Slowly he pressed the accelerator with his right foot, pushing it gently. He’d turn around at the next roundabout. Go and make sure–
He looked to his right. A vehicle was stationary, waiting on an adjacent road – the lecturer in the front seat.
Gareth hammered the brakes as the jeep pulled out. He grabbed the gearstick and forced the car into reverse. The top half of his body was twisted to the left as he peered out of the back window. The lecturer was following, moving quickly towards him.
Gareth swerved along the road, slowing as the car manoeuvred left and right. As the jeep caught up, Gareth hit the brakes and quickly moved the car into first gear. He pulled away as the jeep stopped and attempted a U-turn.
In seconds the lecturer would be tailing him again. He thought about what he had on his phone. A college lecturer in his sixties, a respected man. Norris was married – Gareth knew he had a family. He often referred to them during study periods. But Gareth had pictures of him in a desolate car park with a student nearly fifty years younger, performing a lewd act on him. Norris would lose his job, his credibility. Probably his family too.
The seriousness of the situation dawned on Gareth as he wrestled with his conscience. He wondered why he’d taken the photos; he questioned if he was ready to ruin another man’s life. The lecturer had spent years building his reputation, gaining trust, working hard to establish honour, respect. One click and pow! The end of the legend.
He saw the lights in the distance, two pinpricks enlarging, rapidly growing and making their way towards him. The lecturer wasn’t going to give up. His life was on the line, and he’d do anything to get the photos back.
Gareth drove with the jeep on his tail. He feared the outcome if the lecturer caught up with him. He was now struggling to hold off a panic attack which threatened to paralyse his body. It seemed as though hours had passed. Gareth couldn’t chance going home. He couldn’t have the lecturer knowing where he lived. He’d be a sitting duck, weak and vulnerable, a target waiting to be splattered – an open invitation.
Gareth pulled into a side street and drove to the end of the road. He pulled the car into a space and waited. He locked the doors, released the catch of his seat belt and waited. He sat for an hour.
A couple strolled past, walking a dog; a group of lads possibly swigging a bottle of alcohol, wrapped in a brown paper bag as they passed it between them. A young woman brought out a white bag filled with rubbish and struggled to lift it to the lip of the bin.
He wanted to ring Stephen, tell him what had happened and ask him to help. He was the only person who would understand and who really cared. They had been best friends since childhood. Gareth told him everything. Likewise, Stephen confided in him. The trust was mutual.
He suddenly felt embarrassed about what he’d done. For a second, Gareth wanted to take the phone, delete the pictures and move on with his life. Forget about what he’d seen. It was a sordid little secret, a tale that spirals. The sort of story that once you hear it, you keep it to yourself and think about what you’ve been told. You hold on to it. After a day or so, you share it, tell others. As you watch the shock on their faces you wish it was you hearing it again for the first time. You miss the buzz as your brain processes the shocking information. Gareth knew he’d opened Aladdin’s cave and he wanted the world to see it. But was he ready for the consequences?
He waited another half hour. He grew tired of watching a cat rolling on its back, the figure to his left through the window pacing along the living room floor with his earpiece and dramatically talking on the phone with his hands – the flashes of light across the road from the telly and the woman who smoked on her doorstep and flicked the cigarette butts onto the pavement.
He started the car and pulled slowly out onto the street. He imagined Dr Norris at home now, speaking with his wife, looking into her eyes, telling her he loved her, sipping a glass of wine and spooning pasta that she’d prepared for him into his mouth. He sits opposite, telling her about his day, the clown that will flunk every exam paper put in front of him, how tasty his lunch was, the uneventful journey home.
Gareth felt enraged. Angry that this bastard could do this, go home to his wife and pretend everything was perfect in his fraud of a marriage. He needed to steer his mind away from the lecturer. He had him now. He had one over on this disgusting excuse for a man. Whatever happened, Gareth had the photos, the proof. His life was going to change. For too long the lecturer had made his progression in life difficult. It would change.
Gareth pulled out onto the main road. He was going home to eat a light snack, shower and hit the sack. The long day and the stress had caused an ache which was working along the front of his forehead. His eyes were starting to blur and his ears were ringing with pressure. He wiped his brow with the front of his hand, straightened his back, listening to the satisfying crunch of his bones and then adjusted the seat, exhaling a long breath.
As Gareth drove, his eyes darted to the right-wing mirror. He’d checked a second ago. The road was empty. Now suddenly, lights were gaining, getting closer.
It can’t be? Surely he’s gone home, given up the fight?
The lights were on top of him, blinding his vision. Gareth grabbed the mirror, adjusting it so he could see better, to dim the glare. He jabbed the accelerator, eyeing the petrol indicator. He had enough to get him home. The lecturer had waited, bided his time. This was serious. The guy could kill Gareth for what he had on him.
Gareth had pulled into the side street, waited. He didn’t know for how long, but it felt like hours. Here he is though, on his tail, prepared to go the full hog to destroy what Gareth had.
He was fearful for his life, afraid of what Norris would do to him. He envisioned the lecturer bursting into his room in the middle of the night and stabbing him in the bed, or running him over in the car park outside the flats. Gareth sped up; the lights stayed close behind.
He turned up side streets and indicated left and right. He swerved, trying to lose the jeep behind. Wherever he went, the lights followed.
Shit. This is it. The guy has been pursuing me for hours. I can’t get out of this situation. I can’t win.
The accelerator was pressed as far as it would go, the engine was loud and struggling – a long whine which added to his already aching brain. His mind was addled, and Gareth had never felt pressure like this.
As the two vehicles came to the end of a small town, the road became a double lane. The jeep caught up and rammed the back end of Gareth’s car. He felt the steering wheel spin out of control, and his body shook. He forced the accelerator, willing his car to push, to keep going. He knew it wasn’t built for a pounding like this. He envisioned smoke from the bonnet, the tyres dropping off or the car collapsing and him sitting in the middle of the road in just a seat.
All of a sudden, a truck pulled out from a side road. Gareth saw it in the distance. He doubted the lecturer would have time to process what was happening. He was watching Gareth’s car. The truck driver signalled for Gareth to slow down, but the jeep kept going.
The tail end of the truck swung out onto the road and Gareth managed to steer around it while the lecturer slammed on the brakes. It gave him a couple of minutes to pull into a side road.
Gareth parked his Volkswagen, jumped out and raced along the road, checking the vehicles on the drives. He got lucky a quarter of the way up the street. One of those chance-in-a-lifetime opportunities. A car parked on a drive with the key in the ignition. A US style mailbox planted at the front of the house with the word ‘Hargreaves’ written in gold letters. This was the break he needed.