Inside her car the heater roared and the tape in the cassette player strained to be heard. She was never certain which song had been playing, possibly Terrence Trent Darby's, Sign You Name. It was hard to separate what she remembered from what she had imagined.
Pitch black trees, branches laden with snow, bore witness to their escape and smoky cottages, decorated with golden porch flights, flashed the crawling vehicle along. The ice-clad air seeped through the bodywork to mingle with his aftershave and her perfume.