Free Not Stupid by Anna Kennedy Page A

break with my family. This time Sean had decided to stay at home, so it was just Patrick and Angelo, who were six and three at the time, and I who made the long and boring trip along the M1 and A1 up north in our Ford Orion, accompanied by a bootload of Christmas presents.
    As we travelled along the motorways in freezing-cold conditions, Patrick was endlessly asking me, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ As we were 50 to 60 miles from Middlesbrough, a thick fog descended and I had to slow down to a crawl of 10 to 15 miles an hour. Things, though, were about to become a lot worse. Suddenly the car began to splutter and then came to a grinding halt in the middle lane of the motorway, a fault that was eventually diagnosed as a dodgy alternator.
    We had found ourselves in an extremely frightening and dangerous situation. Frantically, I tried to restart the car, but without success. ‘Come on, Mum, start the car,’ Patrick called out. I could only watch helplessly as two lorries approached us from behind, then made our car sway as they passed us. I tried to call the Automobile Association from my, then analogue, mobile telephone but couldn’t get a signal.
    It was far too dangerous to stay where we were so there was nothing else for it: I would have to get out of the car and try to push it to the hard shoulder. I was utterly exhausted when I released the handbrake and tried to steer and push the car while Patrick, helpful as ever, was asking me, ‘Why are you pushing the car, Mum? Just turn the key!’ The car, though, rolled just a very short distance, only partially making it to the hard shoulder, therefore remaining a potential obstacle to cars approaching us on the nearside lane of the motorway.
    I got back into the car, switched on the hazard lights, and tried to ring the AA again, but still there was no signal and no one stopped to help us. Staying where we were, though, was not an option. I retrieved Angelo’s buggy from the boot of the car, wrapped the boys up and put Angelo in the buggy, then covered him with his favourite blanket that just had to go everywhere with us.
    It was bitterly cold and there was a thick fog as I began to walk with Patrick and push Angelo in his buggy down the side of the motorway looking out for, maybe, a house or a petrol station where we might find someone who could help us. Not surprisingly though we hadn’t got far before Patrick began to cry with the cold and I realised I should take the boys back to the shelter of the car.
    Returning, I settled Angelo back in the car but, somehow, I managed to shut the door on Patrick’s finger. He screamed and screamed, then Angelo joined in too. Desperate to calm the boys down, I began to sing, ‘The wheels on the bus go round and round… ’ This journey had become an absolute nightmare. I was stranded on a cold, foggy motorway with both my boysscreaming their heads off. What on earth was I to do? Suddenly, there was a knock on the car window. I turned and screamed out when I saw a man’s face pressed against the window.
    ‘Are you a lady in distress?’ he asked.
    Seeing our predicament, he kindly offered to take us the rest of our journey in his car, so I took the decision to place my trust in him. He could have been anyone and I had to make an instant judgement as to whether his sudden arrival was either a blessing or just an extra aspect of the nightmare we were going through – but what choice did I have?
    My anxiety was being sensed by the boys and my mobile telephone was still not receiving a signal. Thank God, though, that the driver turned out to be a very kind man who was making his way home after a business trip. I explained that we had been heading for my mother’s home in Middlesbrough and that I’d had no success in contacting the emergency breakdown service. I decided to accept his kind offer and emptied our bootful of Christmas presents, Angelo’s buggy and the boys into his car and off we went. Thankfully, the movement of the