“Come on…” James slams a hand on the wheel. “f*****g well move!”
… but the i***t still can’t reach. The door opens and he tries to get out. But now he’s parked too close for the door to open properly.
I slam open my door… “Catch up with me.” … and I sprint for the Departures terminal building, then realise Michael is right behind me. A huge building, doors slowly revolve at each end of the frontage and another in the centre.
Ahead of us, Baxter squeals to a halt in the tow zone next to the central entrance. Both driver and the unknown passenger spill from the car then, setting off at a run, they abandon the SUV.
As the two pelt for the revolving doors, I reach the five-minute parking zone. Michael overtakes me, dashing across the traffic lanes, barging between taxis, coaches and chauff
