Page 16 of Caught in the Middle

Chapter six

They'd made it back down to the carpark alive, and Lucy was actually pretty shocked that his car hadn't been stolen or at least broken in to overnight. She had a feeling that, although Oliver wasn't from around these parts, wherever 'these parts' may be, he had a lot of respect around here.

Whilst she waited patiently in the passenger seat, Oliver circumnavigated the car, brushing his hands over the rims, lifting the bonnet and checking in the trunk. Knowing what she now knew, she assumed he was looking for tracking devices, or maybe worse.

He'd showered and changed his shirt to another crisp white one. His hair was perfectly tousled, just how it was yesterday, and when he got back into the car, Lucy got a fresh whiff of newly sprayed aftershave. Although she hadn't seen his body, he was clearly a man who looked after himself. And even though she knew she shouldn't have even been worrying about it in a time like this, she couldn't help but feel incredibly frumpy and ugly next to him. It didn't help that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and even though she'd showered, she still felt rancid.

As he started the engine, it dawned on her that she hadn't even asked where they were going!

'Lucy...' he laughed when she asked him, 'I would have thought by now you would have learned not to ask too many questions.'

Now she knew what his temper was capable of, she let her question slide.

'Just know that I'm working on getting you to somewhere safe, okay?' He steered out of the car park with one hand, and squeezed her thigh with the other.

God, she loved it when he did that.

As they drove onto the motorway, she realised that they were somewhere on the Wales/England border, near Hereford. Judging by the road names, they were heading north, up towards Liverpool.

Oliver tuned the radio, and began humming along to the Verve's Bitter Sweet Symphony. Lucy found herself tapping her leg in time to the music, humming along with him.

As they songs carried on, they began to get more and more into them, Oliver kept turning the volume up a smudge, and eventually they were wailing along to the old time classics at the top of their lungs.

Lucy felt like she was on a road trip with her friend. The destination wasn't important, the journey was much more fun.

As he signalled to get off the motorway at a large service station, her heart sank again.

What the fuck was she doing?! She was on some mafia bosses hit list, trusting her life in the hands of some random Irish man who just appeared yesterday, claiming that he can save her. And here she was, crowing along to some shitty 80's anthem.

She realised, as they pulled into the services, that this was her fundamental problem.

Throughout her whole life, she always failed to understand the gravity of the situation.

She thought back to how she got like this, why she started ignoring serious issues in her life. She ran away with a former boyfriend to Paris when she was 15. Her parents had hated the fact that he was 20, and very fucking seedy. She packed a bag in the middle of the night with trembling fingers, and jumped in his car, waiting for her at the end of the street.

She hadn't felt any kind of fear, never thought for a second how her parents would feel, going into her room the next morning, wondering why she hadn't got up for school to find an empty bed. All she cared about was the present. All she cared about was him, disillusioned by the romantic life they would start together in a penthouse in Paris.

Of course, it hadn't ended up like that - she very naive, even for a 15 year old. They'd caught the ferry over to Calais, and drove up to the capital. The promise of staying in a beautiful hotel overlooking the Eiffel Tower until they found a suitable apartment went out the window, instead he'd booked them into a creepy, Formula One themed hotel off of the main motorway.

She began that he wasn't this perfect, older man that she thought he was, even more so when, after three days of not having left the motel, he clasped his fingers around her neck.

After a week of systematic beatings, she managed to get to a payphone and call her mum. She was on a flight home the next day with the English police.

Sure, she was shaken up, but she hadn't learned from that experience. She still had continuously buried her head in the sand from then on, always ignoring the bigger picture.

She didn't accept her grandfather was dying, so didn't bother to visit him in hospital.

She didn't look into studying for her degree, instead went out partying every night.

She was enthralled by a good looking man who told her that he was going to save her life from Britain's most powerful Mafia boss, so she went along with it.

A lump formed in her throat, as she realised she'd never learn.

'What's wrong?' She must have looked like she was about to cry as Oliver's voice snapped her out of her memories.

'Oliver, this is totally insane,' she said, shakily. 'I guess it's just hit me.'

Small raindrops began to fall on the windshield as the clouds darkened. She followed one with her eyes as it landed, and dribbled down to the windscreen wipers.

---