The services sold coffee and a few pastries and not much else. They ordered using the smattering of Italian they’d picked up from Gavin and returned to the car where they found a police motorcyclist had parked alongside and was now peering in the driver’s window. After a short debate as to whether they should run for it, they approached the car.

‘Hello?’ Silva said.

The police officer looked up. ‘American?’

‘English. Is there a problem?’

‘Identification, please.’ The officer stepped back. His eyes flicked sideways to the cafe.

Silva tried not to panic. This was a routine stop. The officer was more interested in getting his breakfast than making an arrest.

She unlocked the car and found her fake passport. Itchy did the same. There was a folder containing driving documents in the glove compartment. The only issue was a driving licence. Silva hadn’t expected to be driving, and anyway her own genuine licence would have been useless alongside the fake passport.

The officer took a cursory look at the passports and then turned his attention to the other documents. There was a wad of material from the hire car company. Insurance, warranty, breakdown cover. He leafed through several pages and nodded before handing it all back.

‘Si. Good. Now your licence, please.’

Shit. She considered the options. Fight or flight. Either meant they would become fugitives in a foreign country. There was another alternative. Bluff.

‘Yes.’ Silva bent to the car again before recoiling and raising her hands to her face. ‘Oh no! My handbag! I must have left it at the last place we stopped.’

‘Your driving licence.’ The officer appeared not to have understood.

‘It’s in my bag.’ Silva tapped herself on the head and turned and pointed down the road. ‘It’s back there. How stupid.’

‘Where did you stop, please?’

‘Miles down the motorway. Ages ago.’ Silva scrunched her eyes up and willed tears. ‘Oh God, what are we going to do?’

‘Are you hungry?’ Itchy. He had his passport in his hand and sandwiched in the pages were several fifty-euro notes. He held the passport out to the policeman. ‘Perhaps you could just check my documents again. We can be on our way and you can get yourself a nice breakfast.’

Silva held her breath. Time seemed to stop for several seconds before the officer turned and a smile washed onto his face as his gaze alighted on the passport. He reached out and a finger and thumb closed on the notes. He pulled his hand back and the notes disappeared into a pocket.

‘Si, si. All good.’ He began to walk away but then turned and looked back. ‘Drive safe.’

The officer strolled off towards the services and Silva let out a low whistle.

‘Jesus, Itchy,’ she said. ‘That was risking it.’

‘Nah, easy.’

‘Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.’