The whole day yesterday was one ride after another. There was a truck where me and Mum had to squash together in the cab along with a giant black dog who slept the whole time, its chest moving and its lip trembling over bright red gums. There was a man in a sports car who drove fast and insisted that Mum sit up in the front. There was a woman in a big orange jacket who kept sniffing, her face so close to the windscreen it was almost pressed against it. And in between there were service stations and laybys and little villages. One after the other after the other.

Now it's morning again. Mum has this crazy energy inside her, like she could keep going as long as the sun. But I'm tired. We sit for a while on the bridge that goes over the road and the cars going by underneath are just lights at first, when they’re far. Bug eyes. Then they’re roaring solid shapes coming out of the dark, passing by just underneath. The lorries make my feet tingle.

You can see way out over the countryside from here. Fields and things. Little stands of forest. You can see the sky getting lighter and lighter and then the sun is there. Like it's just another car, rolling over the horizon.

"We're almost there", she says. "Trust me. Two more rides, I reckon. This last bit isn't easy. I know." I nod. I am here and she is here and that is what matters. That is real. It's hard to imagine anything else. When I think of Maisie and Donald all I think of is this kind of grey fog. I don't know what they're doing. I don't care. "I love you very much, you know. That's why we're doing this." I nod.

We leave the bridge. Mum makes me go and stand in a phone booth at the far end of the car park while she goes car to car, talking to people. I pick up the phone so I have something to do. I don't know where we are. But we are far away. And we are going further.