I felt the tyres bounce over divots and gravel then the bonnet screech against stone. My front headlight exploded and I was thrown forward in my seat before I yanked the wheel to the left and prayed for the tyres to find purchase. I glanced out of the passenger window and saw the man from the train. We were parallel, locked together like chariots racing at the coliseum. A cold fury flooded through me and I pushed the accelerator all the way, turning the wheel as far as it would go and slamming the side of the car against his, nudging him out into the centre of the narrow, pitch-dark road as I surged down the grass verge beside him, metal grinding against stone in a shower of sparks.

We saw the tractor at the same moment. It was backing out of a farm gate just beyond the railway bridge, solid and huge and encircled in a cone of soft yellow light.

I slammed on the brakes. Put every ounce of willpower into stopping the Allegro before it crunched into the high stone arch of the bridge.

I heard the dreadful wail of tyres screeching against the damp road, heard the brakes lock up and the suddenly static tyres lose purchase on the slick surface.

The driver threw up his arms to shield his face and then he was out of my line of sight. I heard the horrifying impact: a cacophony of crunching metal and smashing glass.

I sat there, the bonnet of the car inches from the railway arch, blood rushing in my ears, my arms aching, gasping for air.

I had to climb into the passenger seat to get out of the car. The driver’s side was pushed up against the stone wall. I stepped out onto the road with legs that shook like a newborn foal’s. Half a dozen tottering steps and then I was staring at the carnage of the scene beyond the bridge.

The vehicle had gone into the tractor at speed. The whole of the bonnet had crumpled in on itself. The impact had shattered the glass of the rear windscreen and through its jagged edges I could see the hole that the driver had left as he catapulted from the seat and through the front windscreen.

I staggered forward. I could hear a man’s voice, shouting for help. Beyond the tractor, a man in overalls was standing in the road with his hands on his head. He snapped his head towards me as he heard me approach. There were tears on his face and all the blood seemed to have leached out of his features.

‘Don’t, love, don’t look, it’s … he came out of nowhere, you don’t want to see … my wife’s calling for help …’