With that Mark slipped the engine into gear and the car jerked forward. James just managed to dodge to the side, and, as the vehicle passed him, he made a quick decision and threw himself over the door into the passenger seat.

The car screamed down the road. Mark Goodenough was not an experienced driver and he had it in too low a gear. The engine was complaining; at this rate it would overheat.

‘Shift up,’ said James. ‘You’ll burn her out.’

Mark wrenched the gear lever and it churned and grated through the change. The noise of the engine settled down, but the car was far from being under control. Mark was veering all over the road as he fought to contain the powerful machine. There was the blast of a horn as another car sped past them on the other side, only a few inches away.

‘Slow down,’ said James. ‘You’ll get us both killed.’

‘I don’t care,’ Mark yelled. ‘I didn’t ask you to get in, did I?’

They skidded round a corner, careering across the road into the right-hand lane. If there had been anyone coming the other way they would have had a head-on smash.

‘Maybe you’ve forgotten,’ said James, trying not to sound either angry or scared, even though he felt both keenly, ‘but this is my car.’

‘I told you, I don’t care,’ said Mark. ‘I don’t care about anything any more.’

James looked at him. There were tears streaming down Mark’s cheeks, made worse by the wind battering their faces. He was blinking and shaking his head to try to clear his eyes, but he obviously couldn’t see too well.

‘Where are you going?’ asked James.

‘Away… Anywhere… I don’t care. Maybe when I’ve got up enough speed I’ll drive straight into the first wall I come to and put an end to it all.’

‘That would be stupid,’ said James.

‘Shut up,’ shouted Mark. ‘Just shut up, won’t you?’

They were out of Windsor now, driving through farmland. Mercifully the roads were quieter, but they still passed the occasional alarmed motorist. Mark was driving faster and faster and, even if he didn’t stick to his threat of driving into a wall, he was dangerously out of control and could spin off the road at any moment. James hung on to the side of the car for all he was worth.

‘All right, Mark,’ he said at last, ‘you may want to die, but I don’t. Stop the car and let me out.’

‘No,’ said Mark.

‘Then at least slow down,’ said James. ‘I’m scared. You’re not thinking straight.’

‘I don’t care,’ Mark screamed. ‘I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care…’

‘It’s your family, isn’t it?’ said James and Mark screwed his head round briefly to glare at him.

‘What would you know about it?’ he shouted, his voice hoarse. ‘What would you know about anything?’

‘My parents were killed when I was eleven,’ said James bluntly.

Mark looked round again, frowning now, unsure; but he had taken his eyes off the road for just a moment too long and when he turned back there was a bus heading straight for them. Mark froze and James grabbed the wheel, desperately turning it to the left. They swerved round the bus. James was aware of a blur of hot metal thundering past them, sucking the air away, too close, and too loud. He caught a glimpse of startled faces at the windows, then the bus was gone. Mark wrestled the wheel back off James, but turned the car back too sharply. The momentum forced the rear end of the car round and they spun off the road into a field, narrowly avoiding a huge oak tree. The car rotated two or three times, the tyres throwing up dirt behind them, and then it stalled and rocked to a halt.