Getting into a stranger’s car
Mae started walking to school with a friend last week. I’d thought she was old enough to do so, they would be walking together, in the daylight, on main roads. I made sure she left within plenty of time.
The first day everything was fine, although she admitted she was a little late, so we talked about how she had to ensure she walked a bit faster.
The second day, her friend rang and cancelled.
The third day, her friend turns up and off they go. Plenty of time to get there.
Shortly after I get in the car with Mr Spencer and the younger kids, to take them to school. We see Mae and her friend walking along the road, slowly. I mention to Mr Spencer that she’ll most likely be late again at that rate, and she needed to speed up.
A few seconds later, a voice pipes up from the back. “Mae just got in a car.”
My heart stops beating. “What car?”
“the black car.”
I don’t recognise the car, or the person driving.
Pulling in behind the other car, I follow it. Mentally I am straining to remember the number plate, while my palms are sweating, and I’m praying it’s all innocent.
Finally, the car pulls in at Mae’s school, and Mae gets out. Mr Spencer gets out. He tells Mae to get into our car. She is due at school, but this talk is far more important.
Driving the other kids to school, Mr Spencer talkes to Mae about what just happened. How you can’t trust strangers. She is unapologetic, and has no idea what she did wrong.
I feel stupid. I thought at her age she would understand all the warnings we gave her about not getting into strangers cars. I was wrong.
She is grounded for a month. No phone calls, no school disco, no friend’s houses. I feel justified. I’m sure I lost at least a month off my life.