Will looks back at the police car parked behind them. In the front seat, another officer talks into a radio, his eyes flitting between Alfie and Will.

‘I wasn’t speeding, was I?’ Alfie says. ‘I thought I was watching my speed.’

‘Not speeding,’ the officer says distractedly. ‘Although your driving position leaves something to be desired.’ She begins reading his licence number into her radio.

‘Just go if you want,’ Alfie says to Will. ‘You look fucking terrified, man. My problem, not yours.’

‘Both of you can wait here, please,’ the officer says.

Will forces a smile. He flinches at a loud slapping noise behind him. The stunt kite howls past them and climbs back into the air. There are hoots of laughter from the kids flying it as they dance on the stones trying to keep the thing under control.

The male officer is out of the patrol car now and checking the BMW’s tyres with a pen torch. ‘This one could use some air,’ he mutters.

‘It’s only flat at the bottom,’ Alfie says, trying to wink at Will, but his face is too taut.

‘Joker,’ the other officer says. ‘Not heard that one before.’

She passes back Alfie’s licence. For a second it looks like they’ll be sent on their way. She paces round the car one more time, slapping a palm on the boot lid.

Will looks at Alfie. He looks ready to cry.

There’s something in the boot, Will realizes. Something illegal, it’s safe to assume.

Will scans the far side of the car. The male officer is crouched down and busy inspecting something. The female officer’s hand slips ever closer to the boot release.

‘Fucking hell!’ comes a shout from the beach. They all spin round to see the kite skimming the wall behind them before gaining height again.

The officer takes her hand off the car and faces the beach. ‘Can you two be careful with that thing, please?’ she yells. ‘Or we’ll be taking it into custody!’

The kids shout their apologies.

She wanders back to the car. Alfie’s lips are moving, like he’s saying a prayer.

He’s fucked if they search the car, Will is thinking. Is there anything we can do to stop them? What the hell can we do?

The officer is speaking on her radio, one hand resting on the boot handle once again. She signs off, concentrates on the job, pops the button. The boot lid rises a few centimetres.

What the fuck can I do?

He can’t look. He gazes instead to the other side of the road. There’s an alleyway almost blocked with wheelie bins next to the fish and chip shop. The fans above spew out cooking smells, which Will catches a whiff of. He feels suddenly sick.

There’s a sharp snapping sound behind him.

‘Shit!’ yells one of the kids. Several people shout obscenities.