'I . . . I'd better go along,' Pamela muttered, uncomfortable with the thought of someone going through her belongings, most of which weren't worth keeping. 'But- didn't you say something about leaving in the morning? If I get my things, where will I stay?'
Mrs. Dewhurst made a face. 'Why, here, of course. As though you'd be staying any place else!'
And so it was settled. Mrs. Dewhurst sent her back home in a cab. It took less than fifteen minutes to sort through the few clothes and articles she would bring while the cab driver sat in the kitchenette drinking the last of her instant coffee. She finished by writing a note for the landlady. She then put this in an envelope, along with her keys, and slipped it under the landlady's door.
'Where you off to, Miss?' the cab driver asked her when they were under way.
'Back to Mrs. Dewhurst's-'
'No, I mean I heard the two of you talking. I thought I heard something about your going overseas.'
'Yes,' she said, feeling suddenly lightheaded about the prospect, 'I'm going to a place called Yorkshire in the morning.'
'Oh, yeah. That's in England, up north on the east side, just below Scotland.'
'Oh,' Pamela muttered. 'I didn't realise that Yorkshire wasn't . . . like, a country or something.'
The cab driver, an older fellow, chuckled. 'It is to most of the people who live there. Never travelled before? Well, take it from me, I'm just a broken down old cab driver, without much ejumucation, but I've travelled a bit, and if I've learned anything from the experience, it's that you're never the same afterwards. Broadens your view of the world and your place in it. Besides, it's not a good thing to be stuck in one place your whole life, especially at your age. No, you mark my words: when you get back, you'll be a whole new person.'
'I don't plan on coming back,' she replied defensively, feeling threatened by the notion.
'Oh, you'll come back all right,' the cab driver said with a knowing smile. 'They always do. No one ever really leaves this place.'
That thought struck a chill down her spine, and she didn't answer. But she pretended to agree with the man, and smiled politely when he helped her with her dilapidated suitcase. But for the rest of the evening, the background of her thoughts was dogged by the man's words, distracting her from what Mrs. Dewhurst was saying.
At last, the woman said apologetically, 'My dear, I am sorry! Here I am, prattling along like a giddy old matron at a social tea, and you're obviously too tired to pay attention. Run along now- have a nice long bath and go to bed. I'll wake you in the morning, and we'll begin what it is hoped will be a long and happy adventure together.'