‘Cuz, you are crushing on her! Crushing on her hard!’

‘She’s kind of seeing my brother, I think.’

‘I ain’t judging, cuz.’

‘I’m not into her. Not really.’

‘Crushes are the worst things, man.’

There’s a definite warmth seeping through Will’s guts. Right now, a crush doesn’t feel so bad.

‘They make you feel like you’re dull. Like no one could love you. Know what I mean?’ Alfie says.

‘Not really.’

Alfie reclines himself even further, surely struggling to see out over the dash. He steers with one outstretched arm on the bottom of the wheel.

‘You’re giving one person the power to decide what you’re worth. You don’t wanna go giving that responsibility to just anyone, cuz. Seen too many bros taken down, trust me.’

‘Right.’

Alfie’s eyes are off the road for several seconds as he gives Will a self-satisfied grin. ‘I’m the fucking Dalai Lama, aren’t I?’

‘Is it, like, that obvious? That I, you know, like her?’

Alfie shrugs. ‘Don’t fret about it. I can spot these things. Sensitive soul, me. Don’t go telling anyone.’

Alfie jolts upright. ‘Fuck!’ He cranks his seat back to a more sensible angle.

‘What’s up?’ Will asks.

‘Don’t look now, but we have company.’

Will adjusts his position so he can see the road behind in the door mirror. A police car.

‘What you looking so pale for, Parks?’ Alfie asks. ‘I imagine you have less to worry about than I do.’

The road splits into two lanes as they approach a green light. Alfie hangs over to the left and backs off the gas. ‘Go past,’ he mumbles. ‘Fuck’s sake. Go past.’

There are two peeps of siren.

Alfie looks ill as he comes to a stop. Both he and Will stare straight ahead.

‘Nightmare,’ Alfie keeps mumbling. ‘Fucking nightmare. This can’t be happening.’

‘Mind stepping out of the vehicle?’ the officer says, thumbs tucked behind her stab vest. ‘The pair of you.’

A stiff wind gusts along the front as Will stands on the pavement. Beyond the low wall behind him it’s high tide and the beach is well populated, people in coats with collars turned against the spray. Two kids wrestle with a stunt kite, its covering billowing as it swoops this way and that, straining against its line. An ice-cream van runs along the front, the notes of ‘Greensleeves’ bending eerily on the wind as it motors away into the distance.

‘Car’s all legit,’ Alfie says, allowing the police officer to usher him round to the pavement where Will stands.

‘A matter of opinion,’ she says, running her fingers along the textured paint finish.

‘Insured. Taxed. You name it.’

She smiles. ‘I know that. Ran the reg before we stopped you.’

Alfie looks no less tense. His fingers shake as he tries to extract his licence from his wallet.