Wesley stood back while Dave circled the car, checking for any spots they’d missed. There was an ember inside him, smouldering guiltily in the dark. It felt dangerously like pride. Wesley quickly stamped it out.

‘Real boy racer car, this. You thinking of learning any time soon?’

‘I can’t even think about affording it.’

Dave nodded, leaving Wesley to wonder if he knew how tough they’d had it during the last couple of years. Mum’s zero hours contract, which meant they could never know how much money they’d have, was no secret. It seemed less likely Dave knew about having to outstay their welcome with friends and boyfriends because they had nowhere else to go, or the queues at the Salvation Army food bank, or shopping for his half-sister Evie’s clothes in charity shops so they could afford nursery a few days a week. If he knew all of that, Wesley wasn’t so sure he’d have stuck around.

‘What else needs cleaning?’ said Wesley, looking around at the assortment of cars on show. They all looked clean enough already. Mum had insisted Dave was shorthanded, but Wesley suspected otherwise.

‘I see what you’re thinking,’ said Dave. ‘That you’re only here cos your mum bullied me into it. It’s not true. Yeah, I’m happy to help you out. But it takes a lot of work keeping every car presentable. I don’t care about horsepower and nought-to-sixty or any of that. The real magic is in a properly clean motor, like you’re paying proper homage to the peak of human ingenuity.’

Wesley looked at him like he was mad, but he kept the smile off his face; Dave clearly believed every word.

Dave grinned back. ‘Come on, look around and tell me it’s not a glorious sight worth maintaining.’

Near the office door, tucked back in the second row, was a silver BMW that had caught Wesley’s eye as soon as he arrived. He knew nothing about cars except that this was the sort of thing he should be driving one day.

Dave followed his gaze, and his grin turned mischievous. ‘Wait here a tick.’

He slipped into the office and opened the wall-mounted lock box where all the keys were kept, returning with a fresh set. A button press made the BMW’s lights flash and doors click open. Dave tossed the keys to Wesley, and he caught them, bemused.

‘Am I cleaning inside?’

‘Just get behind the wheel.’

The plush synthetic leather exhaled a breath of cigarettes and sweat under Wesley’s weight. Dave dropped into the passenger seat and pointed to the ignition.

‘I thought we’d established I can’t drive.’

‘It’s clamped, so you can’t go nowhere,’ said Dave, knocking the gear stick so that it wobbled loosely. ‘All right, it’s in neutral. Start her up.’

The engine grumbled awake as Wesley turned the key. He gripped the steering wheel reflexively, as if the car might jolt forward and he’d have to wrestle it into submission.

‘It’s all right, you can put your foot down.’

They were parked two feet behind an old Peugeot, and Wesley peered through the windscreen uncertainly.

‘Hey,’ said Dave, making Wesley turn to him. ‘I wouldn’t let you behind the wheel if it wasn’t safe.’

What was supposed to be reassuring sounded to Wesley like condescension, and all at once he felt like a child playing at being a man. He gripped the wheel tighter and looked down at the pedals. There were three, almost identical. The shame of having to ask burnt hot inside his chest. ‘Which one is it?’

‘On the right – just apply a little pressure.’

Jordan would have laughed at him, but that didn’t matter now. He eased the pedal down, the car raising its hackles and growling in reply.

Beside him Dave was grinning.