He’s a handsome boy, the driver. He could wear a cap like a chauffeur and it would suit him. Leather seats. Luxury. I’d like a go at driving this. How long since I drove a car? Bill preferred to, even though he was a terrible driver. Clashing the gears. On edge. Swearing. And not seeing things. Then if I drove, he would be gripping the arm rests, and pushing his feet into the carpet as if he were braking. Telling me to watch out. Slow down. I loved to go fast when I was alone in the car, or with the children. When he was there, it wasn’t worth it. He’d sulk afterwards. Prove we hadn’t got wherever we were going any quicker. Which was not the point. The fun of it! Swishing along. This car would go like a rocket. Perhaps he’ll let me drive it back. This boy.

The car pulls softly out into the road, and accelerates away with barely a murmur. I look out of the window, still trying to work out when I last drove. Before I came here, of course. Before then, there’s another gap, all the way back to when Bill died. How long was I in the black hole? I could ask Winifred. She’ll know to the minute. I’m afraid, in truth. It might be better not to know. Instead, I turn my thoughts to the trees flashing past.

‘Look at the trees, Winifred. They never stop moving. So alive. Those leaves are like hands. Stroking the air. Feeling it run through their fingers. And turning to the sun. And this one has hair. Green hair.’

Winifred tries to see what I’m talking about. A tree with green hair? She won’t have any idea what I mean.

‘Laura did once. Had green hair. She dyed it, and Bill was terribly angry. I admired her for it, secretly. But I had to back him up.’