I mentioned that Elizabeth Jane Howard's novels have been reissued with lovely new covers, and one of the titles I've ordered (so far . . . may have to get the rest of them now) is Mr Wrong. Of course I couldn't pass up a collection of short stories. I hadn't planned on using it as part of my RIP reading, but when I read this teaser from the back cover, I knew it would be a perfect fall weekend read.
"She awoke very suddenly with a feeling of extreme fear. It was not from a dream; she was sitting in the driver's seat, cramped, and with rain blowing in through the open window, but something else was wrong . . ."
Surely the titular story, "Mr Wrong" must be the story described as "a haunting journey into the macabre." There was something familiar about it when I began reading. A déja vu. As it turns out just last year I borrowed a collection of her stories in which this one was included. No doubt as I was looking for a suitable story I skimmed the beginning of this one, though it was from an anthology of ghost stories that I read "Three Miles Up" (this story is also included in Mr Wrong). After revisiting my post I recall what a wonderful story it was making me all the more anxious to read more of her stories, and I was not disappointed.
"Mr Wrong" is a longish short story, just over 40 pages but perfect for story-setting and increasing the sense of suspense and dread that Meg feels in her new aqua-blue (a nice color for the ladies the car salesman tells her--never trust a car salesman, I think) MG mini that is her pride and joy and purchased with the help of her parents. Technically it is only new to her but is actually a used, but newly refurbished car. You've heard of haunted houses, but what about a haunted car? Meg should have been alerted when she asked the salesman whether the car had ever been in an accident and he replies with a smile:
". . . it hadn't been an accident, just a slight brush."
But then who would have suspected just what that meant. So, here is Meg new to London having moved from a northern city to work in an antiques shop in the King's Road. She shares a flat with two other girls both with looks and social lives to match. Meg is a bit plain and shy, a little awkward compared to her roommates.
"She spent very little in London: she had bought one dress at Laura Ashley, but had no parties to to to in it, and lacked the insouciance to wear it to work. She lived off eggs done in various ways, and quantities of instant coffee--in the shop and in the flat."
Her rent is modest which is a good thing as her budget is tight and there isn't much of her check leftover, which all goes towards saying that when she realizes there is something amiss with the car, she is sort of stuck with it, or with selling it at a particular price and not a penny less. The thing is, there is something not quite right with the car. And when she is ready to sell, fearful of even getting into it, no one else seems willing to buy it.
Her first inkling that something is amiss is the strange feeling that comes over her when she stops to rest a few moments and falls asleep by mistake. It was a bad dream, but something more.
"A sound--or noises, alarming in themselves, but, in her circumstances, frighteningly out of place. She shut her window except for an inch at the top. This made things worse. What sounded like heavy, labored, stertorous even painful breathing was coming, she quickly realized, from the back of the car."
Surely it is all just her imagination, as the return journey home after an uneventful family visit turns out to be nothing special. So when on the following weekend, another wet and cold evening, she sees a young woman quite unremarkable in appearance yet with a look of desolation about her, she offers her a lift. Strangely, though, two things seem to happen at once--the girl gets into the backseat and a man, of whom Meg takes an instant dislike hops into the front seat. She thought they were together, a boss and his secretary, but later the man denies seeing anyone. And then things go very, very wrong after that. It is very much a journey into the macabre, a story worthy of Daphne du Maurier or Ruth Rendell. A haunted car. A long drive north in the rain. A strange man and a mysterious woman. Something not quite right. Ghosts? Or something worse?
Beware of picking up hitchhikers. Or of used cars that have been in a "slight brush" even if not in an accident. A nicely done story, perfect to elicit a few chills or feelings of dread. In case you've never read her, Elizabeth Jane Howard is wonderful. I think I might just keep going with this collection, which contains nine stories but no rush to get through them all right away. The nice thing about story collections is they are perfect for dipping into when the mood strikes.