Tristram slammed the door of his BMW and cursed as his new suede boot stepped into a deep muddy puddle. He looked as the disappearing figure of the girl – what was her name? – as she marched down the road towards Langley. What on earth did she think he was going to do? Rape her?
He called out “Stop Lisa!” (That was it, Lisa) and began to run after her.
She stopped and waited until he caught up with her.
“I am not that sort of a girl” she said. “And my name is Elita”
Silly cow, thought Tristram, what did she accept a lift for, if she wasn’t going to give out a bit?
“Where do you think you are off to?” he snapped. “How do you think you are going to get home?”
“I will get a taxi”, said Elita. “You men are all the same, you think we are easy, just because we come from Lithuania. I tell you, I am not a girl like that”.
“Don’t be ridiculous” laughed Tristram, who had thought exactly that. “Come back to the car, and I will take you home.”
He tried to take her arm, but she pulled away, but walked beside him back to the Forest Car Park.
Back at the car, she got in, and sat upright, her arms crossed.
Tristram looked at her. She was very pretty, long golden hair, curves in all the right places, and a dress that he thought said come hither. He tried a conciliatory smile, and put his left arm across the top of her shoulders.
He felt her tense. Damn the girl! Who did she think she was? No one, but no one turned Tristram down like this.
He tried a bit more force, and brought his right arm round towards her. As he did so, he felt a painful jab in his left hand, and he gave a yelp.
What the bloody hell are you doing?, he shouted.
Elita smiled. “My Grandmother give me her hat pin before I come to England. I keep it with me for boys like you”.
Tristram looked at his left hand, which was now bleeding, and wrapping his handkerchief round it, turned the key. The engine roared into life, and stamping his foot on the accelerator, shot towards the exit. As he braked for the turn, the car slewed around, and the back hit the gate post with a decided thump.
Tristram lept out, and slamming the door, looked in despair at the very large dent in the wheel arch.
He burst into tears. “Dad’ll kill me”. He doesn’t know I’ve taken the BMW”
He turned round. Elita was grinning all over her face.
“We have a saying in Lithuania”, she said. “daug kvailas tu” Now take me home”
© Gillian Peall 2017