There’s a line of cars and vans coming slowly along the road through the village, bumping over the cattle grid. I run past the shop and the telephone box, the telecom mast and the hotel, out of the village. I turn left up the hill to find the one spot where my mobile gets a fragment of reception. I try Bonnie first, but she doesn’t answer. Hannah next. But she’ll be at work: her phone’s turned off. Before I know it, I’m calling Sam. His phone rings and rings. Then it goes to voicemail. The stupid automatic message. My hands are shaking. I press exit. Molly? No answer. I send her a text: phone me? Please. Kx I want to sit down but there’s nowhere apart from the edge of the road or the grass, and the minute I sit or even walk on a few paces I’ve lost reception again. I stand there, on that one spot just above the road, hoping and hoping for a text or a call. The wind’s blowing a gale. I notice for the first time that I’m shivering. A camper van with kayaks on the top goes past and someone waves from the window, as if to thank me for letting them go past.
