She led me downstairs, which were slow to take with the short ankle chain, and into the bathroom. It was very bright, large, white and almost sterile...after all the mess; I felt very dirty.She sat on the toilet, tapping the crop. "Bucket there," she pointed out on the hallway and I hurried to comply. "You shower."Her tone was so harsh that it played a harmony of negative emotions in me. It was dismissive and cruel and really caused me to think that she may have wildly different ideas about. “You were telling me how this accident happened. Oh, and by the way, Mrs Davies is not to badly hurt I understand.”“Oh, Good. Good.”“So come on then. What happened?”“Nothing!”“Dad! You don’t end up at the bottom of a field wrapped around a tree so badly that the fire brigade have to cut you free. And the police are no help, they wouldn’t tell me anything except you’d broken a few bones. What happened? Did you lose control or something? And why was Mrs Davies there?”“The car just sort of. More

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