There were young crops growing in neat lines in the fields on either side. Ahead, she could see slack, candy-striped tape cordoning off the road, and yellow ‘Route Barrée’ signs. Blanchard’s phone rang, loudly, and he answered it. Bea and Griff stood staring at the blowing tape and the accident site beyond it, while he talked. There were jet-black streaks on the road leading to the place where Alex’s car was being winched onto a half-trailer. Bea stared at the car, swinging gently on the cables as it rose up. There were several police, or traffic police, in various uniforms, some standing around, others directing the driver of the towtruck lifting Alex’s car. Blanchard was arguing with somebody on the phone. Bea couldn’t hear the details. She heard him say Merde, then Ça me fait chier as he walked away, with his back to them.

She and Griff stood side by side behind the blowing tape, staring at the car. It sucked her in, like falling, and she dragged her eyes away, but it drew her back. The small group of traffic police watched too, as the black Renault swung towards the trailer. Everything was in relation to the hanging car, from the far horizon to the nearest figure, feet away. There were two thick troughs gouged through the green shoots in the soft earth of the field by the car, where it had come off the road, and more exposed earth where it had been dragged back. In the middle distance stood a factory, like a cardboard cut-out and on the other side of the car, past the tow truck and trailer, was another line of striped tape and more yellow signs, and she saw two men, who looked like workmen, also watching. They were smoking and talking. Nobody told them not to watch. She heard Blanchard’s footsteps as he hung up and came over to them.

‘OK, I’m sorry, I need to take you back,’ he said.

Griff didn’t turn or answer him, he was still staring at Alex’s car, hanging on the chains.

‘Excuse me? Did you hear? I have to take you back now,’ said Blanchard.

‘What was Alex doing here?’ she asked Griff.

He didn’t answer.

‘What happens now?’ she said.

‘They take the car,’ said Blanchard. ‘They examine it. Look, it’s time to go.’

Bea looked at Griff, who still hadn’t moved, staring at the crash site from behind his dark glasses.

‘Dad?’ she said. ‘He wants to take us back.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned to Blanchard. ‘Two minutes?’ she asked. ‘Is that OK?’

He was embarrassed by the situation. ‘OK,’ he said, sullen in his awkwardness.