Claire left on Saturday morning under a low grey sky. Colin stood in the doorway in his dressing gown, lifting one hand as she reversed out. He looked tired and ordinary. For a minute, Claire wanted to go back inside and talk to him about all the ridiculous doubts she carried. But then she reckoned that it could wait until after she got back.
Ten miles from home, the rain thickened. Claire turned onto the Ravensmere road because Colin had mentioned the motorway junction was closed. She had not bothered to check because he had always been meticulous about stuff like that. The first bend came gently.
The second dipped toward the lake. When Claire pressed the brake, the pedal sank too far beneath her foot. She pressed again. The car slowed, but only a little. Panic arrived in one hard wave. She gripped the wheel, steered away from the drop, and fought the car toward the muddy verge. There was a scrape, a brutal jolt, and then stillness. The engine ticked weakly. Rain hammered the roof. Claire sat frozen, both hands locked around the wheel, waiting for proof that she was still alive.