I get out and reach for one of the boxes, but as I grab hold of it and feel the weathered cardboard, and the weight of the ash, I know that I am hoping if I give the boxes back, all the badness in the world will go away. In this scenario, Ben turns out to be a bastard, but not an evil bastard. James does not die, Sarah does not leave, Elaine does not get bashed, and I do not trash my life. Everything will be sweet. But badness never goes away. I’m the only person I know who could believe it would. I have to go to the police, no matter how messy it turns out to be.

I hear a vehicle approaching, and see Ben in the distance, the dust thick behind him. I shove the box away, across the back of the ute, jump into the driver’s seat, and push the ute to reach a high speed as quickly as possible. He won’t be able to stop me if I have enough momentum. We are heading straight for each other on this narrow road. I jam my foot to the floor. Maybe he suspects nothing, but I can’t take the risk.

As we get closer, I realise a ramp marks the halfway point between us. If I can’t get through that ramp before he gets to me, I’ll be blocked — the only way round will be to smash through the fences on either side. But I am confident I am gaining on him and should make it through before he gets there. I sit down a little in my seat, and hang on to the steering wheel. I feel like I am beating him, and surely if I get past I’ll be able to outrun his old machine. And then, when I am under a hundred metres from the ramp, I realise he has somehow increased his speed and that I am not going to make it as easily as I thought. He seems to be getting faster. As I reach the approaches to the ramp, he is on me, but I am still ahead. I cross the ramp, thinking I’ll make it, but in that time he somehow gets to me, and power-slides his ute sideways across the ramp, hitting hard against the ramp side panels. The next sound is the noise of my bullbar crunching into his passenger door, and my head smashing into the windscreen. I try to restart the ute so I can back out, but it will not fire. I try again and again, but nothing happens.

The blood is starting to run down my forehead into my eyes as I get out, my feet unsteady on the bars of the ramp. I wipe the blood away, and feel my way along the bonnet. Ben is standing on the other side of his ute, watching me.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’