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Varies really.”
    “You’re right. You are so right. I’m too nosy. I mean you haven’t even said you want her yet, have you?”
    “No. No, I haven’t.”
    “I’m always giving it the hard sell. A car like this, you should let it sell itself.”
    That’s when Florida said, “Can we sit in it then?”
    He looked at her for a second and she said, “Please?”
    “Go on then.”
    We both got in. She whispered, “You should’ve told me to say please.”
    “You did say please.”
    “Yeah, but you should’ve told me before I got the chance. That’s more dadlike.”
    “Okay.”
    The man in the suit looked in, winked at Florida and said, “Comfy?”
    “Yeah,” said Florida.
    I said, “Yeah, what?”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    And then the man handed me the keys. “Go on,” he said. “You know you’re dying to. Just nudge her out onto the forecourt. See how she handles.” Before I could say anything he was asking the other salesmen to move the other cars out of the way and open the big doors so I could take the car outside.
    “I’ll need to push the seat back a bit for you. You’re a big lad, aren’t you?”
    I could’ve said, Yes, I am a big lad but that doesn’t mean I’m old. I didn’t say that. I said, “Thanks,” and added, “mate.”
    “Have you got your license on you, Mr….?”
    “Er…Digby. No. No, I haven’t.” I tried not to sound too happy about this.
    “That’s all right, Mr. Digby. I trust you. Thousands wouldn’t.”
    He waved me into the seat, crouched down next to me and gave me a guided tour of the dashboard—“There’s your MP3 player, your ergonomic seat thing, your satnav, in case you actually want to go somewhere.”
    I had a thought. “I’ve got DraxWorld on my phone. Can I hook that up to the satnav?”
    He was impressed. He said, “Not sure. Give it a go.”
    I got DraxWorld up on my phone and chose a Waterloo.
    “Waterloo,” said the man. “No, this doesn’t work. Waterloo’s about fifteen minutes from here. This is showing a journey time of three days.”
    “Actually,” I said, “that’s Waterloo in Sierra Leone, Africa.”
    He looked at me like I was talking pure poetry. “Wow,” he said, “Africa. And it’s in your favorites? What would you do? Shoot down through France? Over the Pyrenees…” He was gone, imagining the whole journey in his head—the rivers, the mountains, the ferries, the desert. “Mr. Digby,” he said, “you deserve this car. If I could, I’d give it you.”
    So I turned the key in the ignition. The car made a sound like a cat purring. The man stepped aside and pointed tothe hood. “Engineering perfection.” He smiled.
    It is at the moment, I thought. But in five minutes’ time it might well be a load of scrap metal. The thing about Level Two of course is that it has new and unexpected dangers. So you stand a much better chance of being killed.
    I looked down at the pedals. I knew one of them was the accelerator. I just wasn’t quite sure which one. One lesson that World of Warcraft teaches you is that if you want to succeed on the next level, you need to acquire new skills. Don’t level up until you’ve skilled up. Sadly this was a lesson I had forgotten. I was pretty sure though that the accelerator was the one in the middle. I had my foot on it when the door on the passenger side opened and a very familiar voice said, “You. Out. Now. Come on.”
    I probably didn’t mention this at the time, Dad, but, on balance, I was pleased to see you.
     
    When I climbed out, you were shouting at the man in the suit, telling him that I could have been killed and asking him why they don’t check ages.
    “How was I supposed to know?” wailed the man.
    “By checking his license.” Good point, Dad.
    “He didn’t have one.”
    “Of course he hasn’t got one. He’s twelve years old.”
    “Look, mate,” said the man in the suit, “don’t go blamingme because your son’s a freak.”
    I thought Dad was going to hit