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and—’
    Millie was fired by instinct. She jumped forward and grabbed the wheel.
    The two men jerked their eyes open and saw the danger at once. For a second or two, they fought, with flapping hands. Father O’Hanrahan stamped on the brake just as Doonan screamed.
    Time slows down when you crash.
    The slow-motion cuts in and you get to see every amazing detail. From Millie’s point of view, there was a great comet-shower of red lights hurtling towards them. The soundtrack was an
agonising howl of brakes and horns. Brake lights, traffic lights, and the long, pink strip of a petrol garage: the colours ran together in the rain, and as she twisted the wheel, she got the
vehicle clear of the stationary cars. They fishtailed wildly as the wheels locked, and Father O’Hanrahan snatched them away from an oncoming truck. Thus they skimmed into the centre of the
junction: the great box of the A312 and A303 interchange, beside the Family Roadgrill and Travellers’ Sleepeasy. Millie’s car floated through at twenty miles per hour; a family saloon
emerging from the garage crawled into her path at less than five.
    They smashed together in a shower of glass.
    Mercifully, everyone was belted in, so the worst injuries were three whiplashed necks and a nosebleed. It could have been so much worse, and the police said that many times over the next few
hours.
    Who was driving the family saloon? A cautious driver by the name of Donald Tack. His wife, Edith, was next to him, and in the back, amongst comics, games, and sweet-wrappers, sat Sam Tack, Jacob
Ruskin, and a newcomer to the school: nine-year-old Oli, brother to Jacob. Their car was spun three hundred and sixty degrees, and two of the windows burst over them, but it was actually no worse
than one of those fairground rides you pay several pounds for. Oli had the nosebleed, but that was shock, not impact. He was reading his advanced guide to radio technology and was mortified to get
blood on it. But he didn’t cry. Nobody did.
    The children were herded into the Family Roadgrill by teams of helpful garage staff. Millie’s vehicle was crunched up against a lamp-post, but the back door opened easily enough. She was
pulled out, and was able to stand shakily in the fuel and water that poured out of the broken car. The adults stayed where they were.
    ‘Millie!’ said Ruskin.
    The two children looked at each other, thunderstruck. There was Ruskin, short and wide, built like a balloon. He snatched off his glasses to clear them of raindrops, grinning happily.
‘Unbelievable!’ he said.
    He started to laugh. Sam was more worried about his parents, but a forceful waitress led him and the others firmly to a table.
    ‘Of all the incredible coincidences, what are you doing here, Millie? How was Canada?’
    Millie was trembling with shock. ‘I didn’t go to Canada,’ she said.
    ‘Yes you did – you went with Sanchez. You patched things up at the end of term, and everyone said you were going to Canada!’
    ‘Sanchez lives in Colombia .’
    ‘Did you go?’
    ‘Yes. Ruskin, what are you doing here? Were you in that car?’
    ‘Yes! Sam’s dad was driving. We’re on our way to Ribblestrop, same as you.’
    He sat down at the table and Millie joined him.
    ‘We were delayed,’ continued Ruskin. ‘Ironic really. Sam forgot his cap, so we had to drive over to his house and no one could find it. When we did find it, we were running
late, so my father got a bit cross and we decided to go in Sam’s car instead, and have tea on the road. In fact, this is our table – I bet there’s a cup left in that
pot.’
    ‘You and Sam spent Christmas together?’ said Millie. ‘That must have been . . . mesmerising. Could I have a hot chocolate?’ she said to the waitress.
    ‘We actually live quite close to each other,’ said Ruskin. ‘So we’ve been taking it in turns to have sleepovers. The fun we’ve had, honestly! We’ve got some
super stories. Sam’s dad had a fall and had