Caroline was dreading the arrival of the first weekend post apocalypse. As Friday night drew to a close, she was thankful for the crush of work and the kids' schedules for the remainder of the week but feared the empty desert of time on her hands at the weekend. With no commitments awaiting her in the morning, she downed a little more wine than usual once the kids had retired for the night. It was after midnight before she'd hauled herself upstairs to face her empty bed. Clad in her most comfortable pyjamas, she poured herself between the sheets and prayed to the heavens for a break from the mental gymnastics that consumed her.
Sleep hadn't come easily for days. It had seemed that every time she put her head on the pillow, regardless of how emotionally and physically exhausted she was, she found her head spinning. Had John actually fallen in love with someone else or was it just lust? When had John stopped loving her? Feeling humiliated, she curled into the foetal position, wanting to avoid the conclusion that she'd missed seeing it because she'd been emotionally absent. She'd thought that was what long-term relationships were: functional and practical with regular sex for brief connection. She had enjoyed the sex but she couldn't recall the last time she and John had actually talked about something that wasn't related to work, the kids, or her mother.
Despite their flaws, she was furious with him for not talking with her if he needed more from her. They had always been able to talk and she wondered when they really stopped talking. She had a sneaking suspicion that John would never have confessed if she hadn't confronted him about it. She scrubbed her face with her hands and unfurled her long body as she sighed. Dragging herself back through her recent past wasn't helping, but her mind kept returning to it, like a dog with a burnt chop. She huddled deeper under the covers, hoping that that sheer exhaustion would provide relief from the perturbation and eventually it did.
Nine hours later Caroline was kicked into consciousness by the siren of a nearby firetruck. Heart racing from its intrusion, she cursed the heavens that just hours earlier she had prayed to. She slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes, enjoying the safety and warmth of her bed while her heart rate settled.
Staring at the ceiling, she watched leafy shadows dancing on the autumn-coloured paint, their staccato bursts of movement amplifying the stillness echoing loudly through the rest of the house. Glancing at the clock she realised Lawrence would be at rugby practice and William would be with his study group and was relieved for the small mercy of a morning without the pretence that everything was fine. She knew she wasn't fooling either of the boys but getting rid of nearly everything in the house that explicitly reminded her of John had made it easier. Family photos were still dotted around the house, but the boys either hadn't noticed or hadn't mentioned the reduction in the number of books on the shelves or their dad's favourite mug from the cupboard. She'd surgically removed him from her sight, although fragments of him and their lives together lingered like stale aftershave in the timbers of the house.
She rolled onto her side and pulled the duvet over her head, nestling into the comforting warmth. The desire to sleep through the day was strong, but she knew it was an avoidance tactic. She threw the duvet off, the cool a small shock to her body. She used it as impetus to haul herself to the edge of the bed. Scrunching her toes in the soft carpet, she had the urge to do something just for herself.
As she walked down the stairs and turned the corner on the landing, a stab of light came in through the window and caught her eye. The metallic paint of her Volvo glinted in the driveway. It was the first new car she'd ever bought. Her prior cars had been second hand but she'd wanted to send the message that she was safe and dependable when she started working at Sulgrave Heath and the solid family image of a dark blue Volvo had served her well.
In that moment, with the clarity delivered by antiseptic sunlight, she decided it would serve John right if she bought a new car. His repeated objections every time she mentioned trading the Volvo in for something else no longer mattered and the idea of going car shopping brought a much-needed smile to her face. Bugger John, she thought, as she entered the sanctuary of her kitchen. She made a beeline to her French press, her regular Saturday morning indulgence.
Settling in over her café au lait, she leafed through the thick weekend newspaper to get to the car ads. She'd had in mind something European and sleek, but there it was. The perfect Fuck You to John. It was an ad for a stonking great tank. She threw her head back and laughed, the first time she'd laughed in days. She could even see the shock on his face as she parked her huge motor next to his puny little car. She stood up, the excitement of so royally pissing him off too much to remain seated.
Vibrating with delight, she logged into her banking app and transferred enough funds to pay for the beast, all the while singing a happy little chant of "Fuck you, you little prick" over and over again. She raced upstairs with energy to burn. A short time later, showered, dressed and still humming her little ditty of vengeance, she grabbed her car's registration documents and headed to the car wash. Despite its age, the Volvo would clean up well and she hoped for a good trade-in price.
The red Jeep had better acceleration than she expected. She presumed the fairly large diesel engine rumbling under the bonnet had enough grunt to handle normal driving, despite the salesman's continual patter about fuel consumption, revs per minute and the like. He wasn't selling her on the car at all but she really didn't need him to. She'd known the moment she'd seen the top of the line Grand Cherokee that it would do what she required of it: make John feel insignificant. She also knew that its American badge would piss John off all the more, so if it was reasonably comfortable to drive, she'd take it.
As she pulled onto the A61 and gunned the engine, she felt a small amount of exhilaration. After a mid-sized sedan, it was fun driving such a large, intimidating vehicle and she couldn't stop the smile from etching into her face. She was even happy to put up with the constant droning of the sales pitch from the passenger, a tall man with a concave chest who presented himself as a slightly dapper man-about-town.
