They sliced left, down a backstreet behind a row of workshops, which was dotted all the way with wheelie bins. Lucy wove her way through like a slalom skier. Behind, the Thundercat rider showed no such finesse, smashing them out of her way one after another. When they hit a short straight, Lucy looked back again. Tattoo was riding no-handed while she slotted new shells into her shotgun. Lucy throttled up, passing the remaining obstacles in a blur, clipping one and sending it cartwheeling, spraying refuse.

Before she reached the end of the alley, which would disgorge her onto Hansen Road, the F-Type blistered past right to left, clearly aiming for the next junction, thinking to intercept her. As she emerged, Lucy screeched right, heading the other way, at last pointing in the direction of the town centre – but it was miles away yet, and first she had to get around Queen Alexandra Park, which ran alongside an elevated section of the railway.

Behind her, there was a screech and clatter of gears as the F-Type made a rapid three-point turn, and the wild revving of a 599cc engine as the Thundercat swung onto her tail.

She took a right onto Normanton Way. She was sure this led through to Redman’s Field, which was a wasteland attached to what had once been Redman’s Mill but now had been converted into civic offices. Beyond that lay the park.

The problem was that Normanton Way had now been converted as well.

Fifty yards along it, Lucy skidded to an astonished halt.

The road ended at a row of semi-detached new-builds.

They’d turned it into a cul-de-sac.

With a bestial roar, the Thundercat sped around the corner.

Lucy throttled forward. Cora, barely knowing what was happening, clung to her daughter like a limpet, eyes screwed shut – which was just as well.

The semi-detached house directly in front had an empty drive, with a wooden gate at the end of its side passage. Lucy accelerated up the drive, the gate looking bigger and bigger as she rode headlong towards it. She was doing forty-five when she struck it with her front wheel.

A product of home DIY, it vanished in a cloud of splinters.

The next thing they were tearing down the passage at the side of the house and across a leaf-littered lawn. Lucy ground around a central display of rockery, her rear tyre ploughing a trench in the turf, and then accelerated forward at such speed that she pulled a wheelie as she struck the house’s back fence. Its central panel shattered on contact, fragments exploding everywhere as she burst through to the other side.

Semi-dazed, she fishtailed across Redman’s field, leaping and swerving over clumpy tussocks of dead grass, but, looking behind, saw the Thundercat emerging through the same gap.