Across the porch I stumble, six steps down, turn left to the drive. And stop. I need the keys!
I almost overbalance into the roses as I turn to go back for them. Fortunately my flailing hand misses the thorns, and of course I then realise I’m holding them. Absentmindedness is a strength after all. Maybe I’m just distracted. I’m so relieved. I do not want to go back in there. If God is good, Mrs Bellafonte will shepherd them all to her place to OD on pumpkin.
Damn that Baldwin. I slump into my car seat as the door clicks shut. My forehead drops to the wheel. Where to go? I can’t stay here. They’ll be out to examine the corpse at any moment. My stab at the keyhole misses the mark and the keys fall from my grasp. I feel around on the sandy floor mat, contorting myself in an attempt to save a few seconds by not getting out so I can have a proper look.
What does she see in him? Ruddy-faced twit. My head bangs the steering wheel once more as I find the keys with an outstretched arm. Ouch!
It’s not my day. Now someone is knocking on the window. Ramona, go away!
I twist to face her and turn as the door is pulled open. "What do ...”
It’s her.
“Anna?”
“Are you all right? she asks, her face a blend of concern and fresh loveliness.
I look past her. Baldwin is probably only a step behind. But there is no one, yet.
I nod. “I’m fine.” I drag up a smile. I nod. “Yes, I’m fine.” An award-winning speech.
“Thank goodness,” she says and slams the door.
What? Where did she go? I look back towards the house, and now I see people coming out, crowding onto the porch, looking over the railing. Baldwin turns to go down the steps. But the other door opens and immediately shuts again as Anna folds herself into the seat. She’d just gone around the back of the car.
“Take me home,” she says firmly, “Now. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Um … “ I look at her less than two feet away. She’s in my car.
“Please,” she says.
I glance quickly back at the house. They are all heading down the steps now. Baldwin is first, suit coat flapping, a man on a mission.
“James Bond at your service.” Why did I say that? But the getaway car starts immediately although I spin the wheels in the gravel in my haste. Have to practice the fast starts more. Lose my driving instructor image.
I take a look at them in the rear-view as we leave the drive. Ramona, easy to spot in her bright colours, seems to be giving me a high five. I’ll never understand her.
Relax, I tell myself, as I steal my eyes from the road and look at her.
“I don’t actually know where you live,” I confess.
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