Friday Flash Fiction 25

NATALIE
By Gareth L Powell

Ed stops at a lonely roadside café on a hot autumn night. He drums his fingers on the counter.

'Hey, how about a coffee?' he says. It’s late and he’s the only customer. The waitress comes over. She's eighteen or nineteen, with long hair and black eyeliner.

'I'm waiting for the water to heat up,' she says. She's got a black t-shirt and there's a biro behind her right ear. She looks over Ed's shoulder. 'Is that your car?'

He turns in his seat. He's left the Dodge across two handicapped spaces in the empty car park. 'Isn't it a beauty?' he says.

She looks at the sweeping tailfins and scratches her chin. There's dried egg on her sleeve. 'It looks old' she says. 'Is it American?'

Ed nods. He’s just borrowed it for the weekend. ‘I’m on my way up to Hereford, to see the crash site.'

She looks him up and down. 'Are you a reporter?'

Ed shakes his head. 'I'm a photographer.'

'Up from London?'

'How did you guess?'

She leans her elbows on the counter. 'Are you going to take my picture?'

Ed smiles. 'That depends. You haven't told me your name yet.'

She brushes the dried egg from her sleeve. 'My name's Natalie.'

They shake hands. 'I'm Ed.'

The radio at the back of the kitchen's playing an Elvis song. A truck rattles past on the road outside. 'I'll get you that coffee,' Natalie says. As she pours it, she looks back at him, over her shoulder.

'There's some wreckage at the top of the valley,' she says, 'I can show it to you, if you like.'

Half an hour later they’re rolling up the valley in the Dodge. The single-track road smells hot and the stars overhead are hard and sharp. Natalie's finished her shift. Ed's taken his jacket off. He pulls up his sleeve to show her his tattoo.

'I got that in Amsterdam,' he says. Natalie wrinkles her nose. Whenever she moves, her jeans squeak on the seat.

'Take the next left,' she says.

Ed lets his sleeve drop. He likes her accent. He touches the brake and downshifts into the turn.

Natalie points through the windscreen. ‘It’s just up here.'

Ed pulls off the road. Up ahead, caught in the headlights, is the wreckage she promised him. It’s strewn over the gorse and heather, twisted splinters glinting in the moonlight.

He kills the engine. 'Does anyone else know about this?'

Natalie shakes her head. ‘No-one comes up here much.'

It’s midnight. Ed opens his door and climbs out, camera in hand. He can smell the heather. He walks over to the nearest fragment. The metal’s smooth and warm to the touch. With a dry mouth and sweaty palms, he starts snapping, knowing the pictures he’s taking will make his reputation.

Back in the car, Natalie lights a cigarette. She puts her feet up on the dashboard and lets her long hair fall over the back of the seat. She knows to the north there are armed helicopters patrolling the main crash site. But here in the valley, the only thing she hears is the click of Ed’s camera in the hot night air.