Electra

Arthur to the rescue! Sorry for the unrelenting suspense, but it was worse for me at the time.
After I have paid for my room and half eaten breakfast I go out onto the deserted streets. It’s barely morning and most of the shops are still closed. I start to walk, directionless, before going to a coffee stand on the street. I manage to dredge up enough change for a cup of tea and a packet of sweets. Taking a seat on the wide sandstone steps of a library I balance the cup next to me and methodically stir in sugar.
The time passes slower than I have ever known it to. The level of tea slowly diminishes and I go in search of a bin. Bored out of my mind I look through the windows of a dozen shops and hop from foot to foot nervously. The lights come on in a HMV across the street and I go in. I look over the spines of glossy DVD cases, scuffing my feet over the grey linoleum. Some rock-trance-gibberish weaves through the air and seems to get louder with each passing minute, making me tetchy. My phone begins to rig, making me jump. I had half convinced myself in the empty world that I was the only survivor of a global catastrophe.
“Emma? I’m outside Starbucks on Bridge Street.”
“Ok, I’m near there….I think.”
“Great, sorry I’m running out of credit.” abruptly the phone goes dead.
Smiling ironically to myself I slip my phone into my pocket. It takes me an embarrassing twenty minutes to find the right street, and even then it seems the longest street in the world. A hovering Starbucks sign, crouching like a parasite on the side of a three story building, guides me to the one car parked on that side of the street. It’s a kind of flatbed truck (I still know nothing about cars) painted green, but peeling. Arthur waves at me through the dirt tinted window. I yank open the door and settle myself in the seat, squirming on the wrinkled, age burnished leather and disturbing a cloud of tobacco scented dust motes.
When I slam the door shut the car feels very small, the space between us in particular is minuscule. Arthur seems to feel the same because he snaps the key round in the ignition and reverses out sharply, putting exaggerated focus on the road. I let my eyes stray to the mirror suspended between us and study Arthur closely for the first time. Only the top half of his face is visible, tanned and weather beaten, faintly traced with lines. His eyes continually move on the road, frowning at road signs, his heavy brows drawing together and strands of hair falling forwards over his face.
His eyes flick up to the mirror casually, casting a glance behind us, but they catch my gaze and hold it. Caught out my face flames and I look down, fiddling with the sweet wrapper and pulling out a few colourful pieces of sugar. The car moves forward again and, when I risk a glance from behind my hair, Arthur’s attention is back on the road.
“Smartie?” I offer the packet awkwardly and he takes a few, popping them into his mouth in between shifting gears and twisting the wheel. Ahead of us a junction is clogged with traffic and gradually we coast to a stop behind a scarlet hatchback full of people wearing baseball caps at odd angles. Arthur huffs deeply and turns off the engine. Silence congeals around us as we sit in the motionless car listening to the revving of engine and shuffling of tires outside. I’m very conscious of every movement, and so sit unusually still, but of course this makes me want to move around more.
“Well this is fun” Arthur says ironically, mouth turning up in a lopsided grin.
“I’m glad you find this funny” I crumple up the sweet wrapper and stuff it into an ashtray.
“Let’s face it, we’re not going to get a better opportunity to talk are we? When you get out of this car there’s a good chance I won’t see you again.”
“Not if I can help it” I can’t help smiling at his expression “I haven’t exactly made the best impression have I? First you see me with half my clothes off on the beach, then I punch you in the face, then you had to save me from my own bread, after which I slept with your brother, disappeared so you thought I was dead and then had to have you rescue me again. I don’t know how I’m going to top that, so I might as well just go home.”
“I don’t know…there’s another two hours of journey time, anything could happen.” His smile has grown into a full grin now and I thank God I can still deter serious discussion with humour.
“Emma…” he begins, his expression becoming grave again and causing me to mentally ask God why he insists on torturing me, it can’t all be the witchcraft thing…which come to think of it, I have yet to tell Arthur about.
“Emma…I really have no idea what to do about this.”
“This meaning…..” I meet his eyes and hazard a guess “The possibility of an us?”
He nods, “I mean, aside from the fairly monumental obstacle of age…there isn’t really anything to stop us.”
My heart leaps a few notches higher in my chest and thumps furiously against my ribs as if it’s trying to speak for me, because I can’t seem to say anything.
“If you wanted to do something, when we get back” he falters “You probably don’t want to…”
“Yes I do!” I blurt, then calm myself forcibly. “I do”
“I’m afraid I’m not really a clubbing, drinking kind of person” He frowns a little “the age gap rears its head again….”
“Who likes clubbing?” I shrug, I really don’t anyway, I’m more of a hot chocolate and a book kind of person, not a glow stick and aspirin….chic.
“We could just get a film and some dinner…” I suggest.
“I’ll cook” he interjects, managing to keep a straight face.
“Fair enough, but I get to choose the film”
“Good”
“Great”
I’m trying not to smile, but failing miserably, so that when he closes the gap between us and kisses me, our teeth bump. For a few seconds it’s totally, utterly perfect, almost worth dying-but-not-really-just-vacationing. Then the idiots in the hatchback catch sight of us and start piping the horn and yelling things about robbing the geriatric wing and Electra (which I’m quite surprised they know about, a classical education being wasted on the twats of the world, makes me glad I don’t pay taxes).
Arthur pulls away and glares through the windshield, looking so much like a crotchety old man I can’t help the splutters of laughter that escape through my nose. The guys in the car in front are still shouting and the hatchback is now visibly rocking, as if it’s filled with chimpanzees not chavs (there is a difference…I may have to look it up). I turn to look out the window, just as Arthur winds his down and we shout, in unison.
“Shut up you wankers!”
I get the feeling this is going to work out just fine.

:)