‘Couldn’t you have waited until morning, Gran?’ Len muttered as he struggled out of bed. Cursing, he pulled an old work shirt over his vest, tightened the belt on his jeans and knelt down in the dust to fumble under the bed for his boots. With a quick look round the caravan he grabbed his jacket, patting the pockets for his keys.
The icy wind cut through him as he locked up and struggled with the door of the truck. It took several minutes of scraping before there was a reasonable area of clear windscreen. Impatient to be off, he jumped in, revved the engine, slammed it into reverse and left the field in a cloud of blue smoke.
As soon as there was a signal he called his sister.
‘It’s Gran, she’s getting worse.’
‘I know, our Daryl called me. He says it won’t be long… I wish I could be there.’
‘Don’t worry I’m on my way now.’
‘Be careful, now. We’ve got ice…’
Len threw the phone on the seat beside him; there would be no signal again now until he reached Sedbergh. Turning up the music, he put his foot down, knowing every twist and turn of the road. Not that it was a difficult journey on such a clear night; the moon cast long shadows across the road and at four in the morning the lanes were empty except for the occasional rabbit.
He went through the empty streets of Hawes at speed, enjoying the opportunity to behave a little irresponsibly. The road was fairly straight once he’d left the town behind and although white with snow, it