Being disabled hadn’t impacted the violence of Joan’s driving. With her heart in her mouth, Grace hung on to the armrest for dear life as Joan hacked them through the worst of Cornwall’s country lanes at a harrowing speed, working the car from a system of buttons fitted to the steering wheel.
‘Wow, forgot about that pothole,’ Joan said, as they bumped through half a mine shaft dug out of the middle of the road with such violence that Grace bounced up out of the seat.
‘So, what’s changed?’ Grace gasped, hoping the distraction of conversation might encourage Joan to slow down. ‘How’s the Low Anchor? Still run by Dawn and Craig?’
Joan shook her head as they came to a straight section where Grace was able to catch her breath. ‘Nope. Remember that stuck up Gomersall girl? Taylor?’
‘Tay Gome
