The car in the distance

Dog walkers are always making grim discoveries. I was 18 when it happened to me.  

I was with my terrier. I saw a small car in the distance. It was out of place, far from the nearest road. 

I wandered over, curious. The windows were all misted up, the engine was ticking over. I could hear loud music playing. I circled around it, not getting too close in case it was a couple.  

There was a garden hosepipe coming out of the exhaust. Someone had tried to seal it in place with red insulating tape. I took a step closer. There was a man in the driver’s seat, his forehead almost touching the steering wheel.

This was 1998. I had no mobile phone. I shouted “Help” and paused, holding my breath waiting for a reaction. There was none, nothing from the man in the car and not a sound from anyone else. I could not see another soul in any direction. I felt I had to do something. I pulled the hosepipe out of the exhaust. At least things could not get any worse now.  

I tried the door handles. All three doors were locked. The passenger window was cracked open to let the hosepipe in.  

I kicked the glass as hard as I could, connecting with the flat of my foot. Nothing happened.

I found a hefty stick. The window smashed to pieces the first time I hit it.  

I reached in and unlocked the door.  The air was hot. It caught my throat even though I tried not to breathe. I leaned across the man’s shoulders and unlocked the driver’s door.  I walked around to his side and opened the door. He was cherry red, unconscious, floppy. He had been sick on his lap. He had no seatbelt on. I took his arm and pulled. I’d never been around an unconscious person before. The way he fell to the ground was disturbing – he behaved like an object rather than a person. He landed on his side. I rolled him onto his back.  

I slapped his face gently. His eyes were fixed, unfocused. I gave him a few chest compressions whilst I thought about what to do. I’d never done that to a real person before. It felt horrible, violent. There was froth coming from his mouth, so I decided against any mouth-to-mouth.  

The CPR wasn’t doing anything, and there was nobody else around. It felt wrong to leave him by himself. I knew if I went to get help, it would take too long by the time I took them to him.  I decided to try and move us both closer to the main road.  

I tilted the driver’s seat forwards and dragged his upper body back towards the car. Somehow, I bundled his torso into the space behind it. He was a bit bigger than me, so I couldn’t get his legs in. He ended up on his front with his face resting on some of the broken glass. As I put the seat back down, I felt resistance; I think that was his arm. The windscreen was still steamed up on the inside, and the wipers didn’t help.  I didn’t want my dog cutting himself, so I kept him outside on the end of his extendible lead. The gearbox and pedals were different to what I was used to. I found first gear and let the clutch out, slowly, with lots of revs. I had to go about a third of a mile around a ditch to get towards the road. I was hooting the horn because I couldn’t really see where I was going. I noticed a flattened cardboard box on the passenger seat. It had once contained a car foot pump. I would read it later; it said “to whoever finds me.” The handwriting started off very neat but by the end it had faded to a scrawl.  

I stopped just near where my own car was parked. A couple were just about to start their afternoon walk; they looked frightened. They soon realised I needed help and ran over. She was a nurse or a midwife; she was much better at the CPR than I had been. A small crowd started to form; someone must have had a phone, and a 999 call was made.  

Within a few minutes, the ambulance arrived; they took over. The defibrillator didn’t make any difference, and after a while, they stopped; they put a red blanket over the man. 

The police came. There was a sergeant in his 30s, plain clothes. He asked me to show a young PC the place where I’d found the man. The PC told me not to blame myself. Until he said that, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.  

I gave my details, and they said I could go. 

A few weeks later, a retired policeman from the Coroner’s office came to see me at my mum and dad’s house. He took a statement. 

I had to go to the inquest. I went on my own. I found myself sat next to the man’s wife as we waited for it to start. As a sixth former, I didn’t really know what to say to a lady whose husband had died like that.  

I didn’t read my statement as such. An official had a copy of it in his hand; he read it out as a series of questions that I could agree with. That was it; they said I could go; I never heard any more.  

I’m 46 now. Every day, I still think about the car in the distance and the man inside it. It didn’t do me any harm, but my life was different after. I’ve carried on doing my best to do the right thing and not to look the other way. I’ve had some good adventures doing that. 

If you feel you are affected by the issues raised in this post then please speak to the Samaritans, click here to visit their website or call 116 123.