Driving FORCE
We could grab a pub lunch at Exeter Quay and enjoy the sunshine,’ I said to Mum, while we sipped tea in my kitchen. It was my day off and we always spent it together.
Mum gave me one of her stares. ‘Only if you drive, Emma.’
She knew my ploy – I was trying to get her back behind the wheel. So far, it wasn’t working, despite all my cajoling.
However, she hadn’t given up on me years before and now it was my turn to be the driving force – the one who didn’t give up. And I had a trick up my sleeve to help her conquer her nemesis, Telegraph Hill.
The rain had battered my windows the night I received the phone call.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I’d said, answering while chopping onions for spaghetti bolognese. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m calling from the hospital,’ a woman replied.
I put down the kitchen knife and switched off the gas hob, my body trembling.
‘I’m sorry to tell you this… but the owner of this phone… Your mum, I presume…’
‘Yes, that’s right, this is my mum’s phone.’
‘I’m sorry,
