The driver went up the Andytown Road at speed. He didn’t change gears very well and blood drained from my face because I spotted a glass bottle of Olde English in his door compartment. I asked him to leave us at the bottom of the Whiterock Road. They all laughed and the car revved up as it spun round Kennedy Way roundabout. I put my seatbelt on.
We sped past the bus stop where we got in seconds earlier. The car hand braked in the middle of the road at Andytown Barracks. They were taunting the cops. In my head I could see the end scene of You Me and Marley. We would be known as the next Karen Reilly’s. We were dead. I was thick and had to catch myself on and stop drinking so heavily. But most of all, I was the worst Mummy in the world.
The car careered on down the Falls. At the top of St Louise’s hill, the school we were told to leave a few years previously – sat the cops. They had placed a stinger device across the road. We ran over it.
Still going at speed, still jerkily changing gears, the driver was struggling to keep control of the car. We were shouting at him to just pull over and run. I looked behind me and the cop jeep was right there. The driver wasn’t giving in and neither were they.
The smell of burning rubber engulfed the car. The screaming wheel rims tearing up the road drowned out our shouting.
The driver took a right and raced down the Donegal Road. The cops close behind with the sirens and blue lights.
We drove into the grounds of the Royal Victoria Hospital. If a woman was in labour and walking into the Maternity – she’d have had no chance.
The jeep caught up with us as the driver hand braked outside the new hospital. A sign pointing to the Morgue separated the two vehicles. Undoubtedly, we were going to be there soon.
The cop jeep rammed us on my side four times. It pushed the car into a top to tail position. As they went to ram us again, the driver was able to get round them and speed off again. He drove into waste ground behind the Ambulance Station and everyone jumped out.
But it was a dead end. We were all arrested on suspicion of being carried in a stolen car.
After being read my rights, I was told if I identified the driver and went as far as court then I would not be prosecuted. I had no problem pointing him out.
The driver ran at me, calling me a number of vulgar names and aimed his bottle of cider at my face. I called him a scumbag hooding bastard. The cops stepped in between us and he was restrained.
A female cop said she recognised me by my coat. She seen us earlier that night. She was the one driving the jeep we tried to piggy back race and then the one doing all the ramming.
They did a check on everyone to see if there were any outstanding warrants and checked the car to see if it was reported stolen.
It wasn’t stolen but a ‘run-a-round’ or a ‘scrapper’ as we called them. The driver bought it from someone on the cheap because it wouldn’t pass its MOT and was therefore not road worthy.
The cops impounded the car and decided they didn’t have anything on any of us and let us go. They asked if we wanted a lift home because there was a possibility that I would be stabbed. So third time lucky, we got into the back of the jeep and told them to leave us out at the bottom of the Whiterock. Our hyperactivity had came to a stop and we agreed to stop being idiots and take responsibility for ourselves. And we did.