The Deadly Coquetry

The weather bulletin interrupted the radio’s normal programming. Sharon was stuck on the M6; the traffic was barely moving because of the flooding of the lowlands. She’d known a storm was coming since yesterday but hadn’t been able to leave Liverpool until quite late today, as she had to finish some reports and review the paper work for tomorrow’s presentation. Now she was stuck in a traffic jam. Everybody, including herself, wanted to get home before the storm struck, because there was no doubt it would create mayhem. The traffic problem would only get worse due to the slippery roads and treacherous travel conditions the storm would create. The last thing she wanted, particularly right now, was to be stuck in this monstrosity.

‘God, let me get home before the storm comes,’ she prayed, hoping for a miracle, but the heavens seemed unlikely to lend an ear to her prayer. She looked at her watch: it was already 9:45 p.m.

The skies were dark and gloomy, with a thick band of grey clouds looming, ready to create havoc at any moment. The traffic was moving at a snail’s pace as the rain turned into a heavy downpour. Sharon was getting agitated by the threat of the storm, but at the same time was furious—if she was stuck in traffic until tomorrow morning she’d miss the important meeting with her client with whom she was about to close a major deal. She wanted to get to Derby, to her mum and dad’s home, where she could spend the night and then travel to Avianz the next day. The client, Mr. Jason Attenborough, the Chief Executive of Avianz, had announced that the contract to supply important components in the construction of new trains for the London Underground was to be put to tender.

Sharon worked for Dawson’s Metal Works and Steel Limited, based in Liverpool. Being the company’s top salesperson, she’d been given the task of bidding on behalf of her company to try and close this multi-million pound deal. She was responsible for the bidding process. She’d been involved in many bidding processes before and had nearly always managed to secure the contract—in fact, she had an almost ninety percent success rate.

‘Shit! Come on, bugger! Bugger!’ she said while pounding the car steering wheel and moving in her seat impatiently.

The strong winds and heavy rains were starting to have a major affect on visibility, even with the windscreen wipers on. Sharon struggled to see the road. She was now moving at 10 miles per hour to stop from sliding around on the slippery motorway. She noticed some debris flying through the air, and this scared her. Some toppled trees and branches, blown down by the winds, now partly blocked the roads. She could hear the wind whistle as it caused her car to sway.

She took her mobile phone and started to phone her mum.

‘Hello,’ came the voice of a lady on the other end of the line. It was Linda, Sharon’s mum.

‘Mum, it’s me. I’m a bit stuck at the moment. I’m on the M6 and it’s running quite slow.  There’s a heavy downpour here and the wind’s strong.’

‘Where about on the M6 are you? Which town? Good God, Sharon, please stop at the nearest travel inn and stay there the night. Don’t rush down here, darling. I know you’ve got a very important appointment in the morning, but please, it’s nearly half past eleven at night. At least, don’t come now; not until the weather gets better. You can always leave early in the morning from the hotel.’ There was a strong note of concern in Linda’s voice.