Caroline had been toying with him like a cat plays with a felt mouse since he approached her in the car yard. Knowing she was likely to come across a salesman like him, she'd worn one of her work outfits that pulled a little tighter across her chest and, of course, the killer three-inch heels. She usually thought of it as dressing professionally so she'd be granted respect, but on this occasion she was happy to use her assets to get a better deal if the man was too stupid to keep his eyes out of her cleavage. He hadn't been difficult to read; there was a swagger about him, like he thought she was an easy target and one he could possibly talk into bed. She wondered if John had behaved in a similar fashion, so making a game of it provided her a venomous joy while waiting until she struck.
She turned off the main road and headed into the smaller streets, getting a feel for the car and how it handled. As she experimented with the buttons on the dashboard, she delighted in the whir as the passenger window opened and generated a minor hurricane in her passenger's silver hair. The sales pitch ceased mid word while he clutched protectively at the regular rows of thatch covering his scalp, confirming her suspicion about his paid-up membership in the hair club for men. Caroline covered her snort with a cough, although she wasn't sure she'd been that convincing.
"It's as fun as it looks," she enthused. She kept her eyes on the road as the window whirred up, distracting him with a question, "What did you say about the four wheel drive?"
The salesman gently reorganised his hair and then he observed Caroline more closely, wondering if she was as fun as she looked. He blathered on about how effective it was off-road and as he grew more confident about his audience, his tone changed. Facts about the car morphed into questions about whether she lived locally, and what she did for work. Caroline mostly ignored him as she focused on navigating the larger car around her local streets and all the while the soporific bleating continued unabated.
It was a very different experience sitting up so high and Caroline found she was peering down on other drivers. She stopped at a traffic light and could unexpectedly see into the convertible next to her in the right turn lane. While she delighted in the sight of the woman adjusting her enticingly short skirt, she was unpleasantly reminded of her company when a hand rested lightly on her thigh. She refused to acknowledge it but her eyes narrowed for a moment while she worked out how to play it. The hand started a slow caress as she turned her eyes back to the road when the lights turned green. She accelerated carefully, keeping an eye on her rear view mirror, relieved there were no cars behind her. The hand moved higher up her thigh and once she'd reached 60 kph she stamped hard on the brakes. The hand released as its owner shot forward, the startled scream cutoff by the "Ooof" as the seatbelt cut into his chest. She grinned malevolently for a split second before turning to him, her face full of concern.
"Oh. I'm so so sorry. I was testing the ABS." She watched as he carefully rearranged himself back into the seat, a sweat springing to life as he ran his fingers along his receding hairline. "The brakes seem to be working fine."
"I'm..." He squeaked before clearing his throat, his voice returning to it's normal register. "I'm fine. It was just a bit sudden, is all." He eyed her suspiciously, not entirely sure that he wasn't being played and wondering how he could regain his perceived upper-hand.
Caroline returned her gaze to the road as she took off again, heading back to the dealership, noticing that his hands dwelled nervously in his lap. She parked the car where it had come from and took a long look around the dash. She could imagine herself with a car like this. She could even envisage parking it next to John's tattered BMW and that thought alone filled her with mischievous glee. She smiled at the now slightly twitchy salesman and enquired politely, "Do you have one available now?"
He perked up immediately. "Well, we normally order it for you so we can customise it as you need... get it ready with all the extras you want, you know." He stepped out of the car, turning to point to a shiny black Grand Cherokee. "That one fell through, so that's available now."
"Oh. Did it? How disappointing for you," Caroline trilled, spotting another weakness to exploit. "I'm really not that keen on black. Just as a matter of interest," she paused, looking intentionally distracted, "How much are you asking for it?"
"£49,500 with all the extras. It's ready to go but it would take a day or two for the paperwork." He could smell the deal closing and was almost drooling more over the possible commission than he was her.
"No. I don't think so." She looked down the street where the Toyota banner was flapping in the breeze. "I'm not that fussed about it really." It was near the end of the month and she could tell from the slump of his shoulders that he needed the sale to make his quota. "I might need to think about it." She nodded and started to walk away, luscious hips swaying a little bit more than usual.
He panicked, wondering how it had all gone tits up so quickly before he lurched after her. "There is room to move on that price..." he exclaimed before nearly colliding with her as she stopped abruptly. She turned smoothly on the balls of her feet, lithe and predatory, piercing blue eyes staring through him. The disquieting intensity of her gaze landed with a flash of lucidity and he realised he'd been bested. She stepped towards him and he took a step backwards. "And..."
He swallowed, the sweat blossoming on his brow as he took another step backwards. He desperately grasped at the remnants of the deal. "£45,000, and not a pound lower."
"Done!" Caroline again stepped into his space, this time almost nose to nose. "I want it this afternoon and I want £17,000 for the Volvo." Her voice dropped, the steel showing through, "And next time you want to put your hand on a woman, ask permission."
Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah LTIH fans! We wish you all a fabulous summer/winter (depending on where you are) and look forward to joining you again early in the new year. Thank you for your kind support and a special thanks to all you fabulous reviewers on this fic as well as our other stories. The next chapter is nearly ready to go and we promise that Kate McKenzie will feature heavily in the fic from now on. Onwards and upwards, or just a step to the left. Dis-Moi & KatieDingo