The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson by Paige Toon

His voice sounds over an intercom. ‘But I can hear you if you press the red button by the basin,’ he tells me. ‘Please, help yourself to refreshments, and ask me anything you wish. We’ll be at Johnny’s in approximately half an hour.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I call as he falls silent, but I’m not sure if he heard me. I sit for a moment and try to take in my surroundings. I feel very, very strange. There are seatbelts all the way along the seat, but I leave mine off for a moment. I still feel a bit woozy. Maybe I should have a drink. I lean across and open the fridge. One bottle of champagne, various cans of soft drink, fresh apple juice and, er, milk ? How bizarre. I could use a drink to calm down, but wouldn’t dare open the champagne so I pour myself an apple juice and turn to look out of the window, trying to gather my thoughts.
    Everything looks different: the shops, the small bungalows set back behind dry, ratty-looking grass, the wide sidewalks . . . I feel like I’m in another world, and I am. I don’t even really recognise America from all of the TV series I’ve been addicted to over the years. Where’s the gloss? Where’s the shine? Something catches my eye and I see tinsel hanging out in front of one of the tatty houses that we pass. That’s not exactly the sort of shine I was talking about. There are more Christmas decorations hanging out in front of a lot of the houses, glinting off the sun. Clearly these people aren’t worried about bad luck – Mum used to take our decorations down on the sixth of January, no matter what. Mind you, look where that got her. Before I can think any more about that, it dawns on me: Tinseltown. We’re in Tinseltown. Maybe these people leave their tinsel up on purpose.
    I down my juice and put the empty glass into a cup holder, then unzip my bag and stare at the contents, my back still damp with sweat from the short journey from the airport to the car. I spot a flash of silver from within my suitcase and grin, pulling the item out. The tinsel has inspired me.
    I take off my boots and damp socks, my feet feeling blissfully cool as I ease myself out of my jeans. I throw my denim jacket into my bag and drag my T-shirt over my head, quickly pulling my silver swing dress on, just in case Davey’s screen accidentally comes down. Then I stuff the dirty clothes into the inside pocket of my suitcase and let the lid fall shut, not bothering to zip it up again because I’ll probably sort my hair and make-up out in a bit, too.
    But not yet. I’m still feeling a bit queasy so I pour myself another juice, dig out a packet of crisps from a cupboard, and scoot up the bench seat to the back. I slip my sunglasses back on, put my feet up on the curved part of the seat and try to relax. A smile forms on my face as I stare out of the window again at the wide road lined with ridiculously tall, matchstick-thin palm trees. The sky burns blue above the smog cloud and the big cars reflect the sun, right into my eyes. This is real. This is really real.
    ‘Get out of the car,’ Mum barks, an edge of panic to her voice.
    ‘What?’ I squawk. ‘I’m not getting out in this.’
    I glare out of the window at the dark night and the pounding rain lit by the headlamps of passing cars on the other side of the central reservation.
    Her old Peugeot has broken down – again – and this time we’re on the motorway. Mum has managed to get us to the hard shoulder, and on the hard shoulder is where I plan on staying.
    ‘Get out, right now!’ she yells as a lorry rattles past us, making the little red car shudder and shake.
    ‘Why?’ I raise my voice indignantly.
    ‘It’s dangerous!’ she screams. ‘Do you know how many people die on the hard shoulder every year?’
    ‘Is this one of the things you learnt in your speed awareness course?’ I ask her with a sneer. I wish she’d just taken the three points on her licence for speeding so she’d stop going on about it.
    ‘Just get out of the