'Driving with Daisy' by Maggie Seren

I slammed on the brakes, and in the milliseconds before they engaged, my old Mini seemed to be floating. I could see us aquaplaning into the central reservation and meeting certain death, squished between the barrier and an oncoming juggernaut. A nauseous feeling started in my stomach and prickled all over my skin like a colony of ants.

“Absolute dick!” The black Audi that had come out of nowhere to cut me up was rapidly disappearing. “Kill yourself if you must, but don’t take us with you, you arrogant bastard!” 

Two blurry red lights shrinking into the distance. Rain lashed against the windscreen and the inefficient wipers were losing the battle against the torrents. 

I looked into the rearview mirror, relieved to see that neither the sudden braking nor my outburst had woken Daisy. Intermittent overhead gantry lights lit up her sweet face as she slept on, rosebud mouth partly open, a silver line of dribble shining on her chin. 

I’d have to watch my language around her. Not that I was in the habit of swearing, but since having Daisy, my patience with careless drivers had worn thin to the point of extinction.

I could see blue lights flashing up ahead. Slowing, instinctively, I glanced across as we passed.

There was the Audi driver, head down, shirt wet through, at the end of his expensive hunk of metal with a police officer in High-Vis. 

Never mind German engineering, give me Schadenfreude any day.