‘That’s a very nice thing to say,’ said Michaela, wondering if being with James was exactly what her ego had always needed and deserved, or whether in fact it was in danger of over-inflating as he fed it so reliably. It was, she decided, a nice problem to have. ‘I mean, it might be worth trying as a … shit.’

‘What? Are you all right?’

‘Yes! Sorry to alarm you. Just …’ She held the phone up in front of her face, rueful. ‘Look at that bastard.’

‘I can’t look, because of – er – well, the rules of the road …’

‘I don’t know how driving works, do I,’ said Michaela merrily.

‘Well, one of the main rules is that you’re meant to look at the road quite a bit.’

‘He’s already done Whitechapel and Old Kent Road and now he’s somehow in the West End. He’s got Leicester Square and Oxford Street. He’s got about eight.’

‘Well, then you were right to alarm me,’ said James, amused. ‘That is definitely alarming.’ He put his foot down for a moment – not enough for it to be dangerous, of course, but enough for the engine to produce a gladiatorial rumble. ‘Battle is joined,’ James said.

Over the next two hours Karl’s stream of gloating messages continued to clog Michaela’s phone, each producing a wail of despair from Michaela which – for a split second each time – James kept taking as more serious alarms. There he was, thumbs up, next to a sign for Vine Street; there he was, jacket darkened by one of the rain showers James and Michaela could see out of the car window, standing outside an electricity company: not even one of the official requirements, just a cocky garland. In between the shots, a stream of teasing texts reminded them of the lead Karl was opening up, his progress towards victory. Trying to match his trash-talk, fumbling with the screen, Michaela missed several key turnings. More than once she had to drag James out of the car to collect a photo, racing him down some alley, James protesting in half-breaths. ‘This isn’t one … of our … exercise days,’ he panted. ‘It is now,’ said Michaela, with the grimness of someone who cared much more about winning than she realized herself.