up beside the drivers cab, and as they went
along the front she enjoyed looking at the Christmas lights in the hotels. The giant squirrel up by the Villa Marina –
the only squirrel on the island. She
loved coming back from work along the front, when she could look out to sea,
which was just blackness and blinking lights here and there now. When the wind really got up, and the waves
crashed over the tops of the cliffs you would sometimes have to close the
windows on the top deck for fear of having bits of seaweed land in your
lap.
He was
yabbering on, about how he fancied nurses now.
She was offering vague 'hmms' and 'uhuh's, and was glad they were coming
up the headland on the other side of the bay, into Onchan. There were two ways she could go. It was a bit quicker to go through the
graveyard, but she usually got off at the later stop and walked along well lit
streets. She was just wondering if she
could bear listening to chatty driver any longer when he stopped the bus at a
stop where no-one was waiting, and grabbed her arm. They were still the only people on the
bus. Still the only people in the waking
world so far as she could see. She
looked down at him. “Are you going to
come out with me then?” “No. Let go of me.
I've got a boyfriend.” “Oh come
on, girl like you, you're not going to let that hold you back are you?” He pulled her down toward him in the cab,
grabbing at her coat. She could feel the
bloody poppers on her silly green dress popping open. “Get off me!”
She wriggled her arm out of his grip, and fought with the concertina door,
managing to haul it open before he was out of his driver's enclosure. She jumped down, they were only a stop away
from the graveyard, and she ran up the road.
The bus started juddering along the road as she was turning into it.
Bloody
hell. She was not in the mood for a
graveyard. It was still pitch dark, she
could barely make out the path, but she would.
She walked bravely for a bit, but she felt like all her senses were
trying to make up for her night-blindness by going on full alert. Her heart was beating like a drum after the
run in with the prat on the bus. She was
jumping at everything. There was nothing
for it, she was going to have to make a noise herself. She vaguely knew the guy who was the
gravedigger here from the pub. Big guy,
quiet. He made compilation tapes for
her. Pretty good ones. He said that he always made noise if he got
worried. She liked the idea that he got
worried too. She started a mantra: “I
don't believe in zombies, I don't
believe in zombies, I don't believe in
zombies.” Her heart was pounding, and
she felt cold and hot at the same time, but she did it, she got through the
graveyard without being attacked by a single zombie, and was out onto Dave's
street, with his car there, engine on, warming up already.
He poured
her a cup of tea, of course, while she went to the loo and did her poppers
up. He always had a pot of Earl Grey
ready for when she came 'round. It was
lovely, but they needed to get a move on, so she necked it. Gave him a hug. His hair smelt lovely, and was still damp
from a shower. It would be nice to just
stay here with him. Warm, sweet,
safe. But not today. Maybe things would be better when they left
the island.
He got his
stuff together and they got into the car.
She didn't tell him about the bus driver, he got a bit funny about that
kind of thing and it wasn't like there was anything to be done. The Kate Bush CD was still stuck in the CD
player, and he'd turned the volume right down, but you could still hear her
running up that hill endlessly. The car
took ages to warm up, but it was ready.
Dave must have turned it on before his shower. She marvelled at how well organised and
thoughtful he was. She kissed him on the
cheek, which surprised him. His skin was
smooth. She supposed he'd just showered
and shaved, but it still unnerved her, that this tall, handsome, capable man
always seemed slightly soft to touch.
Dave drove
carefully out of the village on the A2.
It ran all the way up the coast to Ramsey. It was still dark as they drove along, the
sun wouldn't rise until after 8, and they were due at work at 7am. Dave was telling Sarah-Jane about what his
brother had been doing the night before, and she was half listening, half
watching the road. Past the lights from
the car all was blackness. She hated
winter. Hated driving in the darkness,
that feeling of hurling their bodies into the void. They came up out of Laxey, and back out to
the coastal road. The drop, she knew was
vertiginous. In daylight the view was
magnificent. At night it was just
scary. She felt like Dave was going too
fast, although she had to admit he was a pretty good driver. Still, it wouldn't take much for an accident
to happen. She asked him to slow down,
and he did, a bit, but not for long. He
was right, he'd driven this road many times.
He knew what he was doing.
And then,
suddenly, as if some malevolent force had flicked a switch, the lights went
off. Dave slammed on the anchors. Sarah-Jane grabbed on to anything she could. The car screeched to a halt. Dave started swearing, and switching
switches. Turning the engine on and
off. Sarah-Jane was terrified but
decided the best thing to do was to keep quiet.
