Once the nausea had passed I dragged myself up onto my feet and walked back to the van. I reached inside for the phone, realising that although there was nothing I could do for the poor bastard in the car, I had to do something. In a strange way it was easier knowing that he was dead. I could just tell the police that I’d been driving along and I’d found the car crashed into the tree. No-one needed to know that I’d been around when the accident took place.

The bloody phone wasn’t working.

There I was, out in the countryside just outside a major town and I couldn’t get a signal. I shook the phone, waved it in the air and even banged it against the side of the fucking van but I couldn’t get rid of the ‘No Service’ message on the display. I wasn’t thinking straight. I tried dialling 999 three or four times but I couldn’t get anything. It didn’t even ring out. The phone just kept bleeping ‘unobtainable’ in my ear.

So if no-one needed to know that I’d seen the crash, I found myself thinking, no-one needed to know that I’d been the one who found it. It sickens me now when I think back and remember that the next thing I did was climb back into the van with the intention of driving home. I decided that I’d call the police or someone from there and tell them that I’d seen an abandoned car at the side of the road. I didn’t even need to tell them about the body. I guess that it must have been the effects of shock. I’m not usually such a spineless bastard.

I was in a daze, almost a trance. I climbed back into the van, started the engine and began to drive back towards town. I stared at the crashed car in the rear view mirror until it was out of sight, then I put my foot down on the accelerator.