The first thing Millicent Blake sees when she opens her eyes is a large, black and white face, gazing back at her through the window. Millie gasps, horrified. She and the Friesian cow, [for that is what the owner of the face is] stare at each other for a few moments before the cow loses interest and shuffles away, back to snatching up mouthfuls of grass.

Millie moves her head and winces as a spasm of pain engulfs her neck and shoulder. Realisation begins to dawn. She’s in the car, in the passenger seat. Somehow the car has got into a field. She tries to look forwards, through the windscreen, which is shattered, although the fragments of glass have stayed in position. Grimacing, she makes a huge effort and turns to her right. Geoffrey! Geoffrey is sandwiched between his air bag and the seat back and does not appear to be conscious, though his eyes are open and staring directly at her.

How did they get here, to the middle of this field? Millie’s head hurts too much to think. She’s aware that she needs to do something; to try and call out or move and retrieve her phone from…somewhere? But neither of these tasks seem possible. She wonders if Geoffrey is even alive. Her voice, when she attempts to call his name, only amounts to a hoarse croak. Surely someone will come to help them. Won’t they?

In the old days, when they were newlyweds and then young parents, Millie hadn’t noticed Geoffrey’s driving technique. They couldn’t have been much different as drivers; either he hadn’t been reckless and bad-tempered behind the wheel, or she hadn’t noticed. And he hadn’t been so critical of her, either. He hadn’t nagged her to overtake, to take chances, hadn’t whinged that she was too slow, or made her go backward and forward until she was perfectly parked. She’d never liked driving his car, finding it too big and too powerful. The gears were stiff, the seat difficult to adjust. She preferred her own small automatic with its quiet engine and maneuverability.

If she’d had her way, once they’d retired, Millie would have liked to have ditched the cars altogether and used public transport, But Geoffrey was outraged at the very idea, going to the other extreme and spending a great deal of their retirement savings pot on a state-of-the-art Land Rover Discovery, which barely fitted in their driveway and meant that her little Toyota had to live out on the road, exposed to scrapes and theft.

If anything, the cars were a metaphor for their forty five year old marriage. Since retiring, Geoffrey had become bullish and bigoted in ways he’d never been when younger. He shouted at the television news, refused to queue for anything, was rude to restaurant staff and neglected to thank anyone for anything. Just as when driving, he swapped motorway lanes to get ahead, tailgated other vehicles and swore or gesticulated at fellow drivers.

Millicent wrenches her head round again to look at him. She has no sense that he was breathing, though he appears to be uninjured. There isn’t a mark on him, unlike herself. She can see blood trickling down both her arms and her legs seem to be arranged at an unnatural angle. She shudders and closes her eyes, only to be jerked awake by her door being yanked open and a ruddy, shouting face intruding into her space. The face shouts, calls her ‘Love’. What’s her name? She’s told to keep still, as if she had an option.

Geoffrey’s door is yanked at but will not open.

After what feels like an eternity, Millie is lifted out of her seat and placed on a trolley then rolled into an ambulance. She’s no idea when it arrived and no memory of hearing a siren. Various procedures are done to her. At some point she asks about Geoffrey and is told not to worry about it now.

It’s June. Six months have passed since the accident. Millie’s collar bone has healed and she’s suffered no ill effects from the leg injuries. She steps off the coach at Heathrow, takes her case from the luggage compartment and walks into the terminal. She joins a queue for baggage drop, waiting quietly, a small smile of anticipation on her lips. Free of the case, she goes to security and chats to someone next to her while she waits, then goes through, along the path past duty free and on to find a cafe for some brunch. Then she’ll peruse the airport shops until ‘go to gate’ appears.

Aah! Life without Geoffrey…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com