No Way Home. Jack Slater

and moved forward with the traffic flow. The road was coned down to half-width for about a hundred metres, a long trench dug up the middle of the other carriageway, a roll of bright-yellow plastic pipe waiting on the verge to be laid the next day. Accelerating gently up the hill, she was about two thirds of the way through the narrow section when the Nissan’s engine note changed abruptly, faltering and slowing. She pressed her foot to the accelerator, but it made no difference.

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake, not now!’ She slammed her fists on the steering wheel, dropped the clutch and raced the engine, but still nothing. ‘Buggeration, you horrible, horrible bloody car.’

      Letting the clutch re-engage, she sat there at the mercy of fate as the car coasted steadily to a halt. A horn sounded from behind her, then another. Another.

      ‘Shut up, you idiots,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not stopping from bloody choice, am I?’

      The engine cut out completely, an awful silence replacing its comforting hum. She sighed, pulled up the handbrake and unclipped her seatbelt. More horns sounded as she stepped out, turned to face the offending drivers and raised her hands in a gesture that said ‘There’s nothing I can do’.

      She heard a handbrake being applied and the door of the car behind hers opened. A man stepped out, tall and good-looking in a dark suit. ‘What’s the problem? Have you run out of petrol or something?’

      Anger flared. ‘It’s over half-full, thank you. The engine just cut out.’

      ‘Well, try giving it some revs.’

      He might be good-looking, but the guy was an arse, she decided. ‘I did. It didn’t help.’

      He sighed pointedly, as if it had to be her fault rather than the car’s, then turned and beckoned to the other drivers behind him, motioning with his hands in a pushing action.

      A few doors opened. People stepped out of their cars.

      ‘What’s the bloody problem?’

      ‘Engine’s cut out.’ The guy gave an open-handed shrug as Emma’s hands were planted firmly on her hips.

      It wasn’t her bloody fault. Just because she was female…

      Four other men joined the first one, heading up the hill towards her.

      ‘What’s the problem?’ one of them asked as they drew closer. He was wearing leathers. She’d seen him pull off his helmet and climb off a big, black motorbike, running a hand quickly through his short, dark hair.

      She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It just lost power and then cut out.’

      He nodded. ‘Could be a number of things. Best just push it out of the way for now and call the AA or whatever. You got a membership?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Hop in, then, and steer. It ain’t going up that kerb so we’ll have to push it up just past the lights and leave it over there, out the way.’

      ‘Are you sure? It seems a long way.’

      He smiled. ‘Only a small car, though, isn’t it? We’ll manage.’ He glanced at the others. ‘Come on, guys.’

      She climbed back into the car, looked in the door mirror.

      The biker was on the corner of the little car, right behind her. ‘Everybody ready?’ he asked. ‘Right. Handbrake off, love.’

      She complied.

      The sounds of straining came from behind her. She thought for a moment that she was going to roll backwards, that they wouldn’t be able to hold it, never mind move it forward, but then the little car began to inch slowly, hesitantly, up the hill. It was a weird feeling, slowly gaining momentum, the only sounds those of the tyres and the men’s feet on the tarmac as she held the steering wheel steady.

      After a few steps, gravity seemed to somehow give up the fight and they were moving at almost walking pace. Then, before she knew it, they were approaching the end of the roadworks.

      ‘Steer it over to the side and you can let it roll back up to the traffic lights,’ the man behind her called. ‘It’ll be out of everyone’s way there.’

      ‘OK.’

      She steered the car across with the angle of the red and white cones, letting the men continue to push her a few yards beyond the temporary lights on their bright-yellow stand.

      ‘There you go,’ the man in leathers called and stood away.

      She pressed down on the brake pedal.

      ‘Right. Ease it back down to the lights. They’re tall enough to be seen over it.’

      She checked that the men were all standing clear, then used the far door mirror to guide herself slowly down the line of the kerb until the man raised his hand, calling, ‘That’ll do.’

      She stood on the brake, pulled up the handbrake and put the car into first gear as extra insurance, then stepped out. ‘Thank you so much, all of you.’

      ‘No problem.’

      ‘S’all right.’

      The others simply nodded and headed back to their cars.

      ‘You sure you’re all right now?’ the guy who had taken charge asked.

      ‘Yes, thank you. I’ve got my mobile. I’ll just try to sound helpless.’

      He laughed. ‘OK. Take care.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Emma called again as he raised a hand and turned away.

      She reached into the car for her phone, brought up the menu and dialled.

      By the time the connection was made, the traffic was moving again, the rhythmic hum of passing engines acting as a background to the call.

      A female operator answered after just two rings.

      ‘Hello, yes. I’ve broken down. The engine just died on me. I’m at the top end of the roadworks in Pennsylvania Road, Exeter.’

      ‘Is the car in a safe position?’ the woman asked.

      ‘Yes. Some men helped me move it.’

      ‘Are you on your own there?’

      ‘Yes, I am.’

      ‘OK. We’ll have someone there with you as soon as we can.’ She heard the tapping of a keyboard faintly over the line. ‘It’ll be about twenty minutes.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      She slipped the phone back into her handbag and stood beside the car, on the far side from the passing traffic. She checked her watch. Six-seventeen. She watched the lights change. The downhill traffic started flowing through. The evening was warm, almost muggy, as if a storm could be brewing. She took off her jacket, folded it and put it on the passenger seat. After a few moments, she reached into the back of the car and moved her briefcase to the front passenger footwell so that everything she would want to take with her if he couldn’t get the car going again was in one place, ready.

      *

      Tommy was in the TV lounge with most of the other eighteen residents, watching the last few minutes of a documentary on the nature of New Zealand, when the single warder who was sitting with them got up and announced, ‘Back in a minute. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, any of you.’

      He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

      ‘Yeah, more like ten minutes,’ said one of the other kids. ‘Must be them steroids, I reckon. Mess him up something terrible. Bloody bog stinks like hell after he’s been in there.’

      Several of the others laughed and Tommy joined in as he filed the information away for future reference.

      ‘Should be plenty.’ The bully who had attacked Tommy earlier, who he had since learned was called Sam Lockhart, turned