THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Three - Part Six

There were people all around the van when Mike came to, unsure what he’d been dreaming about but knowing he was glad to be out of it and awake. The faces of the people were an odd collection: concerned, relieved and furious. He sat forward then immediately twisted in his seat looking for his daughter. The passenger seat was empty.

“Rosalie!” She was nowhere in sight outside the van. The Volvo he’d hit was parked up about twenty yards ahead. In the rear view mirror there were a couple of other parked cars and the start of a traffic jam in both directions as gawpers drove slowly by.

“What on earth happened here?” demanded a fat man pressing his face through the open driver’s side door. “Have you been drinking?”

Mike struggled to get out but his belt was trapping him. He unclasped it and pushed the fat man out of the way. “Where’s my daughter? Rosalie! Where is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s over there.” The fat man pointed. “My wife has her. Now what are we going to do about this crash? Do you have insurance? You probably don’t.”

Mike dodged round the back of the fat man and ran over to where Rosalie was sitting on the open back of the Volvo, a middle-aged woman beside her, steadying the flask lid full of hot tea or coffee so the little girl didn’t spill any. “Rosalie! Thank Christ! Are you okay?”

“She’s just fine I think,” said the woman. “We were trying to rouse you when she woke up all on her own. What happened to you both?”

“Rosalie?” She kept on drinking but she looked up at him through the steam. “Are you alright baby?” She paused in her drinking, not taking the cup lid away from her mouth more than a centimetre and nodded. “Thank Christ for that! Oh thank Christ!”

He looked round at the chaos: his van pointing the wrong direction, angled at the opposite side of the road, the headlights all around it. The fat man was on his way over, followed by several other angry men and women who could only be the owners of the cars he hit.

“We didn’t know what was wrong with you,” said the woman. “You both seem fine now but it’s probably better if you wait for the ambulance.”

“Ambulance?”

“We called one. Well I did. My husband thought he had whiplash when you hit us. He made me call but I would have anyway, especially when we saw this little cutie.” She ruffled Rosalie’s hair.

Mike thought about the ambulance and the questions they would ask and squatted down by his daughter. “Are you sure you’re okay hon? Did you get hurt when we crashed?” She shook her head. “Do you— Do you still feel weird; like before?” She shook her head. “Can you stand up?” She nodded. “Come on then.” He took her hand and addressed the woman. “Thank you for the tea.”

“It’s coffee actually.”

“Well thanks. We really appreciate it.”

The fat man and his posse caught up before he could make a break back toward his van. “Don’t be in such a hurry. We need to take down your insurance details.”

A younger man in a shirt and tie said “What the hell were you thinking, driving like that? And with a girl in the car?”

“I’m really sorry,” said Mike. “I don’t know what happened but I’m fine now.” He took a step but the fat man’s ham hand came up on his chest. “Hold your horses. Let me get a pad and something to write with from my car.”

There was a semi-circle of angry motorists between Mike and the van, no gap to get through to get out of there and he was starting to worry what might happen if questions led to more questions, led to him getting his ass thrown in prison, despite his good intentions. “Okay. Sure.” He followed the fat man to the back of the Volvo with the others in tow and jotted down his insurance details as fast as he could, glancing along the road and down at Rosalie to check she was okay. She seemed to be but how could he be sure. Maybe waiting for the ambulance was the best thing to do. It had to be the best thing for her.

He waited for their insurance details back, knowing he’d care in the morning but just wanting to get out of there for now. Finally it was all done and he picked up Rosalie and jogged back to his car, She still hadn’t spoken a word to him. The van was scraped to shit on the side and dented in back but the wheel arches weren’t compressed. It looked like it would run. “Come on hon. In you get.” He lifted her into the passenger side, did the belt across then slammed the door and ran round.

The other drivers were stood in a cluster watching him, no doubt talking about what a crazy bastard he was, what a bad father. It was true. And it wasn’t. He was doing this all for her. Because she needed her real father. Just as he needed her to be with him.

The van started first time and he pulled out, bibbing the horn to get into the opposite flow of traffic that had built up while it had been blocking the road. Blue flashing lights were coming from down the side road that the Volvo had emerged from: the ambulance on its way, but Mike whipped past the end of the road without even looking up it and kept on going, accelerating to put some distance behind him.