Distant Light

6367380_tuomas-markunpoikas-distant-lights-cast_t5e0d63ea[1]‘Which way now?’ Christopher asked at the T-junction.

‘How should I know,’ Angela snapped back.

‘Why are they never any signposts out in the country?’

‘Because people usually have a good idea of where they are going.’

He ignored the insult. He glanced at his watch, the second-hand on fourteen, fifteen, he turned right.

‘I hope this is the right way,’ Angela said.

Christopher remained silent and drove on.

What should have been a relaxing winter weekend getaway from the demands of their respective professions and their two young children, a time to rediscover each other, had gone wrong from the very start. The temperature had taken a sudden unexpected dip and they had argued as to whether to return home to collect heavier coats. Christopher had remained adamant that they press on while at the same time blaming Angela, who had been in charge of packing, for her lack of foresight. When Angela countered that the weather forecast had called for it to remain mild, Christopher, in that tone of voice that always made Angela see red, suggested that instead of always believing absolutely everything that was on TV that perhaps she should have looked outside the window.

The icy conditions and sleet showers made leaving the city even more difficult than usual and it was 7:30 before they reached the open countryside. Stopping to fill up at the petrol station Angela bought chocolate and coffee. It would be very late by the time they reached the hotel. Continue reading