I scroll on my phone while I wait and see that Sarah has already posted pics of her and Ally in Heathrow airport wearing matching outfits, en route to Italy. I don’t see the huge green vintage car until Chloe yells out the window. I cross the road, swimming in deep regret. I have set myself up for an afternoon of pure awkward.

Chloe’s dad turns down the stereo as I get in and Chloe introduces us. I’m supposed to call him Jeremy. I see a set of piercing eyes in the rear-view mirror. He has his window rolled down, like we’re not in the middle of a cold snap, and blue tattoos on his forearms. He’s surprisingly pale and freckly compared to Chloe, you’d never guess they were father and daughter.

‘Right,’ he says, once we’ve pulled out into the Sunday traffic. ‘It’s time to discuss some ground rules with you girls.’

It’s a relief to hear some classic dad-speak.

‘I’ve cleared this with my immediate manager, but not the big boss, does that make sense?’

A layer of physical power hangs around Jeremy and an inappropriate bubble of laughter rises in my throat, something that happens when people are too serious around me. It makes school speech night and exams hell.

I grip my bag tighter and pay a whole lot of attention to the green-and-brown leather seat, the shiny chrome trim, Jeremy’s massively pointy shirt collar. When I look up, Chloe is watching me out of the side of her eyes. Out of school she wears jeans and a black hoodie.

‘We’ve got an hour, an hour fifteen max. You go in, do your thing, leave everything as you found it.’

‘Yes, Dad. You’ve already said this a million times.’

‘I’m sticking my neck out for you, Chlo-Chlo. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.’

‘Yes, Jeremy!’ I sing out. ‘We are most definitely on the same page.’

Jeremy gives me a look in the rear-view mirror that makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut. He pumps the clutch and spins the steering wheel like a race-car driver. I wonder if the police have interviewed him too. When I glance at Chloe I can see it was worth it. Her mouth twists sideways and I know she’s having the inappropriate laughing problem too.

‘I’m trusting you girls.’

‘Oui, Papa.’ Chloe starts singing under her breath, leaning forward to turn the stereo up. Someone is mid-guitar solo, shredding hard. Her dad starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, bobbing his head. Chloe copies him, shrugging her shoulders and bobbing her head. She turns around to smile at me with mock enthusiasm on her face. ‘Yeah!’ She clicks her fingers and points. ‘Yeah, man!’

I look out the window but a half-laugh escapes me. If we drive fast enough, we’ll drive ourselves right into a time warp and pop out in the seventies.