Gillian Jackson - The Accident

On a good day it took twenty minutes for Hannah to get to the office — on a bad one, nearer forty. This morning she hoped for light traffic, although the icy roads would probably slow things down considerably. Driving carefully towards the motorway, Hannah’s thoughts again turned to Mike. Their twentieth wedding anniversary was coming up soon; should she surprise him by booking a holiday? But then his reaction might not be what she hoped for, and the problem he would have getting time off work would undoubtedly cause more arguments between them.

It seemed that the longer Mike had been with the company, the more they expected of him, but apparently Hannah minded more than he did. It appeared to her that the firm took advantage of her husband, and even on his rest days there were calls at short notice, expecting him to drop everything and go wherever they deigned to send him.

In the last month Mike had been away more nights than he’d been at home, which was hardly a recipe for a healthy relationship. Hannah wished he’d assert himself more and say no to his boss, rather than so willingly jumping every time they said ‘go’.

The traffic was heavier than Hannah had expected and every traffic light seemed to be against her — always the same when you were running late, she thought. The reason for the early meeting was to discuss a potential merger with another local estate agent, and Hannah’s thoughts switched to the possibility. The merger could certainly offer the chance of promotion for her, or even a partnership in time, but that inevitably meant extra responsibility, and did she really want that?

If only Mike had come home last night they could have talked it through before the meeting this morning; she would have appreciated his opinion on it. Niggling at the back of her mind was the thought that if Mike didn’t cut down on his nights away, when the time came for the twins to leave for university, she’d most probably welcome the extra work.

She missed having her husband around to talk to and didn’t really know what he wanted out of life anymore. Mike seemed content to drift along, rudderless, with no thought to their immediate or long term future. How could she be expected to make decisions when he was never there to discuss them with?

There was a queue on the motorway slip road that would probably cost her another five minutes. With such atrocious weather it would have been a perfect day for staying at home. Hannah was due some leave, but the meeting was crucial and she needed to be there. The local schools had been closed for the last three days, but a few days at home wasn’t to be for her, and like most other people she braved the cold and made every effort to get into work.

The other vehicles joining the motorway were mostly heavy goods traffic; Hannah was behind two lorries and would most likely be flanked by others when she eventually joined the motorway. Snow was piled high at both sides of the road and the freezing rain lashed violently onto the windscreen, as if trying to get inside the car, making her shudder. It sounded like bullets rapping on the roof.

Hannah hated this drive, but there was no alternative route without adding an extra eleven miles and a further twenty minutes to the journey, so she suffered the motorway traffic every day.

The line of traffic began to move — a few stop-starts, then the road ahead cleared a little and she could see a gap coming up on the motorway. Slipping into first, then second gear, Hannah moved carefully forward, willing the gap to stay open long enough for her to slot into it and join the motorway traffic.

But the next thing she knew her car seemed to take on a mind of its own; she lost control as the wheels skidded on the ice and the car veered forward, first to the right and then the left.

Hannah felt panic rising inside her, catching in her throat until she could hardly breathe; she was utterly helpless as the car gathered momentum down the slope of the slip road. Suddenly, her Ford Focus spun 180 degrees, with no possible way for her to avoid the back end of the car from smashing into the enormous rear wheel of the lorry which was moving towards her at speed on the motorway.

The little car was instantly filled with noise, horrendous grating noise, which she recognised as the sound of crushing metal, as it came to a sudden, violent halt. Her head was thrown backwards and as she stared helplessly out of the front windscreen, Hannah was momentarily aware of a dark-coloured Range Rover heading straight towards her, the impending impact frighteningly unavoidable. For a split second she made eye contact with the male driver whose face mirrored her own horror at what was happening and at what they were both powerless to prevent.

Hannah briefly took in the frightened expression of the woman sitting next to him before she heard herself scream, but the sound seemed to come from somewhere outside of the car, an echo of sheer panic, raw fear, before darkness and pain enveloped everything and her world went black.

Joe Parker was convinced he was going through a mid-life crisis; he despaired as to whether this was it, the slippery slope to old age and then ... the inevitable, the big ‘D’. Looking in the mirror scared him these days, but he couldn’t resist studying his face, wondering what had happened to his once firm jawline and taut skin. The reflection staring back at him was that of a much older man whom he barely recognised.

Joe was only forty-three but, like the camera, he supposed the mirror didn’t lie. Loose skin sagged from his jaws and bags had appeared beneath his eyes; his skin was sallow too, with an unhealthy yellow tinge to it. Could it be the cigarettes? He’d tried so many times to kick the habit but his resolve crumbled after only a matter of days. The booze wouldn’t help either; he had a penchant for fine whisky and fancied himself as a bit of a wine buff, but he liked to think he kept his drinking in moderation.

Joe wasn’t stupid, he knew the detrimental effect these things had on a person’s body yet he’d never considered that it would happen to him. He’d always enjoyed a smoke and a few drinks without seriously thinking of the damage they were doing to his body. His hair was definitely thinning as well, although he knew much younger men who would be glad to have the amount of hair he still had.

There was his mind too; Joe was certain that he was slowing down mentally. Only a couple of days before he’d been talking to someone in the pub, not a close friend, but another regular whom he’d known to pass the time of day with for several years, and he couldn’t remember the man’s name. After a three-minute conversation the name still wouldn’t come to mind, and he’d left the pub that night frustrated and wondering if he was finally losing it.

Morning sounds from the kitchen were rising up the stairs and Joe realised he’d better get a move on. In the kitchen Alison, his wife, made him toast and coffee, the same breakfast he ate every day, while she nibbled on fruit and yoghurt.

‘You all right this morning, love?’ she asked. ‘You’re looking a bit down in the mouth.’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep too well, that’s all. Have you taken Liffey out yet?’

‘Yes, we’ve had a quick walk through the meadow but it’s absolutely freezing — we were both ready to get back home. You haven’t forgotten that you’re dropping me at Mum’s this morning, have you?’

‘No, of course not,’ Joe lied as he spread a generous helping of butter on his toast. He could have done without the detour on his way to work, especially in this weather, but at least if Alison went to visit her mum today he wouldn’t be expected to take her at the weekend. Every cloud , he thought.