Chapter 20

An hour and half later and fifty miles out of London, as we left the M3, I spotted a Little Chef, just when I was desperately thirsty, ravenously hungry, and needed a pee urgently too. I pulled into the car park, and unpeeled myself from the seat. I hadn't realised I'd been sweating hard from stress and the effort of driving my new car with the utmost care to not look suspicious. Sarah was quiet, as if resigned to her fate. She followed me meekly into the restaurant.

It was dusk, nearly nine o'clock, and I hadn't eaten all day. I doubted that Sarah had either. I ordered us burgers and chips, and black coffee to help us stay awake. The Little Chef was almost empty. We sat well back, away from the windows. The only waiter was a tall dreamy looking lad in his late teens. He seemed pleased to have customers, and I could tell that he thought Sarah, in her new dress, wig, and sunglasses, was rather glam. Pity, I didn't want anyone paying attention to her. Too late. He was trying to make conversation, and Sarah responded with a slightly flirty friendliness that made him almost purr with pleasure. Well, we were in the middle of nowhere, and apart from the listless griddle chef at the other end of the restaurant, we were his only entertainment, so he made the most of us.

Sarah took off her sunglasses when our order arrived, and we ate the second rate food with a starvation-driven gusto it didn't deserve. Our waiter, returning, gave Sarah a double take now he could see her eyes. It didn't surprise me; she looked flushed and stunning now she had eaten. He cajoled us into ordering American pancakes with maple syrup and ice cream for dessert. He couldn't keep away from us.

"He fancies you," I whispered to Sarah as he departed with the remains of our burgers.

"'S funny, I thought he fancied you!" she replied, pinching my knee so that I squeaked.

Calories had restored Sarah's nerve, and her eyes were sparkling again. We dared to touch hands beneath the table, and were just on the point of giggling when our nice waiter approached, smiling nervously, flicking a glance out of the window. He spoke directly to Sarah.

"Um ... sorry to intrude, but ... er ... I think you should ... er perhaps ... hide in the ladies loo for a bit ... our local bobby's just pulled up on his Noddy-bike."

Sarah didn't stop to ask how he's found out who she was, but keeping herself as much as possible from the sight line of the front window, she ghosted herself through the nearby door to the toilets. The young waiter quickly collected our plates and left me alone with my coffee, no trace that I had had dinner companion sitting opposite just seconds before.

I watched all this happen in quiet disbelief, a dizzy sensation in my head terrible fear in my heart. I was aware of a man at the counter, talking to the waiter. Conversation rose and fell, I heard one or two laughs, the clatter of a tea-spoon in a saucer.

I fumbled with things in my handbag, smoked a cigarette, re-touched my lipstick, pretended to write things in my little diary; sipped my soon cold coffee. I felt a dreadful urge to confess everything, and a yet stronger urge to run and run forever. But only if Sarah was with me, holding my hand.

After an eternity, and the arrival of several customers who diluted the policeman's focus and reminded him of his duties, I heard the pop-pop and departing roar of his motorbike.

Trying not to look furtive, I went into the Ladies', and found Sarah standing on the toilet seat in a locked cubicle, for the second time that day. She had been crying again. I helped her to repair her makeup. We had just finished when the door burst open and two large middle-aged ladies pushed past us as we headed the other way.

Our waiter was waiting. He beckoned us towards a door marked 'Staff Only' and spirited us through it into the kitchen. His face was glowing with excitement.

"I know who you are! You're Sarah ... from the Group!" He whispered. "I can't believe that you're here! In a Little Chef! In Hampshire!"

"Why did you help us?" I asked, already worrying that he might have set us up in some way. His face became serious again.

"I happen to think the Group are totally valid in what they are trying to do." He said.

"And you fancy me from my photos," added Sarah, with a giggle.

He nodded, grinned, and blushed deep scarlet, pointing at a steel work surface where there was a newspaper. The Sun ... open to a spread of images that would knock most men's eyes out. From the same set as the topless cover shot, Sarah in bikini bottoms, breasts jutting proudly, big hard nipples, long hair streaming back in the breeze, smiling sexy summer holiday photos of my darling from a couple of years ago. A teenage boy riddled with hormones and rebellion must have found her the sexiest thing on two legs. I know I did.