‘Yes, apparently,’ she laughed.

They had reached the roundabout that led to the bypass ‘Are you in Bollywood films?’ the boy blurted out.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘You’re really pretty though.’

‘That’s very kind of you, James.’ They reached the slip road, and the Porsche engine roared. He was sucked back into the seat as the car hurtled down the on-ramp. The speedo flicked from fifty to ninety in almost no time. The car whooshed past two lorries, and into the outside lane. He was transfixed as the needle crept higher.

‘Wow! Ton-up,’ he said, staring at the woman in wonder.

She slowed the car sharply, making rapid gear changes, and came off at the next roundabout, though still fast enough on the left turn to make the tyres squeal. Five minutes later, they were in his home street. She stopped a hundred yards short of his mum’s house.

‘James,’ she said. ‘When is your birthday?’

He told her. ‘Are you going to get me a present then?’

‘If you’re good, maybe. Did your mum ever tell you what time of day you were born, and where?’

The boy looked puzzled. ‘In hospital, in the early morning I think.’

‘But which hospital?’

‘Redhill.’

‘Best to keep all this to yourself, if you want that present. Your mother and teachers might be upset with you if she knew that some strange woman had been giving you a lift. “Stranger danger” and all that. I wouldn’t mention it to Rafiq either as I might get into trouble with his mum.’

‘Okay.’ He blinked at her, and hesitated. ‘What’s your name, miss?’

‘It’s best if you don’t know.’ She leaned across to him, brought her hand up to his chin, and kissed his forehead. ‘Another of our secrets, okay?’

He went as red as a beetroot.

Prisha watched the boy as he left the car, closing the door carefully and then attempting a nonchalant adolescent departure, slouching with hands back in pockets, a shirt tail still protruding beneath his blazer. She smiled as he still couldn’t avoid staring back a couple of times over his shoulder, for a last glimpse. She had lied about being a relative of Rafiq’s, she had simply found the boy’s name and photo in the local paper for some sporting achievement. Her ruse had worked perfectly. She didn’t know whether it was the car or her which had ensnared James, but she was confident that she could do anything with this boy that she wanted. His bitch of a mother thought she had the monopoly on sly stratagems.

It wasn’t the case.

She leaned across to the central console and picked up the Ziploc bag. From the glove compartment, she brought out a box of cotton buds, removed one and then carefully swabbed the surface of the discarded Swizzel, hoping she had captured enough saliva before it dried, and dropped it in a small plastic vial. This test tube she then put in a pre-labelled brown envelope, sealed it, and placed it on the passenger seat.