Over the years he has often stopped in this lay-by. It is on a straight stretch of road which turns off the A1 towards Grantham. There is a small grassy bank and a hawthorn hedge which often collects litter in its lower branches. Beyond the hedge is a field which has a different crop in it each year. Last year it was cabbages. The year before that, flax. It also looks different according to what season it is - ploughed up and bare or lush and green. Today there is a mature crop that he cannot identify - maize perhaps. Opposite the lay-by is a row of poplars. They too, change. In windy weather they sway and thrash. Other days they stand like sentinels. Occasionally a fog descends that hides them completely. He likes to stop here because it is roughly half-way between his house and the house where his ex-wife and son live. He makes the journey every two or three months. It has become a sort of tradition, stopping here, having a sandwich and coffee from a flask. He likes to be alone. He likes the moment after he turns off the engine, the sudden silence. The tarmac of the lay-by is nearly black. There is often a heap of soggy cigarette ends where someone has emptied their ashtray. He has sometimes done it himself. Things appear in lay-by's. Last time he was here there was a carrier bag full of unopened cans of beer. At first he had considered putting them in the boot of the car, but decided against it. On another occasion there was a washing machine. Today there is a shoe. Not a pair of shoes-just one shoe. A ladies' high-heeled bright red shoe standing upright on the black tarmac as if someone has just stepped out of it. It has a pointy toe. It is not squashed or muddy or broken, only slightly creased where a foot has made its mark, pushed against the soft leather. As he eats his sandwiches, he watches it as if he expects the other one to arrive. Then maybe the two shoes will walk elegantly away together. In his head he hears the tap and scrape of the heels on the hard surface - a sound that always grates on him. Perhaps a gleaming limousine will pull up and the shoes will step into it and be swept away. When he has finished his coffee and is ready to carry on his journey, he reverses a few feet, then he drives forward, deliberately swerving slightly to the left. He hears a slight crack as the shoe snaps beneath his wheel.