Laura Hayward

and stuffed them into the enormous sticky bin full of the smashed corpses of clumsily carried melons and the pungent smell of citrus.

Just one last slow lunge of the second hand and there it is! The welcome shriek of the whistle. She sprints to the door almost losing her balance as she skids across a patch of unmopped juice only narrowly avoiding the path of a forklift, throws her coat and hat onto the peg and dashes down the long cold corridor out into the blinding sunlight. Before her eyes have finished adjusting, she hears a long beep and makes her way over to the white ford focus already filled with the bodies of her friends,

“Come on little law, it’s your turn to skin up!”

“Shotgun then!”

He pulls open the front passenger door and Dawson reluctantly gets out and climbs into the back seat.

She jumps into the warm seat and before she has finished putting her seatbelt on the radio has been turned right up and car is speeding out of the car park and accelerating down the long straight road through the endless fields and under the infinite Lincolnshire sky.