‘We’d better get going,’ I said, the second our plates and cups were empty.

‘Yeah, I won’t be long.’

Henry got up and hurried across the building, presumably towards the toilets. However, when fifteen minutes later he still hadn’t returned, I started to wonder whether the thought of gate-crashing Baxter Bigwood’s house had been too much, and he’d done a runner back to Sherwood Forest.

I gathered my things, tucked the box of doughnuts under my arm, and continued anxiously scanning the service station, which was bustling with pre-Christmas weekend travellers. My initial relief after hurrying outside and finding his car still there soon switched to more confusion as I tried to think where he could be. Surely he hadn’t been in the bathroom all this time? I would have called him, only I didn’t have his number.

After another five minutes worrying that something awful had happened, I decided to wait at our original table. Almost the second I sat down, I spotted a man striding through the building, followed by a uniformed woman yelling at him to stop. Another man was pulling at the woman’s arm, trying to pull her back. The first man, who happened to be carrying a waist-high rubbish bin, was Henry.

Open-mouthed, I watched him march out of the automatic glass doors, move to a nearby patch of grass, and tip the bin upside down, scattering the contents. The employee did her best to hurry after him, dragging the other man behind her, but came to an abrupt stop when she saw Henry wade into the pile of rubbish and start pawing through it.

Grabbing all our stuff, I rushed outside.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I screeched as Henry dropped to his knees in the filth.

‘He’s breaking the law, that’s what!’ the woman retorted, her complexion a worrying shade of purple. ‘Is this man with you?’

Henry stood back up then, stepping out of the mess and holding out his hand as the other man rushed towards him. ‘Is this them?’ he asked.

The other man, slipping on a greasy burger box so that Henry had to grab his arm to prevent him from falling over, cried, ‘Yes!’, as Henry gave him the contents of his hand. ‘Thank you so much!’ He then promptly burst into noisy tears.

‘Police are on their way.’ Another employee rushed up, panting. He looked about fifteen, his eyes alight with excitement.

‘Go!’ Henry said, encouraging the sobbing man with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

‘Fleeing the scene of the crime!’ The woman spun around, pointing at the man as he staggered towards the direction of the car park.

‘Shall I go after him, Ange?’ the teenager asked. ‘I reckon I could take him down, keep him restrained until the coppers get here.’

‘Let him go, Bob. He’s small fry. Stick to the brains behind the crime.’