CENTRAL RESERVATION

She texted, ‘thanks for the clean flat to come back to.’
She’d flown in from Ireland while I was in London. Now I was driving back and had a clear run all the way home took an hour and forty minutes.
The journey there earlier was twice as long half the time spent as part of a ten-mile tailback on the motorway.
The radio said, ‘...between junctions sixteen and fifteen caused by an accident a car going into the central reservation and between fifteen and fourteen where a lorry’s broken down.’
I didn’t feel any sympathy for the driver of the car went into the central reservation only annoyance at what I imagined to be their excessive speed or talking on the phone or whatever took their attention off the road meant I was trapped in a car on the motorway in the sun and might be late for the meeting I was on my way to.
I told her later and she said, ‘that’s horrible, you’re horrible, so selfish...they might’ve been killed.’
‘At least I wasn’t late,’ I said. ‘I got there in good time, had a coffee before we started.’