Read Online No Way Out by Samantha Hayes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Samantha Hayes
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be, Jo had said on the phone a few days ago, just like old times. Lorraine hadn’t said anything, but that’s exactly what worried her. ‘Old times’ implied Jo getting herself into an emotional pickle, making ludicrous decisions and bad choices – and, as ever, Lorraine bailing her out.
She’d always called her a restless soul. Jo, it seemed, was never satisfied with what she had.
‘Why do you have to drive so bumpy?’ Stella asked.
Lorraine rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘It’s not my driving, it’s these country lanes. We’re not in the city now you know. If you look up from that phone you’d see . . . cows or something.’
She flicked her hand towards the windscreen. Endless fields dotted with dark green wooded areas, ripening crops scattered across the undulating earth, and the meandering lane tacked on to the farmland spanned the breadth of their view. Everything was vibrant and lush, as if it had been coloured in from an entirely different palette to that of their built-up neighbourhood in Moseley.
If she was honest, Lorraine envied her sister still living in the country. It was where they’d both grown up. Moving to Birmingham at the age of eighteen had been an escape for her at the time – twenty-five years ago now – and she admitted the city was in her blood, part of her life, a place she couldn’t imagine not being in.
But these Warwickshire villages, especially her childhood home of Radcote, would never leave her heart. The mellow ginger stone of the local buildings, the low brows of thatched cottages, the cow parsley verges, the tiny post office with its musty wooden floor and big jars of penny sweets on crooked shelves, the landmark churches with their towers and spires marking the route on endless summer bike rides – it was all tattooed on her heart.
As the road narrowed and curved, bending between farms and livestock, crops and Dutch barns with stacks of hay, Lorraine wound down the window and breathed in deeply, tasting the air. It was sweet and slightly cloying. Just how she remembered it. Already she felt the feeling of coming home seeping into her skin.
She smiled. This week was going to be just what she needed. A damned good rest.
She indicated right and turned down an even narrower lane. The hedges pulled in close, cloaking their passage with varying shades of green, as well as brighter patches of white or yellow flowers. Every so often they passed a gateway with a crusted muddy entrance where tractors had been coming and going.
‘What happens if another car comes?’ Stella asked, dropping her phone into her bag. Her arms were folded across her stomach as if she might be sick at any moment.
‘One of us has to back up to a passing point,’ Lorraine stated.
‘But what if no one will?’
‘Then I guess we sit there all day,’ Lorraine replied, quite used to her daughter’s endless questions. Occasionally her wayward line of thought would contain a shred of what seemed like brilliance or unusual insight, which prevented Lorraine from silencing her when other mothers might have grown impatient. As far as she was concerned, Stella could babble on. It was white noise that she enjoyed, a welcome contrast to her job. ‘But people are generally friendly in the countryside.’
‘What if they have a gun?’
‘Well, you’re in trouble then,’ she said, speeding up again as the lane straightened into a more driveable stretch. ‘Know what they call this road?’ Lorraine asked, pointing ahead. It used to scare her as a kid, give her a creepy yet slightly irresistible feeling. She’d always pedalled that bit harder when cycling along it to the next village to visit a friend.
‘A road?’
‘Devil’s Mile,’ Lorraine said, with a slight growl to her voice. Before Stella had a chance to ask, she added, ‘I have no idea why.’
‘Probably because the Devil lives here or something,’ Stella said matter-of-factly. She was obviously feeling less nauseous all of a
She’d always called her a restless soul. Jo, it seemed, was never satisfied with what she had.
‘Why do you have to drive so bumpy?’ Stella asked.
Lorraine rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘It’s not my driving, it’s these country lanes. We’re not in the city now you know. If you look up from that phone you’d see . . . cows or something.’
She flicked her hand towards the windscreen. Endless fields dotted with dark green wooded areas, ripening crops scattered across the undulating earth, and the meandering lane tacked on to the farmland spanned the breadth of their view. Everything was vibrant and lush, as if it had been coloured in from an entirely different palette to that of their built-up neighbourhood in Moseley.
If she was honest, Lorraine envied her sister still living in the country. It was where they’d both grown up. Moving to Birmingham at the age of eighteen had been an escape for her at the time – twenty-five years ago now – and she admitted the city was in her blood, part of her life, a place she couldn’t imagine not being in.
But these Warwickshire villages, especially her childhood home of Radcote, would never leave her heart. The mellow ginger stone of the local buildings, the low brows of thatched cottages, the cow parsley verges, the tiny post office with its musty wooden floor and big jars of penny sweets on crooked shelves, the landmark churches with their towers and spires marking the route on endless summer bike rides – it was all tattooed on her heart.
As the road narrowed and curved, bending between farms and livestock, crops and Dutch barns with stacks of hay, Lorraine wound down the window and breathed in deeply, tasting the air. It was sweet and slightly cloying. Just how she remembered it. Already she felt the feeling of coming home seeping into her skin.
She smiled. This week was going to be just what she needed. A damned good rest.
She indicated right and turned down an even narrower lane. The hedges pulled in close, cloaking their passage with varying shades of green, as well as brighter patches of white or yellow flowers. Every so often they passed a gateway with a crusted muddy entrance where tractors had been coming and going.
‘What happens if another car comes?’ Stella asked, dropping her phone into her bag. Her arms were folded across her stomach as if she might be sick at any moment.
‘One of us has to back up to a passing point,’ Lorraine stated.
‘But what if no one will?’
‘Then I guess we sit there all day,’ Lorraine replied, quite used to her daughter’s endless questions. Occasionally her wayward line of thought would contain a shred of what seemed like brilliance or unusual insight, which prevented Lorraine from silencing her when other mothers might have grown impatient. As far as she was concerned, Stella could babble on. It was white noise that she enjoyed, a welcome contrast to her job. ‘But people are generally friendly in the countryside.’
‘What if they have a gun?’
‘Well, you’re in trouble then,’ she said, speeding up again as the lane straightened into a more driveable stretch. ‘Know what they call this road?’ Lorraine asked, pointing ahead. It used to scare her as a kid, give her a creepy yet slightly irresistible feeling. She’d always pedalled that bit harder when cycling along it to the next village to visit a friend.
‘A road?’
‘Devil’s Mile,’ Lorraine said, with a slight growl to her voice. Before Stella had a chance to ask, she added, ‘I have no idea why.’
‘Probably because the Devil lives here or something,’ Stella said matter-of-factly. She was obviously feeling less nauseous all of a
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