She slammed the door of the office and looked anxiously up and down the street. If it had not been a new job, she would not have worked this late. Now she had to walk to the car park and in this part of Luton. She wouldn’t do it again, especially as her new boss was such a horrible man.
She started walking, not rushing but trying to give an air of confidence. She turned the corner and the multi-storey came into view, at least the lights were on and the security guard was still on duty, but then again he needed to be.
She heard footsteps behind her and started walking a little faster, not wanting to break into a run. The footsteps increased their speed keeping pace with her. She broke into a cold sweat, then she heard the car, it was going too fast to be a kerb-crawler. Despite trying to keep calm she started to run, heard the squeal of brakes and the hand against her back pushing her over, and then heard a dull thud. When she came to, there were blue flashing lights, paramedics in green overalls, neck braces and drips. She remembered being bumped into the ambulance, wheeled into casualty, but in-between only blurred images and endless questions.
The doctor put away his stethoscope and smiled “Alice, there is no permanent damage, a few bruises, but nothing a few days rest won’t cure. That old lady saved your life. Do you feel up to answering the police’s questions?”
Alice nodded and a policewoman opened her notebook. There was not much she could tell her, the policewoman wrote down everything she said. Alice kept telling her. She had not seen anything. She had been frightened and running away. Finally the policewoman was satisfied.
“How is the old lady?” Alice asked.
The policewoman shook her head and left the cubicle, her job done. Alice was lost in thought in her flat when the doorbell rang. She hoped it wasn’t more reporters. She looked through the spy hole, it was the policewoman from the hospital, not more questions.
“Sorry to disturb you again, but this must have got mixed up with the old lady’s belongings,” She handed Alice a letter. “If you remember anything else, you can always come down to the station.”
“Thanks”, Alice said, accepting the letter, “I really can’t remember anything more. Do you know when the old lady’s funeral will be?”
“Next Tuesday, a pauper’s grave, no identification and no way of tracing who she was.”
Alice watched the police car drive off from her window. She looked at the letter, it was definitely addressed to her, but she did not recognize it. She turned it over a few times and then ripped it open. She pulled out the single piece of paper, and a yellowed newspaper cutting fell to the floor.
She picked up the cutting, ‘Hit and Run Driver gets three years’. Alice read the letter, not comprehending, and then read it again. She did not know whether to keep it or throw it straight in the bin. She decided to treat herself to a glass of wine while she mulled over the contents.
At the funeral, Alice listened to the vicar as he recited the service. There were only Alice and the policewoman there. The papers did not send anyone. Yesterday’s hero was now last week’s news. As they started filling in the hole, she threw in her garland ‘With Thanks, Alice’.
The policewoman came up after the service and told Alice they had caught the hit and run driver. “An anonymous tip-off. He still had the dents in his car, another day and that would have been fixed into the body shop and the evidence removed. Very lucky.”
Alice smiled.
She felt strange going back to work, but even her miserable old boss made her feel welcome. She would not normally have been overjoyed to return, but now thought there may be light at the end of the tunnel.
Over coffee Alice braved herself and asked the question, hoping it did not sound too strange. “Bob, you sometimes put a bet on, don’t you?”
“Yes but never more than I can afford to lose, or anything her indoors would notice.” Bob started to laugh.
“Could you place a bet for me?” Alice continued, not letting his mirth distract her.
“Are you sure you have recovered from that bump on the head?” Bob said, kindly. “It’s a mugs game, and I should know.”
“Just put ten pounds to win on ‘Mystery Lady’ in the two thirty at Doncaster.”
“Save your money, ‘Mystery Lady’, not a hope.”
“And pay the tax first,” Alice continued.
“Pay the tax? Are you sure you aren’t a betting person?” Bob said, his eyebrows rising.
Alice bit her nails and tried to look busy after lunch. Hoping her boss would not notice how little work she was doing. He had still not forgiven her for nearly being knocked over.
Then Bob looked over and smiled, “You just won four hundred pounds, talk about beginner’s luck.”
That weekend, the Ladbrokes’ assistant called the manager over.
“I am afraid Miss, we have to check this bet with Head Office,” He said.
“It isn’t much,” Alice replied.
“It is if all these come in,” He smiled. “Especially, the third one, these accumulators can give quite a large return. You want to pay the tax first?”
Alice did not worry and did not watch the races, just collected her winnings.
She went to the office once more, to collect her belongings and tell everybody she would not be returning. She had originally thought of doing it in traditional style and pouring a bottle of ink over her fat boss’ head, but she could afford a little forgiveness now.
As she left, she looked over her shoulder and called. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the stock market, Bob?”
* * * * * *
The old lady looked in the mirror and felt very old. The years hung heavy on her, as if they were stolen and must be given back. She looked at the photograph of herself as a young secretary and smiled.
So long ago and another lifetime. Since then her life had been rich, in every sense of the word. She took a fresh piece of handmade expensive paper and started to write, copying the words she had not seen for sixty years. She held the two duplicate newspaper cuttings up and chose the one that was less yellow. She wrote her name and that old familiar address she had not written for so long.
She called her chauffeur and gave him the address. He looked strangely at her but had learned not to question his mistress’ wishes.
As they drove off she thought, maybe this time would be different, maybe this time the letter would be ignored, or she would not reach that dirty street in Luton, the speeding car would not arrive, or she would be too late. Alice sighed, because in her heart she knew the circle would be unbroken.