It wasn’t true. You couldn’t judge a book by its cover. That was one thing Marion had learnt over the years. It probably applied to men too. They were never what they seemed. Take this last one, for instance. He’d appeared normal enough. He was reasonably good-looking, in a feminine sort of way. His ears stuck out a bit but what did that matter? Looks weren’t everything He was interested in science and politics. Well, at least he had a brain.
They had met in a country pub just off the A59. The pub served the usual kind of pub grub. Substantial. Nothing fancy. A lot of country pubs were serving food these days. They had to get the punters in somehow. There was a live band playing. At least she could listen to the music, if all else failed. The band was a trifle loud for her liking but conversation was still possible, just.
They went through the usual formalities of getting to know each other. They both led active lives and compared notes on the number of social groupings they belonged to. He topped her nine with thirteen. He went ballroom dancing. Each to their own. Interests weren’t everything. He liked discussing politics and current affairs. That was a plus. Why did he have to go and spoil everything?
‘I’ve just been to see an astrologer,’ he announced, apropos of nothing.
‘Was he any good?’ Marion asked, instinctively. She’d learnt that things could turn nasty quickly if you cross-questioned people on their beliefs, especially when it came to religion or politics.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, he was.’
She had known people in the past who believed in weird stuff like that. Some of them were quite sensible people. He saw that she wasn’t impressed and changed the topic.
‘So, you are a writer,’ he said. ‘What do you write about?’
‘Whatever takes my fancy,’ she said. ‘Quirky stuff, usually. Human nature, mainly.’
He talked about some long-dead Parisian writers he admired who had been into mysticism and the occult.
Marion couldn’t help raising her eyebrows.
‘There must be something in it,’ he said. ‘There were a heck of a lot of them.’
‘I believe what I can see with my own eyes and only half of that,’ she said.
‘But the evidence is all there,’ he went on. ‘I could tell you something really interesting, at the risk of totally losing my credibility.’
She always seemed to get the crazies. They made a bee-line for her. What would he come out with next? She’d better indulge him. She didn’t feel like arguing. They were supposed to be enjoying themselves.
‘Did you know that the earth is hollow and there are aliens living inside it?’
She’d thought he was weird but not that weird. Now she was beginning to doubt her own judgement
‘Really,’ she said, not wanting to encourage him further.
‘Yes. They come out at night but only in special places, along lay lines,’ he said.
She was in a time warp. She was back in the sixties, having one of those late-night esoteric conversations with people, in an altered state of consciousness. ‘And I can tell you,’ he said, leaning towards her in a confiding way, ‘that one of them came out recently somewhere near here. Can you guess where?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ she said, flatly.
‘Go on. Try,’ he urged.
‘Okay then, Pendle Hill,’ she ventured.
If people believed that witches flew around on broomsticks up there, then why not aliens? she thought.
‘No,’ he said, obviously disappointed. ‘It was on Ilkley Moor.’
‘Well, I hope he had his hat on,’ she said.
‘His what?’ he asked.
‘His hat. You know, like in the song ‘Tha’s ba-an te catch thee de-ath a cowd, on Ilkley Mo-or ba-at ha-at?’ Marion sang.
He looked disgruntled now. The band started playing at an even higher volume. It was impossible to hear anything. He made some excuse about having sensitive ears and left.
Well, at least that got rid him, she thought. She needed to be getting off herself. It was late and there was a storm brewing.
Driving along the A59 she mulled over the events of evening. The conversation had started off well enough but it had soon turned. He must have thought her very gullible to believe all that rubbish.
There was car approaching fast from behind. The headlights were shining right through the back window, almost blinding her. It was trying to overtake. She clicked the catch down on the mirror to avoid the glare. As the car sped past, she noticed it was a BMW. She remembered him boasting about having a BMW. But he had left before her, surely.
‘Maniac!’ she shouted.
All that stuff about aliens. Didn’t he credit her with more intelligence than that? He could have come up with a better chat-up line. It showed a distinct lack of intelligence on his part. Of course, she was going to make fun of him. Any sensible woman would.
People drove too fast on the A59. There were often accidents. She’d get off the road and take a short cut home. She preferred driving on country lanes, anyway, especially at night. You could see the cars coming by their headlights. There wouldn’t be many people on the road. It was gone midnight.
As she turned off the main road onto the single-track road, she saw lights flashing up ahead. Something was blocking the road and a policewoman in a yellow, hazard jacket was walking towards her. Marion wound down the window.
‘I’m sorry,’ the policewoman said, ‘but you can’t get through here tonight. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’
She could see a car ahead. There was a branch lying right across the bonnet. The roof was all smashed in.
‘Was anyone hurt?’ Marion asked.
‘That’s the strange thing,’ the policewoman said. ‘Someone called 999 a short while ago but when we got here, there was no-one around. We can’t understand it. I’m afraid it’ll be another two hours before we can clear the road. We're waiting for the breakdown lorry to arrive. You’ll have to go home another way.
It meant going back on the A59. That was a drag but there was nothing else for it. She reversed up the road and turned the car around. As she was driving away, she caught sight of the smashed-up car in the rear-view mirror. It was a BMW and the registration number was 1MAN AL1EN.
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