The sky was white with dense, icy cloud, and full of noises; the sirens had stopped, but the drumming and clanking of engines and heavy machinery had started up at the bridge, and the road was already loud with traffic. It hadn’t rained in the night, but the ground was damp and my clothes were sodden. I checked I still had my money, then I peeled the cardboard back and unwound myself from the plastic. Instantly the night’s sweat froze on my body, and I felt the wind slipping between my bones as if there were nothing under my skin but cold, flowing air. All my joints and limbs hurt, and I started to shiver. The fires had died out but for a reed of smoke rising from one or two. A man was peeing into the scrub over at the far edge of the concrete, but nobody else had stirred. My stomach felt empty yet queasy; I had to get my body moving and I had to get warm. I retraced my steps to the service station. Traffic was moving past on the road again, but the car park was still full. I saw no police vehicles and, when I paused at the entrance to look around, no police officers.
