The young man in the blue Clio returns, and reports that he’s lost the two men, who headed down a one-way street where he couldn’t follow. When a police car pulls on to the forecourt – no great speed, no blue lights – there’s a round of low-key, ironic applause from the shop staff.

The police driver is bent-nosed and built like a boxer; his partner’s a woman old enough to have seen it all before, several times over. The policeman accepts Roy’s offer of the crowbar, while the policewoman stands, arms folded and silent, to one side.

‘We didn’t dare do it,’ explains Roy. ‘Criminal damage and all that. His mates ran off with the keys. Right pair of pricks, on a day like this. Must be like a furnace in there, mustn’t it?’

The policeman hooks the crowbar under the lock, leans his weight on it and pops the boot open.

The boy inside blinks at the light. His mouth is sealed with silver duct-tape. He’s very thin, and red-faced from the heat, and he’s been crying. He’s lying on his side, his knees bent into the only position they can be; his nails are long and dirty, and he needs a haircut and a bath. Sizes too small, his clothes don’t fit him. His feet are bare, his socks knotted together to tie his wrists.

The policeman is taken aback but keeps his professional demeanour. He reaches out to remove the duct-tape from the boy’s mouth, but the boy cowers away.

‘Let me do it, Dave,’ says the policewoman, as she steps forward. Smiling reassurance, she looks into the boy’s eyes. ‘Just keep still a minute, love, and I’ll take this off.’ She picks a corner of the tape to lift it and pulls it from his face as gently as she can. ‘Are you all right, love? You look in a bit of a state. How long have you been in here? Shall I give you a hand? Just sit up slowly.’ She turns to one of the cashiers. ‘Fetch us a bottle of water, will you? And a pair of scissors.’

Slowly, painfully, the boy sits up.

‘Take your time, love. Dave,’ she says quietly to her colleague, ‘I think we’re going to need an ambulance. And someone from Social Services.’ The policeman steps away and speaks into his radio. The cashier comes running back with scissors and water, and the policewoman carefully cuts the boy’s wrists free. He rubs at the welts the bindings have left, then takes the water and drinks down the whole half-litre.

‘It doesn’t look very comfortable in there,’ says the policewoman. ‘Do you think you can stand up? Lean on me, and let’s get you out.’