George turned his head, his eyes heavy and incomprehensible and his mouth set like a scar that had never healed.
The girl whimpered. Her face washed clean of all colour and unknown horrors flashing behind the blue of her eyes as George slowed the car, then turned into a lay-by and stopped.
“Get out,” he growled, his head pressing like a burden on his shoulders, still looking forward and hanging onto steering wheel.
The girl shuffled backwards against the car door shaking violently.
“Get out,” he repeated, leaning clumsily and stretching one arm over her lap. “I’m not going to take you any further.” Releasing the door catch, he watched as the girl fell backwards into a quivering heap on the grass verge. “I’m sorry,“ he whispered finally, not knowing or caring if she heard or registering the few moments that she sat like an abandoned infant in the failing light, staring at him with wide-awake and terrified eyes until she gathered herself together sufficiently to kick the car door shut.