Page 66 of The Do-Over

‘Why do men always assume they’re going to drive?’ I ask crossly. ‘I’m quite capable, you know.’

‘Calm down, Emmeline Pankhurst, it’s nothing to do with sexism. I’m driving because he’ll probably recognise your car, but he hasn’t seen mine before.’

‘Oh, good point,’ I concede, annoyed with myself for jumping down his throat so quickly.

It’s a little after eight o’clock when we pull up outside the industrial unit. Alasdair fusses about, trying various parking locations until he’s satisfied that he’s found one where we can observe the entrance without being conspicuous ourselves.

‘Now what?’ I ask him as he settles back in his seat.

‘Now we wait.’ He turns the radio on low and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of the glovebox, handing them to me.

‘I don’t need sunglasses, it’s barely light,’ I tell him.

‘They’re for disguise,’ he explains. ‘If George should happen to glance this way, we don’t want him to recognise you.’

I feel vaguely ridiculous as I slip them on, but I have to admire Alasdair’s attention to detail. The radio programme is some kind of phone-in on the subject of immigration, and the participants are gradually winding themselves up with increasingly xenophobic remarks.

‘We have activity,’ Alasdair murmurs happily as a silver BMW pulls up outside the unit around thirty minutes later. I think he’s honestly having the time of his life.

‘That’s not him,’ I tell him as a man gets out of the car and walks towards the door, carrying a big bunch of keys. ‘That’s Trevor.’

‘Eagle Two is in the nest,’ he states once Trevor has unlocked the door and disappeared inside. ‘Hopefully, Eagle One is inbound.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘I’ve given them code names. Eagles one to four. Just thought it would make it more exciting. George is Eagle One, obviously. Look sharp; we have another arrival.’

‘That’s him,’ I say excitedly as George climbs out of his slightly weatherbeaten Honda. He gazes around carefully before making for the door, but thankfully doesn’t spot us.

‘The young gazelle sniffs the early-morning air carefully,’ Alasdair whispers, trying to sound like David Attenborough. ‘Danger is all around in the Serengeti, and the long grass could be concealing any number of predators. If he picks up the slightest scent, he’ll be off.’

Evidently satisfied that everything is as it should be, George disappears through the door into the unit.

‘And Eagle One is in the nest,’ Alasdair observes. ‘I’ll give you credit for one thing – you’ve got taste. He’s a good-looking guy.’

‘Right. Time to confront him,’ I say, reaching for the door handle.

‘No.’ Alasdair’s grip on my arm is surprisingly firm.

‘Why not?’

‘Because, not to put too fine a point on it, right now you look like the ghost of Christmas past and you don’t smell much better. We know where he is and he’s not going anywhere, is he? He’ll be there for the whole day, so we’re going to use the time wisely. Let’s go back to yours, get showered and then I’ll take you out for a slap-up breakfast so we can get rid of the last vestiges of hangover and plan what to do next. I take it you do normally live somewhere a little more furnished than your mill?’

‘I’m currently staying with Mum and Phil.’

‘Good. Let’s go there then.’

As I give him the postcode for the satnav, the folly of what I’m about to do hits me. By now, Mum and Phil will have realised that I didn’t come home last night. It’s Sunday morning, so Rebecca will probably still be at Ben’s, but Saffy might be there. Pitching up with a strange man is going to set their tongues wagging from here to next week unless I have a plausible explanation.

‘If anyone asks, we stayed in a hotel last night,’ I tell Alasdair. ‘Very much separate rooms.’

‘Why would we look and smell like death warmed up if we’d stayed in a hotel?’ he asks. ‘Also, wouldn’t we have had breakfast there?’

‘You’re right. Shit.’

‘Are you ashamed of me?’ His tone is curious rather than reproachful.

‘No, of course not. I’m just trying to stop my family reading more into this than there is.’

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