‘We should have done something,’ said Shauna.
‘I did. I called the police,’ said Monty. ‘Look, here they are now. You can’t just step into these situations. Rule one. It’s not safe.’
‘But they’re your friends.’
‘I keep telling you, they’re not my friends. They’re, well, they’re my enemies. I . . . I’ll tell you about it. I promise I’ll tell you about it. But now’s not the time.’
‘That man. I can’t believe how he stepped in.’
‘He was much further down the hill than us. By the time we arrived, it would have been all over. Anyway, he must be the woman’s husband or something. Look, they’re in a huddle. Those must be their daughters.’
‘What’s he doing? He’s kicking something away.’
‘The knife, I think. Yes, the knife.’
‘He’s hurt. Look, he’s holding his neck. We should get down there.’
‘Look, here comes the cavalry. Thank God nobody’s blocking the hard shoulder.’
A little further along the motorway, a sudden movement caught their eye. A beaten-up, ancient Peugeot estate was trying to manoeuvre out of the queue. Forward and backward it went, jolting and jerking crazily; then at last, with a squeal of tyres, it broke free, sped down the hard shoulder and into the distance. Within seconds, a police car was giving chase, siren blaring. The motorway tapered round a bolt of land, and both vehicles disappeared from view.
‘Well, that was a bit stupid,’ said Monty. ‘They’re fucked now. Must’ve been in a right panic.’
‘Wouldn’t you have been?’ said Shauna.
‘Me?’ said Monty, ‘I suppose I would.’
As a slit of sun appeared on the horizon, Shauna took another dose of paracetamol. A floodlight had been set up on the motorway below them, bathing the scene like a stage; after some discussion, the medics carried the injured men off the carriageway where they had more room to administer help.
‘The cops seem very interested in your van,’ said Shauna. ‘They’re all over it.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Aren’t you going to go down there and talk to them?’
Monty thought for a moment. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I am. To tell you the truth, I’m sick of it. I don’t want to go down there and get myself involved with that shit. Do you know what I mean? Is that terrible?’
‘I don’t know about that, but I don’t want you to go either.’
They sat in silence on the edge of the copse, drinking water. Below them, Ursula could be seen frantically going from Max to Carly and back again, with the occasional gesture of concern for Bonnie; she seemed to not want the children to see Max in his current state, prostrate and cared for by medics, and yet she did not want to leave his side. A policewoman was trying to calm her. A few metres away, Rhys and Chris were receiving treatment under the gaze of two police officers. Statements were being solicited from the drivers of nearby vehicles. After a time a tow truck threaded its way along the hard shoulder. It came to a stop beside the white van, and the driver had a conversation with the policemen. Then, after some complicated manoeuvres involving five or six cars, the white van was hooked up to the tow truck and removed from the scene.
‘Isn’t that your van they’re taking?’ said Shauna.
‘They’re welcome to it,’ Monty replied. ‘That’s my old life they’re towing away.’
‘So what will your new life consist of?’
‘I have no idea. But it will have nothing to do with Rhys and Chris Baker, or anybody associated with them. I’ve had it.’
Time passed. Another tow truck was on the scene now, and efforts were being made to hook it up to the Chrysler. Ursula was going through the boot, frantically packing a bag of essentials. A policewoman was looking after Carly and Bonnie, who were sitting by the side of the road and eating. They were both wrapped in silver hypothermia sheets. Max was being bundled up in a red blanket, in the glare of the open ambulance door. Rhys and Chris had already been loaded into another ambulance, and, in the company of two policemen, had been driven away. The scene looked strangely sad and desolate, like a disused children’s playground.
‘How are you going to get home now?’ said Shauna, after a time.
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Monty looked down at his calloused hands.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Carpe diem and all that. If the traffic does move, I’ll give you a lift. If it’ll help at all.’
Monty looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ she replied. ‘You won’t.’
‘But I feel I should tell you something first.’
‘Oh?’
‘My real name’s not Monty. It’s Mark.’
‘Mark. I have to say, that’s actually a big improvement.’