‘The lovely Emma O’Reilly – US Postal’s soigneur, I’ll introduce you – gave it to me at my first Vuelta,’ Rachel explained, as if that was enough. ‘Now I pass it on to you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Cat, trying to figure out the symbolism.

‘It’s for your elbows,’ Rachel whispered, chuckling conspiringly. ‘I saw you yesterday, getting knocked and shoved and more than ignored. Bastards. Make sure your elbows are sharp. At our height, we can give a most efficient jab at their waist-height.’

Cat laughed and thanked her sincerely, touched by the gesture.

‘Keep it with you at all times,’ Rachel said.

‘You bet I will,’ Cat replied.

‘I have two more things for you,’ Rachel continued, ‘my mobile phone number and also some advice.’

Cat jotted down the soigneur’s number. ‘We could meet after school,’ Rachel suggested wryly.

‘Yeah, right,’ Cat responded, giving Rachel her number, ‘have a quick drink after work.’

‘Like normal people,’ Rachel said, shaking her head at such absurdity.

‘As if!’ they said, almost in unison.

‘Now for the advice,’ Rachel said. ‘This is also from the wise mouth of Emma.’

‘Shoot,’ said Cat, pen poised, feeling bolstered that there was a girls’ club.

Rachel regarded Cat, twitched her lips into a sly smile and whispered, ‘Never answer your hotel door after midnight.’

Then she winked, turned her hand into a telephone, turned from Cat and gave her attention to Stefano Sassetta who wanted more embrocation on his thighs.

‘So,’ said Josh, almost as soon as they’d driven out of Rouen, ‘who’s holding the fort for you?’

At first, Cat thought he said fork and had no idea how to answer him.

‘Fork?’ she asked, glancing around the Peugeot hire car that seemed the height of luxury after her clapped-out Beetle.

‘Fort,’ said Josh. ‘This rain is bollocks.’

‘The forecast says bright and dry later. I don’t have a fort,’ Cat added, regarding herself in the side mirror, noticing she looked tired already, ‘just a small flat.’

‘Who’s—’ Josh began.

‘I live by myself,’ Cat preempted.

‘Who’s keeping the home fire burning?’ Josh probed, peering through the windscreen wipers swiping at full speed.

‘I have gas central heating,’ Cat replied primly, now knowing exactly what he was searching for and wanting to deflect further investigation as politely as she could.

‘Got a boyfriend, then?’ Josh asked her.

‘Yes,’ Cat proclaimed. ‘You?’ It was a fair question to put to a man with fine features and closely cropped hair, who marvelled at bike boys.

Josh, however, swerved. ‘I’m bloody married,’ he said defensively. Initially, his information pleased Cat, made her feel safe and relieved. Then it worried her.

Oh shit, is he coming on to me? I’d better ask about his wife. Thank God I lied about having a boyfriend.

‘How does your wife feel about you being away so much?’

Why the fuck did I say ‘Yes I have a boyfriend’?

‘That’s cycling,’ Josh shrugged.

‘Par for the course,’ Cat defined, ‘riders and writers and mechanics alike, hey? A life on the road. Presence of partners rare, discouraged even.’