‘Are you alright?’ he said to Kirsty.

She nodded. ‘Yes. I can’t wait to get started.’

He smiled weakly. ‘Me neither.’

‘So what are we waiting for?’ said Chris, and he led them outside, Paul and Heather holding hands, Kirsty beside them, Lucy and Jamie following behind.

They found themselves standing in a large, noisy area, the smell of petrol and burnt rubber smoking in the air around them. The track was directly in front of them: a figure of eight, its shape marked out by hundreds of tyres, stacked up to chest height. The go-karts zipped around this track, the racers gripping the steering wheels tightly, moving at great speed, overtaking and being overtaken. The karts buzzed like wasps trapped in bottles, brakes and tyres squealing intermittently as they took sharp turns around corners. The karts came in all colours, patterned with checks and stripes, and each kart had its own number and name on its side. Jamie noticed that all of the drivers were adults: there were a few children hanging around, but they were spectators only. This was an adult sport. He felt sick.

An attendant in dark-blue overalls came over and said hello to Chris. ‘Brought some friends with you, I see. Any of you karted before?’

They all shook their heads.

‘No?’ He chuckled. ‘You’re going to love it. It’s tremendous fun. And these karts are top-of-the-range, with very powerful five horsepower engines. We import them from the States.’

To Jamie’s horror, the man looked at him and said, ‘Hey, mate, you look a bit pasty. Don’t be nervous. You’ll love it.’

Chris clapped Jamie on the shoulder. ‘He’s right, Jamie. It’s really good fun. I was a bit nervous before my first time, but once I was out there, I was fine.’

Jamie nodded, but he didn’t feel very reassured.

‘Where are our karts?’ said Paul. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

The attendant held up his hands. ‘All in good time. First I have to explain a few rules. First of all, no bumping…’

Jamie tuned out the man’s words and stared at the track. He watched the karts, tearing round and round. He felt awful. He kept having visions of a crash, a wrenching of metal and bone. He looked at the sky, hoping storm clouds might suddenly appear in the clear blue sky and make it too dangerous for them to go onto the track. No such luck.

‘…the right pedal is your accelerator, the left pedal is your brake. Don’t stamp on the brake too hard or you’ll stop with a real jolt. And I wouldn’t recommend putting your foot down too far on the accelerator either. OK. Are we all set?’

They followed the man over to the start-point of the track, where half-a-dozen go-karts sat waiting for them.

‘Right, take your pick. They’re all the same.’