'Reverse in Stuck' by Natalie Reilly-Johnson

The burgers leap off the tarmac and up into our hands. The driver’s head bounces back from the windscreen as it un-shatters in ear-splitting tinkles. Blood crawls up into his forehead, the cuts sealing shut. The crumpled lorry reverses, metal screeching, unfolding the back of the caravan like a concertina door. The smell of diesel. Then the lorry snakes back onto the road, erasing tyre marks. The driver’s head bows down to tune the radio.

Dad and I turn back to the counter, lifting the buns and drawing the ketchup upwards into the container. We hand the burgers to the man and he sets them on the worktop, wiping grease off his apron onto his hands. The burgers are dismantled, the money passed from the till back to my Dad. My Dad’s words come out in reverse, unordering the burgers as he pockets the money. A delicious onion aroma wafts from my nose towards the burger van, my mouth un-watering in anticipation. Dad and me walk backwards into the caravan, pulled back into our seats, Mum safely nestled between us.

I linger in that moment. Before the tears ravaged Dad’s face and hunched his shoulders and took the light from his eyes. When we could have decided to stop at the next burger van, at the next lay-by. When we could have carried on driving, the three of us singing along to Madonna. Mum and me miming the actions to “Vogue”. But however many times I rewind it, I can’t undo it.