Today’s tale for #slant, written by my sister, Chris Baillie, and read by Kim Taylor…
It’s a bit of a tight turn into my street. Off the main road and banked on both sides by stone garden walls, delivery vans often drive straight past then phone me for directions. I’d just been to collect my daughter and her friend for a sleepover at mine and they were being very raucous in the back of the car.
I drove into the street, up the little hill and stopped at the edge of the houses. A small row of stone terraces on the left, fronted by a small yard, a path, a row of cars all the way up on the left, and on the right about ten garages, all filled with crap. Never understood why people put their second most expensive thing in full view then fill their garage with rubbish.
There was a black BMW driving towards me. There is only room for one car to get up or down the street and there was an unwritten, but readily agreed rule, that those entering the street had right of way. On every other occasion the other car would reverse into the first available space, I’d drive past them, we would give the drivers hand gesture of thank you, then get on with our day.
The woman driving the ‘Beemer’ had been viewing the empty house at the end. Mavis had died a few months previously and this was the woman’s second viewing – I’d noticed the car last weekend. It’s a small street; you notice things in the summer.
She stopped her car a few feet in front of me. I was perched just at the top of the hill. Reversing was not an option. I waited a few seconds, she clearly hadn’t understood the rules. I gestured towards the space behind her and mouthed, ‘Could you move?’
Nothing. Maybe she hadn’t seen me, so I said it again with another backwards wave of my hand towards the space, ‘Could you move?’
She stared straight at me then leant over for something on the passenger seat. She took out a packet of cigarettes, put one in her mouth, lit it, then as she was blowing the smoke out she pointed the fag at me and said, ‘You move’. A little gasp came from the back seat, which had suddenly become very quiet. I gestured to her again, pointing to the space behind her. She wasn’t budging. I could have just about managed to squeeze my car onto the driveway of the house on the right, I guess, but that is not the rule of the street!
I took a deep breath, sensing that things were about to kick off. I say sensing, I quite enjoy a good spat. I got out of the car and opened the door to let the kids out, telling them to go home; I would be there in a minute. They giggled all the way up the street, looking back to see what was going to happen next.
I walked up to the woman in the ‘Beemer’. ‘Could you move please?’ I said with a hint of annoyance.
‘No, you move.’
‘There is a space right there, look! If you back up, I can get past you.’
‘You move.’ She took another drag on her cigarette, clearly mistaking me for a shrinking violet.
‘Look, move your fucking car into the space so I can get past you.’
‘Don’t you swear at me!’ she said.
I took a deep breath and clenched my fists – Council Estate Girl Does Time For Ripping The Head Off An Arsy BMW Driver – YEP headline ran through my mind.
‘This can’t be the first time you’ve been sworn at! Now would you PLEASE move your car!’
It was clear that she would not.
I turned tail back to my little Punto. I sensed that she was sat smugly thinking she had won. I got my bag off the passenger seat, locked the car and walked slowly past her towards my house.
‘Are you just leaving it there?’ she shrieked in surprise.
‘Yes, yes I am.’
‘What have you done this time?’ asked my hubby as I entered the house.