Eve White: Literary Agent

from DEATH, DESTRUCTION AND A PACKET OF PEANUTS

"You seen everything you need to see then?" asked Pete. "What? We've only been here half an hour. How can I have seen 'everything'? I've seen nothing. Except bloody hedges!" Bitter silence resumed. I put the car in first and began to pull away when Pete helpfully wrenched the handbrake full ­on. Carefully removing my nose from my steering wheel, I stared blankly at him. He could be unpredictable at the best of times, but this was a new one. A mental picture of a possible handbrake-turn on the M40 en-route home flashed across my mind. But Pete was solemnly pointing straight ahead. I strained my eyes through the drizzle. A monument! A small monument! Just feet from the car. I'd been about to drive past it. I jumped out of the car, my spirits soaring, took two steps forward and slipped flat on my face into six inches of soggy mud. I lay perfectly still for a few moments, reflecting on the sheer joy of living.