Henry was now scooping up clumps of rubbish and putting them back in the bin, using napkins as makeshift gloves.

‘How long until backup arrives?’ Ange asked, her bravado evaporating now that Henry was right in front of her.

‘They said seven minutes. Ten at the most.’

At this news, Henry froze, mid-scoop. He glanced at me before giving a visual sweep of the car park, robo-Henry computing the data before coming to a split-second decision.

Dumping a handful of old drinks cartons in the bin, he sprang to his feet, grabbing my hand as he dodged past the employees and started racing back to the car, me stumbling behind him.

‘Henry, what the hell?’ I gasped as he yanked open my door, bundled me inside and then skidded around to the driver’s side, diving in and slamming the door shut just as Bob flung himself against it.

Jaw hanging open, I wrangled my seat belt on as Henry accelerated away, barely missing several bystanders as he veered for the exit.

It was only once we’d joined the motorway that I regained the ability to form a coherent sentence.

‘Please tell me that there’s a rational explanation for what just happened, and I’m not trapped in a car with a deranged hooligan.’

Henry inhaled a couple of times, his chest shuddering as he fought to regain his composure.

‘I apologise, I really shouldn’t have manhandled you like that. But if the police turned up, we’d have been forced to hang around for ages, and that would make you even later. If they wanted to question me at the station, you’d have had to drive the rest of the way yourself, and I think this morning demonstrated that this was a safer option.’

‘While I accept your apology—’ I opened the box of doughnuts and took a fortifying bite of a caramel iced ring ‘—that’s not really what’s bothering me! You disappeared for twenty minutes and then turned up with a stolen bin.’

‘Diego’s wife is in labour.’

‘Oh, that explains everything, subject closed.’

‘He was on his way home from work, stopped at the fuel station to grab a secret KFC because he’s supposed to be on a low-salt diet, when his mother-in-law called to say the baby was on its way. When he got back to the car he couldn’t find his keys. I spotted him tracking back and forth looking stressed so I went to ask if he needed any help. The obvious thing to do was retrace his exact steps. Once we’d done that, the most likely explanation was that he’d dropped them in the bin when he’d dumped the zinger burger in a moment of guilty panic. It would have been a health and safety risk if I’d emptied it inside, and Diego didn’t have time for me to be careful.’

I was flabbergasted.