All About Mo

She's gone to sleep in the passenger seat, slumped strangely on the car window, the seatbelt pulled down and tucked under her arm.
We're on the motorway now. It's mostly empty apart from the odd slow lorry convoy. The rain needles down while the wipers give off their gentle piggy squeal.
"Charley-girl?" I whisper. She doesn't respond, or she can't hear me above the hum of the car, the rain. Stretches of yellowed motorway light reveal her...then shadows hide her away again.
I'm frightened that if I take my eyes off the road and look right at her all I'll see is an empty seat, so I keep one hand resting on her back...as proof.
And then it happens...................................................
...................................and she starts to wake up, I feel her back pushing against my hand, pull my hand away, and she sits up slowly and turns to look at me and I see that she's holding one of Mo's bottles, and now I think of Mo, the real Mo, not my made-up-mollified-Mo...............
...............and everything reels, revolts..................
............................[ ].................................................
...and then I think it can't be, it just CANNOT BE and I say, "Are you alright?" and look again but this time my foot comes off the accelerator and I know that Mo isn't, isn't....what? What the FUCK, and I'm breaking hard in a panic and there's a lorry ploughing past and as I swerve towards the hard shoulder there's horns blaring and then the blares merge into Charlotte yelling, she's yelling about Mo and how could I not tell her how I made up Aunt Mo, that Auntie Mo DOESN'T EXIST, she knows Mo is her Mum HER MOTHER FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!!!!! ..............and she's SCREAMING and she's shouting "WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!?!" and bracing herself in her seat and I'm whispering "What the hell! Nonono what thefuckinghell!" and there's an emergency phone box rushing up rushing in rushing way waytoofastrushinginto..................
....................................................in two.