Dave couldn't get any lights to work, although the car would still
go. “We can't drive on in the dark, but
we can't wait here, or leave the car here” he explained, “it's far too
dangerous. If we can go really slowly
and carefully, we'll get somewhere where we can get the car safely off the
road.” “Dave, it's pitch dark!” “It's OK.
The moon's out. I'll go slowly,
and as soon as we can get off the road safely we will. It's going to be OK love.” He seemed so confident. It was going to be OK. They set off again, slowly, slowly, her eyes
straining to see, he going all over the road, but getting there, slowly, and
there was no-one else around to bump into them.
They'd been crawling along like this for a few minutes when the engine
spluttered and died. Dave started
swearing again. They'd run out of
petrol. The gauge hadn't been working
for some time, but he was usually good at knowing how far they could go on what
he put in. Dave reckoned his brother had
been 'borrowing' the car. Anyway, it was
what it was. Sarah-Jane was secretly
delighted that Dave had messed something up.
It helped her focus. She had an
idea, it was a bad one, but seemed better than anything else she could come up
with: “How about I get out and push?
Like you say, we just need to get it off the road somewhere safe, and
you're better at driving than me.” Dave
wasn't best pleased about it, but he agreed, so Sarah-Jane got out and went
'round to the back of the car. Her eyes
had had time to adjust to the moonlight, and it felt good to be doing something
positive about the situation. Didn't
look like the tights would last 'til she got to work though! Dave shouted that he was ready, and she leant
into the car and gave it a good push, and again, and the third time was a
charm. She kept on, keeping up the
momentum, feeling her body warming up with the exertion.
They only
had about 100 yards to go to the end of the cliffside bit when she heard the
bus coming up the road. She shouted to
Dave that the bus was coming, and he tried to get the car over to the side
somewhat. She started waving at the
approaching bus, unbuttoning her coat to make herself more visible – surely
this ugly green dress had to be useful for something? The bus kept coming, not seeming to slow at
all. It can't have taken as long as it
seemed to, for it all to happen. She was
waving both arms frantically, and then Dave was leaning out of the window
shouting and waving too, but the bus kept coming inexorably on. She saw it was going to hit. It was too late to avoid it, and there was
nothing she could do, except get herself out of the way. She flattened herself to the cliff wall, and
saw the face of the driver, the chatty driver, she realised she was shouting
for him to stop, but he was grinning.
The bus hit the car, with a bang and a screech. Sparks rose up from the side of the car as it
ground into the cliff. Stones rained
down upon her. The bus was blocking her
view of Dave. The bus stopped, and
reversed a bit. The back of the car was
in a bad way. Dave's door fell off as he
pushed it open. A panel fell off the
front of the bus. The driver got down,
looking around. Sarah-Jane ran to Dave
to see if he was OK. He was hurt, but
not badly she thought. But he did seem
shocked. She was bleeding from where a
stone had hit her head. The bus driver
picked up the panel that had fallen off, and carried it on to the bus, closing
the doors behind him. Sarah-Jane asked
Dave if he was alright. “I'm OK, but I
don't think that guy should be on the road!
We'll go report him to the police.”
The car
didn't seem to be about to catch fire.
Sarah-Jane reached across Dave's seat and got her bag out, searching for
her cigarettes. She'd forgotten about
the bus for a moment, but as she lit her cigarette she heard it's engine judder
into life. For a moment she thought
maybe she should catch it, but she went back to where Dave was leaning against
the cliff wall. Catching sight of the
bus driver, watching her, still grinning, raising his eyebrows, as if to ask if
she wanted a ride. In answer she kissed
Dave, and the bus went down the road It
took her the rest of her cigarette to convince Dave to leave the car behind and
walk to the next house to call the police.
They hadn't got far when they heard the now-familiar judder of the bus
coming. This time they were terrified of
being smashed into the cliff themselves, and so went to the other side, where
there was a steep grassed slope down to the sea. At least they could jump down, if they needed
to, but it wouldn't be that bus, would it?
It
would. Of course if was. The driver no longer grinning, determined,
saw them straight away, and they scrambled to get onto the slope, but the bus
sped up, and the barrier flew away, as the bus, and its new passengers sailed
off the cliff, and down, down, down to the rocks far below.
It was a
while before emergency services were able to get to them, and by that time they
were dead. Let us hope they died
quickly, and that Sarah-Jane's soul has managed to leave the island.