The motorway had been a constant presence in Martin Glennister's life - even with the thick stone walls and triple-glazing of his farmhouse. The constant passage of traffic - streams of cars, convoys of lorries - shook the ground and set the farmhouse trembling. Over the years, Martin had become sensitive to the vibrations. Every morning he would be woken by commuter traffic; every night his dreams were filled with indistinct rumblings.
Of course, Martin didn't have to stay in his farmhouse, but he had made his choice. When the road was being planned, men in suits had come to his door and offered him money for his land. "It's a good price," they had said. "You won't get a better offer than this." Then they gestured at the surrounding moorland as if to emphasise their generosity.
Martin had shaken his head in reply. "I was born here. This land is worth more to me than just money." And the men in suits had gone away.
When the motorway was being built, men in overalls had come to his door and showed him legal documents. "It's in the national interest," they had said. Then they pointed at the advancing scar, made by the workmen as they scraped away the black earth, replacing it with stone and tar.
Martin had stood his ground and refused to move. The court case had attracted the attention of the press and then the sympathy of the public. And the men in overalls had given up, letting the road split around the farmhouse.
After the motorway had been built, Martin had come to regret his victory. He wanted to move on, sell the house so he could buy somewhere else to live. But the estate agents had laughed at him. "Nobody would want to live here," they had told him. And they were right.
So, Martin concocted a plan. He would stop the traffic, stop the constant vibrations that shook the house and split the plaster. He gathered his tools. He chose his time. At the appointed hour he set his plan in motion.
The rumbling of traffic vanished - replaced by a sudden impact! The aftershocks chased each other, shifting the furniture and rattling the windows. Then they stopped, as did the half-felt noise that had plagued Martin for so long. Martin, sitting in his chair, nodded, smiled and settled down to enjoy the silence while he could.
