“It can do a ton, easy,” Jim said. “More. Police can’t catch me. I’m too fast for them.”

He’d been hoping Kerry would be working in the kebab shop. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d fingered her in the back of Matt’s car last weekend, while Matt and Shelley were getting off with one another in the front. He’d have fucked her if she’d let him, and he still wanted to fuck her bad, but she wasn’t in, just her friend, Stacey, who liked him, he could now see, and, well, who knew what might happen.

“I could show you,” he said. “This Saturday. The La’s are playing The Circle. Do you wanna go?”

“I love the La’s,” Stacey said.

He waved the napkin. “I’ll call you.”

***

He closed the window on the journey back. He’d forgotten the Cokes, but it didn’t matter. Fuck Kerry. He suddenly felt intensely hungry. He could smell the chips, cooling beside him, the fragrant lamb, the spicy sauce. He didn’t want it to get cold.

The warehouse was situated in the area slated for the airport expansion, and the bypass was always empty. Two lanes, no cameras, and no traffic except for the occasional lorry. He floored it and watched the needle creep up. He hadn’t done a ton before. He’d lied. But he could do one now. He watched with excitement, his eyes flicking from the road ahead to the dash, as the needle passed 90. He’d only driven this fast once before. How long did he have? He tried to calculate it. The bypass was four miles. At 60 mph, he did a mile a minute. At 100—no, make it 120, that made the maths easier—at 120mph he’d cover four miles in two minutes. He pushed the accelerator harder. He was at 100 now, and he kept going. 105. He saw a sign flash by warning him of the exit in two miles. One minute to go. How fast could he push it? 108. 112. The crosswind was making the car shudder even with the window shut. 115. One mile. He felt a flash of fear, then pushed down harder.

He started braking when he passed the turnoff. They’d been down here before, a few months back, that night they’d stolen all the cones and signs and set up a diversion right into Rick’s parents’ driveway. This had been before the crash. Before Emma. He knew there was another mile before the road just—stopped. They hadn’t constructed the final section yet, and with the airport expansion on hold, the road was too. The needle fell fast. He’d considered a handbrake turn at the end, but his leg was spastic with fear, and he no longer trusted his reactions. He pulled to a stop on the hard shoulder within sight of the cones that marked the end of the road, hit the hazards, and began to reverse steadily. He was shaking now.

He drove the last stretch slowly with the window open and was calm by the time he reached the warehouse. He left the window open a crack to get rid of the kebab stink. He gave the keys back. The man declined his change with a shake of the head and seemed to be pleased with his chips and meat, palming a few notes to Matt before getting into the Cosworth.

Then it was gone.

Jim passed out the portions to Darren, Rick and Matt, and took his own. They each unwrapped their food. They ate in silence, stabbing the chips and the thin slivers of lamb with the wooden forks, all dripping with bright red stinging sauce.

Darren looked at Jim.

“130,” Jim said.

“Fuck,” Matt said. Darren whistled. Rick looked frightened. “Good job you didn’t total it,” Matt added. He took the rest of the cash from his pocket.

Darren belched. “I want a pint now,” he said.

“Me too,” said Rick.

“Let’s go for one after. Jim’s paying,” Matt said, handing a couple of notes to each of them.

“Easy come, easy go,” said Jim, pocketing the cash. He took a napkin out of his other pocket and wiped his stinging lips, taking care not to smear the number Stacey had biroed on it. “Darren,” he said. “You’re seeing your grandad on Saturday, right? Can I borrow your car?”

***

Saturday came.

“I told Kerry we were going out, I mean, to the gig,” Stacey said. “So you don’t need to worry.”

“Okay,” Jim said.

“She’s fine with it,” Stacey continued.

“Good.”

There was a silence. Darren had warned him that the wheels might be a bit misaligned. He’d clipped a curb at speed and hadn’t had a chance to look at it. Jim played with the wheel and tried to get a feel for how the car pulled to the right.

“So what are you listening to?” she asked and reached forward and pressed play on the cassette player.

Jim hadn’t thought of this and hoped it wasn’t some of Darren’s heavy metal.

The car filled with the slight hiss of the start of the tape, and before Jim could turn the volume down, the noise of a tremendous fart, then Rick’s giggle, followed by a second fart and more laughter. Cunts. He smashed the button.

Stacey was crying with laughter.

“The glove compartment,” he said. “More tapes.”

She pushed the button, and it popped open, spilling a copy of Playboy onto her feet.

He reached across, plucked it from the floor, and chucked it out the window.

“Oi!” she said. “I hadn’t finished reading that.”

“It’s Darren’s car,” Jim said. “I borrowed it.”

“I thought it looked different. Where’s your car?”

“I—” He paused for a moment. “I borrowed that one too,” he said.

He looked over to see how she reacted. “Shame I never got to hear the stereo,” she said. She was rummaging through the tapes. “Your mate Darren likes metal, doesn’t he? Oh, this one is okay. Do you like Queen?”

