In the forecourt of the petrol station, a tall, harried-looking man was filling up a maroon Austin Allegro. I watched as he knocked the drops off the petrol pump. Watched him walk away to make payment. The lights of the car were still on. The keys were in the ignition.

I was across the damp tarmac and into the driving seat without a sound. I didn’t drive away fast – just pulled out as gently as you like and didn’t hit the accelerator until I was beyond the line of sight of the cashier.

By the time the tall man came outside I was half a mile away, doing seventy miles per hour, heading north as if fleeing a fire.

FELICITY

Transcript 0023, recorded December 1, 2016

The men outside the door did what Sera asked them to do. The door opened and they tossed her a little canvas bag full of medical supplies. The taller of the pair handed Sera a torch, one of those proper lantern types with the handle on top. He didn’t say a word but I could tell from the slightly sheepish way he was lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulders that he’d had a telling off. My eldest used to look like that when he’d been caught taking food from the pantry.

I didn’t speak until he was gone. I stood up, stretching my back, feeling the beginnings of some nasty bruises all down one side. I stretched as if I’d been picking vegetables, trying to work the knots out of my back. Crossed to the sink and turned the tap on, splashing some water on my dry lips and giving my face a bit of a scrub. The water was icy cold and made me shiver twice as much but it felt good to get the mud off my face. I stood with my back to the sink, the room changing colour as Sera switched on the lamp. She and John were suddenly enveloped in a perfect circle of gaudy yellow light. I had to look away when I saw her unwrapping the bandages. Felt my sickness coming on and had to fight the urge to put my hands over my ears as John made a sad, sore, mewling sound.

‘It is OK, hush, be brave, be brave …’

There was something of the lullaby about the way she talked. She was so gentle in her manner, so tender in the way she touched him, I swear it made me feel like a right battleaxe of a wife. I’d never spoken to him like that. Never put my palm on his forehead and looked in his eyes and told him that it was all going to be OK. He’d never done it to me either. We’d have felt too bloody embarrassed. But it came to her easy as breathing.