He checked his watch, saw it was almost midday, and quickly headed for the Home and Colonial to buy something for lunch. There was a long queue of gossiping housewives which stretched along the pavement, so he changed his mind and went to the bakery instead. Here was yet another queue, but much shorter, and he was soon happily heading back up the High Street clutching lovely warm pasties.

The large black Bentley came careering down the hill, clearly out of control. It swerved, the tyres screeching in protest as cyclists and other cars tried to avoid it. It hit the far kerb, narrowly missed a lamppost and threatened to overturn as the elderly woman driver yanked on the steering wheel but kept her foot on the accelerator.

John froze as he watched it sway and skid across the road, heading straight for a woman with a pram. He could see she was frozen in shock and quickly moved to push her out of the way, but the Bentley hit a deep pothole, turned turtle and spun in a different direction.

John saw it coming but had no time to get out of the way. As the front fender clipped him hard and tossed him into the air, he could hear screams and shouts and the terrible sound of tearing metal and splintered glass. He hit the ground, the breath punched from him as everything suddenly went black.

The morning had sped past as Doris worked solidly through the pile of letters and answered telephone calls. It wasn’t until her stomach gurgled with hunger that she looked up at the clock on the wall. Surprised to find it was after one o’clock, she wondered where on earth John had got to, and then remembered that old Mr Clarke enjoyed a chat over sherry and cake.

She put the kettle on for more tea in the hope that John had remembered to buy something for lunch. She was feeling very much better now and was looking forward to having something to eat after her meagre breakfast, so she treated herself to a biscuit from the packet in the tin.

The telephone rang just as she’d poured the tea, and everything was forgotten in the horror of what the woman was telling her. Slamming down the receiver, she abandoned the tea and biscuit, grabbed her coat, keys and handbag, locked the door behind her and charged down the stairs. She had two choices. Waste precious minutes by fetching the car to drive down – or just run.

She ran faster than she’d ever thought possible and arrived at the Cliffehaven General out of breath and terrified. She raced up the steps into the reception area and headed straight for the accident and emergency department.

‘Mrs White,’ she gasped to the sister in charge. ‘My husband … my husband.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs White,’ the woman soothed. ‘He’s in good hands. The doctors are with him. Sit down and catch your breath while I get you a cup of tea.’