Roadside Assistance

Demelza frowned as the car lurched, made a strange humming sound, then lost power. She pressed harder at the accelerator pedal, but nothing happened. Thinking fast, she hit the button to put on her hazard lights then steered over towards the side of the road, hoping like hell she had enough momentum to get there. She didn’t want her car sticking out into the motorway traffic, and she didn’t particularly want to attempt to push the vehicle, either.

Her silent prayers were answered as she managed to get safely onto the hard shoulder, where she pulled on the handbrake and turned off the engine. Only then did she express her frustration. “Fuck!” She slammed her hands on the steering wheel. “Fuckshitwankfuckbollocks!”

Having let some irritation out, she felt more able to get her arse in gear and start tackling the problem. Demelza didn’t have the slightest idea how cars worked—she could put petrol in, fill the windscreen washer bottle and that was about it—so roadside assistance was the only option.

She vaguely remembered being told at some point that it was easier for a breakdown service to find you if you used the static phones at the side of the motorway, rather than a mobile phone. So she grabbed her handbag and keys, locked the car and started walking quickly along the darkened road. Demelza wanted to place the call and get back to her car as soon as possible. She’d also heard it was safer not to wait in...