‘Yes, and I was having about as much luck as him,’ she said.

‘Ah yes,’ said Paul. ‘But your luck was about to change.’

She smiled, leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘It certainly was. To cut a long story short, we went home together.’

‘And we’re going to hold our wedding at Waterstones,’ said Paul.

Heather slapped his arm lightly. ‘Fool.’

‘For your love.’

Jamie made a retching sound. ‘Please, don’t. I’ll be sick.’

Kirsty nodded at them as they smiled at each other. ‘Well, you certainly look happy together. And, Heather, you can tell me all about it later. In detail. Graphic detail.’

The traffic began to thin out and soon they reached the go-kart track. Chris and Lucy had been driving ahead of them all the way. At one point, shortly after Paul and Kirsty’s revelation, they had almost lost them. But now, here they were, about to reach the venue. Jamie felt the butterflies in his stomach stir. Although he hadn’t admitted as much to any of the others, he felt nervous. He had never been in a go-kart before. He’d played Super Mario Kart on a friend’s Nintendo, but that was as far as it went. Paul had never been karting either, but he was really excited, as he kept telling everyone. But then, Paul had always had a penchant for speedy, adrenalin-generating activities. He had been snowboarding and rock climbing, water-skiing and even bungee-jumping, things that made Jamie – who couldn’t even roller-skate – break out in a cold sweat.

A parking attendant showed them towards a couple of good spots, then the six of them walked towards the entrance. At the pay-booth, Chris produced his membership card and they paid their entrance fees. The woman behind the counter handed over their crash helmets.

‘Where’s yours?’ Jamie said to Lucy.

‘I’m not taking part. It doesn’t really appeal to me. To be honest, I find it too frightening. The karts go so fast.’

Jamie turned his crash helmet over in his hands. He could imagine himself skidding on a patch of oil, crashing into a wall, his go-kart exploding, a fireball consuming him. He imagined himself as one of those horribly-disfigured burn victims, having to undergo reconstructive surgery and being called ‘brave’ by everyone. He could just see it: this would be the point where he cashed his good luck chips in. At times like this he wished he was a woman: it would be much easier to say no; he wouldn’t have this ridiculous masculine front to keep up, whereby if he said he didn’t want to do it, he would be accused of wimping out. He could just imagine Paul ribbing him about it. And Kirsty too. She seemed perfectly relaxed, although a little impatient to get Heather on her own so she could find out the salacious details of her and Paul’s tryst.