Competition short story.


It had been one of those days to die for … and now a sinking, still warm, late afternoon sun sent long shadows flooding across the countryside.
Nesting birds, beaks stuffed full to overflowing with natures detritus fluttered from undergrowth to bush, in the passing fields spring lambs gambolled recklessly ever further from their ewes.
Jonty Blenkinsop was on his way home early having just confirmed the details of largest contract that his fledgling company had yet landed.
Six months of hard graft and straining his overdraft to the limit making prototypes at his own expense to convince his customer that he could handle the contract had finally paid off, he could now increase his staff with a promise of months of work and really begin to feel that he was on his way.

The Friday traffic on the M4 had been horrendous, so he had switched to the old A4 at Theale and was now passing through the Savernake Forest approaching Marlborough.
It was just like old times … following the old coaching route through wonderful country instead of eating up the monotonous fume laden miles in multi-lane competition with 40 Ton juggernauts and speeding white vans.
Glancing at his watch, he pictured his wife just leaving to collect the kids from school … he’d give her half an hour, then break the news to her and tell her to prepare for a celebratory table at the Rose and Crown tonight and to get out that new spring outfit that she’d been fretting to wear.

The trials of starting out in business was as hard on wives as it was on the entrepreneur, and Jonty was fully aware of the debt that he owed to his own wife. She had backed him all the way, and gone without things that other wives took for granted … but not any more!
He was off and running, and she would want for nothing from now on, neither would the kids. He’d been building not simply for himself but for the future of his entire family.

The miles slipped past, the sun was ever lower in the sky and he flipped the visors down to reduce the glare. Humming quietly to himself, he caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror on the rear of the visor and laughed openly at his reflection …
“Rodder’s”, he shouted through the laughter, “next year we’ll all be millionaires!”

He didn’t see the deer scampering across the road until it was too late, and the windscreen shattered as the buck slammed up over the bonnet. The car went into a slow motion roll and Jonty was to remember nothing until he found himself sitting against a tree with the car upside down in the ditch thirty yards away up the road, one front wheel still rotating slowly.
As he marvelled at having escaped unscathed, he felt a hand take his …
“Come along Jonty … it’s time to go” said a voice tenderly.


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