‘You have the keys,’ he pointed out.

Feeling stupid, she felt in her pockets, then looked in the plastic bag, then in through the car windows. Finally, retracing her steps, she found she’d left them on the coffee-shop counter. Crazily jittery and raw, just the smallest of goofs made her want to tantrum.

At least coming back in meant she could slope to the loo. Her reflection looked ghastly. She put on some lipstick and it looked worse, matching her red-rimmed eyes.

Had Mack got as drunk as her last night? He’d sounded so. Had he kissed a stranger? If only she felt something. She was so much more jealous of his hold over Kes. That was white heat, white noise jealousy.

Kes. Mack. Kes. Mack.

Back at the car, Luca was conducting a short-tempered call in English – a thick Irish brogue version – turning away as she approached. ‘Look, I gotta go. Just tell her to take off the stuff about where I’m working from the social streams, yeah? No, I’m not in trouble, but y’know I don’t do all that shit. Thanks.’

He took one look at Pax’s pinched, wild-eyed face and insisted on driving again. Her phone came to life as soon as the engine started, a cannon fire of messages queued up, all from Mack. Pax only needed to read a few before confirming that, yes, he’d remained very drunk last night.

The phone rang in her hand as she read through the bitter, misspelled venom written in the early hours. Mack’s avatar was on the incoming call notification, a photograph she’d taken of him with Kes on his shoulders on holiday, both with matching big smiles. She sent the call straight through to voicemail, anger pinching and punching in her throat, angrier still as tears started to slide. How wrong to feel so sorry for him as well as so livid.

Not wanting Luca to see she was crying, she glared out of the side window, trying to blink her salty betrayal onto submission, but they came ever fiercer, soon joined by streaming nostrils and giveaway snorts.

Saying nothing, Luca reached for the glovebox, groping for tissues. The car drifted left, tyres roaring across the white hard-shoulder markings.

‘There’s nothing in there,’ she sobbed, clutching hold of the dash as the car swerved back into lane again. ‘Please don’t worry. I can sniff.’

The ringtone blasting through the speakers made her jump. Her phone had automatically paired with the Noddy car’s Bluetooth. Mack again. She turned it off. Feeling she had to explain, she muttered, ‘My husband. It’s a bit messy. We’re separating.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s for the best.’ She sniffed and snorted noisily, desperate to deflect, to grapple a comfort blanket of calmness back. ‘Tell me about you?’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Are you and my mother lovers?’

He almost drove off the road, the defensive smile quick to flash up. ‘I’ve not seen her in years. I’m a horseman. That’s what I do.’