Jim Crowe had mentioned an impromptu work meeting to me only that morning, and I agreed to go back into the delivery office early in the afternoon in order to attend it.
He didn’t say specifically what it was about but, if it was regarding new round allocations, then I’d be sure to get myself there to fight my corner.
When I agreed, I calculated that I’d have plenty of time to take Liam to the hospital, have some lunch and drop him off before I had to go back in to work for two o’clock. But time whizzes by so quickly: I have to drop Liam back at home and get straight off again.
It is a fifteen-minute drive to the office and, despite nagging thoughts at the back of my mind about my problems at work, I feel euphoric at how well my discussion with Liam has gone.
Up ahead there is some kind of delay on the road; the traffic slowly backs up and then stops moving altogether. Instead of getting stressed I put the handbrake on and settle back to wait for the cars in front of me to move again.
I push work worries to the back of my mind and begin to plan my move into Liam’s home. I wonder if he is already having the conversation with Ivy. If so, he may well be expecting me to bring my stuff over tonight.
I luxuriate in the warm feeling that is spreading through my bones. I can barely remember what it feels like to belong but I think it might feel like this.
Hopefully Ivy will allow me to help her at last. We can all help each other.
Then Amanda Danson will notice a difference when she feels like popping round uninvited. And she’ll soon see justice moving along at a far quicker pace.
The driver behind me sounds his horn in one continuous blast. My eyes spring open, and I lurch forward in my seat, catching my arm painfully on the door in the process.
I look up ahead and realise that the cars in front have all moved on while I have been distracted.
I glance in the mirror and watch the driver behind as his mouth forms exaggerated words. He clearly wants me to see him openly cursing.
The warm, cosy feeling I had is swiftly replaced by an ice-cold bolt shooting through my body. I am sick and tired of people taking the piss out of me. The management at work, Amanda, and now this moron behind me. In that second, he seems to represent every single person who has ever disrespected me.
I open the car door and get out in the middle of the busy road to a blur of noise and the smell of hot metal.
I inhale the smog of exhaust fumes and everything comes into sharp focus. The gravel under my feet; the long line of drivers behind who are staring up ahead at me, their faces puzzled and wondering what is wrong.
The driver behind me cannot move. His vehicle is sandwiched in between my car and the one behind him.
I feel dizzy with bravado. My blood is buzzing around my body, urging me on.
His mouth stops moving. Several car windows slide open and the other drivers crane their necks.
I can’t lose face now, and I don’t want to give myself the chance to back down, so I let rip.
‘What is wrong with you?’ I scream, surprising myself with the strength of my reaction. ‘Why do people like you always think it’s perfectly okay to treat others like dirt on the bottom of your shoe?’
My body feels rigid with the fury and tension that’s coursing through it.
His window comes down a touch.
‘I wouldn’t need to if you’d get moving.’ His voice is calm and, I think, smug. ‘The cars in front left five minutes ago.’
This is a ridiculous exaggeration.
‘The traffic has been gone about ten seconds,’ I hiss.
He returns my glare but I sense he is now feeling slightly unsure of what I might do. His fingers tap the steering wheel, and his lips twitch up at one side.
‘A suit and tie and you think you can tell the whole fucking world what to do,’ I say, reminding myself he isn’t anyone I need to be afraid of or intimidated by.
‘I have an important meeting to get to,’ he says, his voice more reasonable. ‘Just get moving, please.’
‘And I am going to the hospital.’ I raise my voice again, shouting loud enough that the following two or three drivers will be able to hear if their windows are down. ‘My boyfriend is in intensive care; he nearly died in an accident.’
The injustice of it all comes flooding back. My eyes prickle until I’m barely aware of my flailing arms and hysterical shouting.
‘He nearly died and all you can worry about is getting to work. He nearly died, you bastard!’
Half-shocked, half-exhilarated by my own use of foul language in public, I turn and glare at the other drivers before getting back into my car. Traffic is streaming down the other side of the road so it’s impossible for anybody stuck behind me to get around my car.
This feeling that I am powerful enough to obstruct and inconvenience them all in the midst of their perfect little lives spurs me on. It all feels deliciously dramatic, as if I’m the director on a film set.
‘You can all just bloody well wait,’ I shout triumphantly.
I jump back in the car and flick my hazard lights on.
A cacophony of car horns begins blaring behind me, and I turn the radio on full blast.
Soon, the flow of traffic coming from the opposite direction ceases and cars behind start to drive around me – the obstruction. Some slow down right next to me and glare in but I keep my eyes straight forward with an IDon’tGiveaFlyingFuckadooWhatYouThink smile on my face, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music.
I watch through the mirror as the idiot behind me reverses back a short distance and then swerves out like a rally driver. I turn to glare as he overtakes me but, disappointingly, he doesn’t even glance in my direction.
The remainder of my journey into work is uneventful but my mind is racing with the realisation that I have kept my head down my whole life, accepting the views and actions of others – even when I feel angry or humiliated.
Today, my actions and words reflected how I was really feeling, and I can’t believe the relief and the power it generated in me. What a refreshing change to see other people looking unsure and shocked, forced to listen while I voice my opinion.
It is an approach I intend using more frequently.