I woke up and immediately removed the drool from my mouth. Not a pleasant feeling. Stale drool, you have to love it. And by “love” I mean “hate”. I was immediately – okay, slightly later than immediately having immediately removed drool but let’s not split definitions here … so to begin again – ish – I was on alert, my senses were tingling, alerted to some mysterious danger which would probably be revealed as night-time spooks caused by an over-active imagination released by a tired mind. Was that a thud I just heard? That was a thud. I’m sure that was a thud. Soft and coming from – where?
I held my body taut, my ears straining to bursting and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a thud again; it was coming from behind and below me: from the trunk of the car.
Okay, here’s where I get out the car and go look. Except I don’t want to. Not alone, not in the dark, and how un-macho that makes me sound! Hmm, when you put it that way…
I get out the taxi and edge my way round to the trunk. I really am this furtive; this street seems to have grown darker! Now that has to be my imagination. It can’t actually have gotten darker. Actually yes it could if the council is after saving money, and councils are always after saving money. Not after saving you, the rate payer, money, I add, but them money so they can get their greedy mitts on even more but maybe I am being unfair, guilty of defamation here. Although in fairness I haven’t actually named names so can’t be guilty – GET A GRIP! TAKE A PILL FOR THE VERBAL DIARRHOEA, MAN!
I “get a grip” and sanity returns to my brain. I’m at the trunk now, and put my hand on the handle and prepare to open it. I heave in a deep breath and, with equal vitality, expel it. Then I open the trunk of the taxi.
At least, that is my intention. Only to find it’s locked. Good, is my first relieved thought. I tried but it’s locked. But then I hear the thud again, much louder this time, considering my position relevant to the source. And I’m over-whelmed with guilt: what if there’s a person, or an animal, inside, possibly suffocating. And here I am thinking of myself!
Hearing the engine ticking over reminds me that the keys must be to hand, so I walk round and retrieve them, and return to the trunk once more. Okay, time to open the trunk. I slot the key in the lock, give it a half twist and the trunk cover pops up a fraction.
I step back quickly, a purely defensive move I hastily add. Nothing jumps out. And after a moment, or perhaps that’s three moments, I start to feel a little bit silly. Night-time spooks and the waning effects of alcohol on a browbeaten mind and all that. I step forward and open the trunk. It’s possible at this juncture that my mouth has dropped open into a gormless “O” for staring back at me is a little green-eyed, auburn-haired girl. She looks no older than ten years old. Or, for that matter, younger.
What the hell?
