The government insists smart motorways are Britain’s safest major roads. So why do people keep dying?
Claire Mercer doesn’t drive. She has always been anxious about it. “I have tried to learn, but I’m just too nervous,” says Mercer, a 44-year-old construction buyer from Rotherham. For years her husband, Jason, drove her everywhere. A broad-chested contract manager, Jason was a perfect match for Claire: they both enjoyed death metal, had numerous tattoos and piercings, and even dyed their hair the same shade of red. But their hard edges belied quiet lives. Both had struggled with their mental health and found refuge in each other, Jason’s lively optimism softening Claire’s anxiety. They had been together for 13 happy years. They were planning to get a dog.
On 7 June 2019, Jason and Claire ate breakfast at their local Costa as usual: Marmite on toast, porridge. Normally, Jason would drop Claire at work before heading in himself, but that morning Claire was feeling unwell, so she called in sick and walked home. Jason predicted an easy day: a run to see clients in York and Huddersfield, and back to the office in Sheffield. They kissed goodbye and Jason waved as he pulled away. “It was like the ending of a film,” she says.
