A huge
black-purple cloud like a gigantic sinister mushroom had sat menacingly over
Cheshire and south Lancashire all afternoon, threatening imminent downpour up
ahead of me. Soon it was officially night-time, though this made no real
difference to the visibility, or lack of it.
I don’t generally pick up hitch-hikers, but
the state of the weather made me more merciful usual. Besides, this was a
woman, so I daresay some old-fashioned chivalry kicked in too.
She
was good-looking in a slightly blowsy way, but her clothes were unusual. She
wore a hat a bit like a traditional gentleman’s topper, and a black dress, with
lace-up boots of the Doc Martin’s variety. The most striking feature was her
eyes, which were intense and piercing.
As
we drove off I commented on the foul state of the weather. She replied that she
didn’t mind it, and then surprised me by talking about how in the past storms
were caused by witches, and that some still possessed the power to do this. I
don’t talk much when I’m driving, and I reckoned that any human contact would
be preferable to the third-rate pop music and inane chit-chat that you get on
the radio, so I responded with some vague interjection like “Oh really?” This
set her off, and soon, with no further encouragement from me, she was into a
detailed discourse about black magic today, and her part in it. She kept
turning round to face me; fixing me with those unsettling eyes of hers. I was
increasingly puzzled, and uneasy.
As we joined the M6, the storm was going
full blast, the rain came lashing down and we were reduced to a crawl. My
companion was delighted. “What a storm!” she chortled, “There must have been
some really strong cursing going on to get this! I think I can make a guess as
to who’s responsible! I wonder why they did it!” For no reason that I could
discover, she began discoursing on initiation rituals, and tantric sex as a
powerful engine for magical power. I told her I’d never been initiated into
anything. “Oh, but you must!” she cried. I daredn’t turn to look at her, but I
could feel her eyes boring into me.
How was I to get rid of her? It occurred to
me that, although I’d told her where I was going, namely, right up to the Lake
District, she’d never told me where she was going or where I should drop her
off. What on earth was I to do?
We stopped at a service station, and I
filled up with petrol while she nipped inside. While she was away I came to a
decision, and I’m afraid I took refuge in an outright lie. I told her that I’d
just received a message on my mobile from the friend I was going to stay with,
saying that he was surrounded by flood-water and advising me not to come; so
I’d have to leave her there, because at the next intersection I’d be turning
round and going home. No doubt a more adventurous man would have taken her home
and demanded to be instructed in the joys of tantric sex, so I suppose you
could say I chickened out, but there you are.
The last I saw of her was in the rear view
mirror as I drove away. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated her as she
stood there. I wondered whether she’d claim credit for it.
