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I’ll have about 280 miles of fuel left by the time we reach Folkestone, according to my calculations. They should be right, too, because I’ve done them over and over, about twenty times since we left Herne Bay. I know that if I don’t keep doing the calculations, my brain is going to try to think of other things, and I can’t handle that right now. The thoughts going round and round in my head are making me feel sick, and I’m struggling to cope.
I don’t know France that well, but 280 miles has got to get us somewhere over towards the German border, from what I know with my limited geography. We could fill up with more fuel, but there’d be number plate recognition cameras at the petrol stations. Thinking about it, there’d probably be cameras all over the place: on the motorways, at the s