“They’re okay.”

She ejected the tape, put it in the newly emptied case, and returned it to the glove compartment. The album slid home with a click, and she pressed play. Freddie Mercury’s plaintive voice filled the car. Was this real, or was this just fantasy?

“He’s gay,” she said.

He didn’t know what to say.

“My friend Andrea lives in London and works for Time Out. She says he’s got AIDS. He’s dying, but it’s a secret, and no one is supposed to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said. “That’s—horrible. It’s like cancer, isn’t it? My aunt died of cancer.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry about your aunt.”

They drove in silence for a moment.

“Well, that ruined the mood,” she said finally. “Sorry.”

“Don’t.” He reached across her for the glove compartment, took out a tape, ejected Queen, and put it in, then hit rewind. He hit play. The sounds of Darren’s farts filled the car again.

“Your mate is disgusting,” she said, laughing.

***

He watched her during the concert. She didn’t want a drink, and he didn’t have one either. She sang along to the songs, swaying on the spot, and seemed to know all the lyrics. She smiled at him and grabbed him when their big hit came on, singing “There she goes” at his face, until, grudgingly, he sang along too. Then she kissed him, and they kissed for a while, then they watched the band together, while he held her, his arms around her waist, his cheek pressed to hers. She kept saying things to him, and he struggled to hear but laughed anyway.

When they exited into the surprisingly cold air, the excited crowd dispersing around them, he took her hand. “Let’s do something!” he said.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t know. Go for a meal or something.”

“Nowhere is open,” she said. “And it’s my night off. The last thing I want is another kebab.”

“There are places open in London,” he said.

“Yeah, but that’s hours away.”

“You got something else you’re supposed to be doing?”

She laughed. “Andrea told me there’s this cafe in Soho that’s open 24 hours. It’s Italian. They do ice creams too.”

“Then let’s go.”

“You serious?”

“Yes.”

She paused. Then kissed him again. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

***

By silent agreement, they didn’t put Queen back on, and neither wanted to brave Metallica, Thin Lizzy, or Iron Maiden. Jim put the radio on instead and turned it down low, although whenever a song came on that she liked, they turned it up. Neither said much, but the silence was comfortable. The La’s came on, not one they’d danced to, but another, and she turned it up and sang along.

“I love this one,” she said.

“Where’s Doledrum?” he asked.

“It’s not a place, I think, it’s—like being on the dole and being in the doldrums.”

“What’s that? Doldrums. I know what the dole is.”

“It’s one of my favourite words. We had an English teacher, Mr Campbell, who used to read us books at the end of term, like a treat, you know. And the first one he read was this story about a boy who had an adventure with this dog who lived in a big clock, and at one point they’re stuck in the middle of the ocean and there’s no wind and they cannot move anywhere because it’s a sail boat, you know, and this place is called the doldrums. It’s real.”

He looked across at her. The motorway traffic was light, and he was sticking to the limit. There was something soothing about it. Something magical. The chains of red and white lights in the dark. The late hour. The monotony. Her presence and her voice.

“It’s near the equator, I think, I don’t really remember. But it’s a point where the winds can just drop for weeks, and you get stuck there, and there’s nothing to do except wait and hope. And it just—that’s what our life is like. That town. You know?”

He nodded.

“Did you hear about that girl, Emma Harper, the one who died? She was in my class at school.”

“I know her brother, Rick.”

“Her boyfriend’s in a coma. She’s dead. The couple in the other car both died. It’s all just so—stupid.”

The only sound for a while was the radio.

“Have you ever thought of leaving?” he asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, but I don’t know where.”

“We could go to London,” she said. Then she laughed. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ve only just met.”

“The ice cream might be rubbish,” he said.

***

The ice cream wasn’t rubbish. The cafe was bright, full of confident, flamboyant characters who greeted one another loudly. People drifted in and out, spoke knowingly to the staff, asking after mutual acquaintances. They both ate in silence, watching. At one point, three gleaming mopeds pulled up, all chrome and pristine paintwork, one sporting a Union Jack, and the elegant drivers perched, side-saddle, drinking cappuccinos while others admired their vehicles.

It was 4 am when they left, and Stacey was flagging. She was asleep before they’d left the city, gently snoring beside him. He kept the radio very low so as not to wake her, wriggled out of his jacket and draped it over her, then put the heater on so she wouldn’t get cold.

He glanced across at her as he idled at the lights. She was fast asleep. Bohemian Rhapsody was playing again, coming to an end. He wondered what it would be like to fall asleep beside her. He heard a roaring to the side and looked to his right. Another Fiesta, tricked out like Darren’s, go-faster stripes and a rear spoiler. The driver and his mate stared at him in challenge. He kept the clutch down and pumped the accelerator, causing the motor to roar. If it disturbed Stacey, he didn’t see. The other driver did the same.

The lights changed. He floored it.