Weekend In Paradise

WEEKEND IN PARADISE

ELLEN had never seen so much rain. Since they'd left home it hadn't
eased up once. If anything it had increased in volume, and was now a
solid cascade of water. The wipers, even on fast speed, simply couldn't
cope. Visibility was almost non existent.

Ellen stared fixedly at the map. Normally she had no problems with map
reading, but today all her attempts to guide them were proving
fruitless. And George, never a patient man, was becoming more irritable
by the minute.

'Are you reading that thing, or just admiring the pretty patterns?' he
snapped. 'For pity's sake tell me where we're going!'

'I'm trying!' Ellen retorted. 'I swear this is the right direction, or
it should be. If you'd slow down a bit maybe I could read the road
signs. As it is they're just a blur, especially in this rain.'

Even in good weather George's driving was risky, but in conditions such
as this it was downright lethal. Only a few miles back, at the
roundabout, they'd had a narrow escape. Roundabouts were always a
heart-stopping experience when George was at the wheel. He had a
haughty disdain for them, barely slowing down at the approach. There
would be a cursory glance to his right and then, no matter how critical
the margin for error, would make a suicidal bid to get across. At this
point Ellen would be praying for deliverance. Somehow he always got
away with it. Fortunately, most other road users recognised a maniacal
driver when they saw one, and took the necessary avoiding action. But
today had almost proved to be the exception. The car coming from their
right was travelling as fast as they were, there was a horrific
squealing of tyres and George had swerved violently. The fact that they
hadn't collided was nothing short of a miracle.

'A right fiasco this is turning out to be,' George muttered. 'Look at
the weather, for a start. If this keeps up all weekend there'll be no
point. We won't be able to do a damned thing.'

'That's where you're wrong,' Ellen countered. 'According to the
brochure it doesn't matter what the weather's like. There're all kinds
of facilities laid on and all in heavenly surroundings, the brochure
says.'

'Does the brochure also say that at this rate, by the time we get there
it'll be time to turn around and come back again?' George mocked.
'Assuming we even get there, that is.'

Ellen ignored the jibe and tried changing the subject. 'Have you
noticed anything?'

'Yes!' he snorted. 'We're lost! And already I feel ten years older than
when we left home!'

'Give it a rest, George, for heaven's sake!' Ellen exploded. 'What I
mean is we haven't seen another car for ages now.'

'I'm not surprised,' he flung back. 'No one in their right mind drives
around in weather like this, looking for a hotel that's so buried away
even an archaeologist couldn't find it.'

It was pointless arguing with George in this mood, and consulting the
map again she said tiredly, 'Take the next turning on the left.'

George's problem, apart from their present predicament, was that he
hadn't wanted to come in the first place. Ellen had seen this long
weekend break advertised in some obscure magazine, and had booked it
months ago. It was a special deal. In the bleak mid-winter period
hotels had empty rooms to fill, and were happy to make concessions. It
meant that the accommodation was remarkably cheap for this reason, and
the only stipulation was that all meals had to be taken in the hotel.
Ellen had even checked on this as well, and was pleasantly surprised to
learn that meals were moderately priced. It was too good a deal to
miss, and heaven knew they needed the break.

The fact that George had been made redundant just a fortnight ago had
soured things a bit, for both of them. But as Ellen pointed out, the
weekend had been paid for, and she saw no reason to cancel it.

'The weekend's paid for,' George had grumbled, 'but the food isn't, or
the travelling expenses. And right now we need every penny. Twenty
years I was a driver for that company, and that's the thanks I get.
Turfed out on my ear. What did they call it? "Rationalisation to adapt
to changing economic conditions"! What a joke! Why can't they just come
out with it and say, "You're sacked!"'

The wonder of it was, Ellen considered, that with George's driving
record they'd actually kept him on for twenty years. There was no
denying it, though. Their future was uncertain now. And at George's age
it wouldn't be easy to step into another job. He would be forty nine
next birthday. Even so, they were luckier than many, she realized.
Their house was paid for, they had few debts and the children were both
leading independent lives. And if this was to be their only break for
the foreseeable future, surely there was all the more reason to go
ahead with it.

It was getting harder to read the map now. The light was fading and the
sky, a dark, solid grey mass, seemed to hover just feet above the car,
as though any moment it would come down and engulf them
completely.

As the wipers fought valiantly to clear the screen, Ellen was reminded
of the time she'd taken the car to the car wash. She wasn't
claustrophobic as a rule, but there had been a moment of panic as the
car was blanketed in water and foam. And then the massive, rotating
brushes had crept slowly forwards, closing around her, trapping her in
the car until their work was done. Perhaps it was the association of
all the water which had triggered the thought, because right now she
had the same uneasy feeling of entrapment as she'd had in the car
wash.

'Well? Where to now,' George demanded. 'Do we carry on up here, or
what?'

'Yes,' Ellen said immediately, 'for about three miles. Then we come to
crossroads, and we turn left there.'

'Left again?' he queried. 'Are you sure?'

'I'm certain,' she said, and instantly wondered why. She hadn't even
looked at the map again before speaking, and yet she knew they were
going in the right direction. Female intuition, she told herself. Women
had these flashes of insight, and her innate sense of direction had
always been good.

They reached the crossroads. George shot her a puzzled glance, and with
a muttered, 'I hope you know what you're doing', he turned left.

'We keep on this road, now,' Ellen instructed, 'and a few miles further
on there'll be a roundabout.'

George sighed impatiently. 'Then what? Any chance that we might
actually be close to this place? What's it called, anyway?'

'The Paradise Hotel,' Ellen said wearily, although she'd told him
several times already. "'Once you've experienced our hospitality,
you'll know the true meaning of Paradise,"' Ellen intoned, quoting
mischievously from the brochure. 'And I think, once we get to the
roundabout, there'll be a sign telling us which way to go from there.
You know, like those Tourist Board signs, or something.'

The roundabout, when they reached it, was ablaze with light. Only when
they were close did they realize why. It was crawling with emergency
services, and lights flashed from police cars, ambulances and a fire
engine. Men and women in neon yellow jackets with light-reflective
strips moved around in the rain, directing or being directed, talking
calmly into telephones or radios.

George stopped the car a few yards back and switched off the engine.
'We can't get round this lot. They're blocking the road. I'll go and
have a word. . . See if they'll shift something. Otherwise we'll be
here all night.'

'I'll come with you,' Ellen said.

Together they walked the few yards to the roundabout and stared at the
devastation. Two cars were involved in the accident. The driver of one
vehicle was on a stretcher, and was being put into an ambulance. The
couple in the front car weren't as fortunate. Their vehicle was a
mangled heap. A paramedic who'd been trying to administer first aid
stood up, looked at a police officer standing nearby and slowly shook
his head.

And then, staring more closely at the car, and the number plate, George
and Ellen instantly understood.

'Oh, George!' Ellen gasped. 'Just look what you've done! And if you
dare ask me where we go now, I'll scream!'

'Wasn't going to, love,' George said sheepishly. And then, holding up
the car keys he added, 'but wherever it is, I think you'd better do the
driving.'

It was then that Ellen spotted it: on the other side of the roundabout
was the sign she'd known would be there, complete with arrow, which
read:

'This way to the Paradise Hotel"

'Follow me, George,' she said gently. 'I think I know, now, where we're
supposed to check in.'