Charlotte
My head bangs and with every movement, every vibration, every swerve, the throbbing pulses through from some epicentre, I think where I banged my skull as I fell. My knees too, feel stiff and heated. As I try to shift into a more comfortable position, pain stabs up from one ankle.
I can barely move. I’m lying on my side, one cheek flat down.
My baby…
Something soft, maybe a towel, sandy and hairy, presses against my face, smelling of seaweed and wet dog. I keep having to blink as with every jog of the car, grains of sand dislodge against my eyes.
From somewhere, I hear classic small-dog yapping. Excitement?
Or worry?
Scruffy…
My mouth is taped, very securely, the adhesive pulling and tearing at the softer skin of my lips as I try to work my jaw. My feet are bound; my wris
