Luke slid it across the table. ‘Guess what? We’ve only four weeks to go on our gruntwork. Our six months are nearly up. I worked it out last night.’
Tremendous enthusiasm was conspicuous by its absence.
Luke persevered. ‘No, come on – we’re nearly full Time Police officers. Have you decided yet which jobs you’ll put in for?’
Matthew shrugged. ‘The Time Map, I suppose.’
Luke looked at him. ‘You don’t sound very keen. I thought that was what you wanted. It’s definitely what Commander Hay wants.’
‘Mm,’ said Matthew and no more.
‘And you’ll soon be off to Records, Jane. No more dark places or concussing yourself on garden implements or being pursued by feral children. A nice quiet life for you.’
‘Mm.’ She smothered marmalade on her toast. ‘What about you, Luke? Didn’t you rather burn your bridges telling your dad you wanted to stay in the Time Police? Can I have some more coffee, please?’
He poured. ‘Dunno. I mean, I don’t know what job to put in for. You two both know what you want but I never thought I’d be here long enough to qualify so I haven’t given it a lot of consideration.’
‘Well, Grint’ll be looking for a new team when Rossi and the others graduate. You could apply to join him.’
‘Oh yeah – I can just see Grint welcoming me with open arms.’
A cloud of gloom descended over the breakfast table.
‘Well,’ said Matthew, rousing himself. ‘Never mind. With a bit of luck, you’ll be dead before then and it won’t matter.’
‘You really sound like your mother sometimes, you know that? How is she, by the way?’
‘Last time I saw her she was alternately pissed off at missing the assassination of Julius Caesar and laughing herself sick at Time Police stupidity.’
The room went temporarily dark as an enormous officer stopped at their table. ‘Team Two-Three-Six?’
Luke leaned back in his seat, the better to take him all in. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘I do, Gobby. You want to make me ask again?’
‘No,’ said Jane, quickly, unwilling to encounter hostility this early in the day. ‘And yes.’
The officer peered at her suspiciously. ‘You pissing me about?’
‘No,’ said Matthew, even more quickly.
‘And yes,’ said Luke, who could never help himself.
The officer abandoned his questioning. ‘Hay wants to see you.’
Luke blinked. ‘What? Why?’
He shrugged. ‘The smart money’s on you all being handed your papers and told to piss off before you make us look any more ridiculous.’
Luke shook his head. ‘Don’t think us pissing off would help that much, mate. You looked ridiculous long before we turned up.’
The officer swelled and it was perhaps very fortunate that Officer North, carrying an elegant breakfast of coffee and a croissant, was passing by.
‘Why are you three still here? Commander Hay wants you.’
‘Now?’
‘Ten minutes ago. Move.’
She passed on.
‘See,’ said Luke. ‘That’s how a proper officer does it.’
Jane pushed him out of the door in the interests of his own safety. ‘I really don’t get paid enough for doing this. Seriously, how do you manage to get through the day unscathed?’
‘He doesn’t,’ said Matthew. ‘He frequently needs rescuing from the consequences of not being able to keep his mouth shut.’
‘But not by Jane,’ said Luke hastily. ‘I don’t think Mr Todger could survive another of her rescue attempts.’
‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘other than your blonde in Logistics, I’m not sure anyone would care.’
Luke assumed a melancholy air. ‘Actually, I’ve rather gone off women.’
Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘Even more than they’ve gone off you?’
Luke sighed. ‘I preferred both of you when you never spoke.’
‘What a coincidence,’ said Jane, summoning the lift.
Captain Farenden was waiting for them in the outer office. ‘Please come with me.’
In silence, he led them to Briefing Room 3. ‘Wait outside, please.’
‘Do we know why we’re here?’ asked Luke.
‘Well, I do,’ Farenden said and left it at that, limping into the briefing room to announce their arrival and closing the door behind him.
They waited nervously and in silence. Team 236. Or Team Weird, as they were frequently known. Jane Lockland, the mouse. Matthew Farrell, the weirdo. And Luke Parrish, voted most likely to get his arse kicked. In fact, it was rumoured a queue was forming.
After two or three minutes, the door opened and Captain Farenden motioned them to enter.
Commander Hay was seated at the briefing table. Standing behind her, Major Ellis, their team leader, surveyed his crew.
‘Good morning,’ said Luke, brightly.
Commander Hay ignored him, saying, ‘If you would, please, Charlie.’
Captain Farenden brought up an image on the screen. ‘This . . . is Ms Jones.’
The screen showed a formally posed photograph of a young woman in her mid-twenties, dark-haired and with the expression of one just waiting to see what sort of trouble she could get into next.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Luke, still, despite the best efforts of Major Ellis, Officer North and the entire training section, apparently unaware of the correct method of addressing senior officers.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Parrish – shut up,’ said Ellis.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I have to point out you’re working from duff intel here. That’s not Ms Jones – whoever she is. That’s Imogen Farnborough. Her mother’s something in the government. Terrifying woman. Built like the red-brick Victorian privy she so closely resembles. Estates in Gloucestershire. Advocate of hunting foxes but would prefer peasants. Speaks to people in Latin. Wants the poorhouses reinstated. Gets paint flung at her twice a month. Very big on traditional values.’ He paused to reflect. ‘Although now I come to think of it, some of our traditional values are pretty dire and . . .’
‘Parrish . . .’
‘Anyway, I went out with Imogen a couple of times and I can tell you that’s definitely her. Didn’t come to anything because I met her mother. You know what they say – always check out the mother if you want to see how the daughter will turn out. Got a birthmark on her . . . Imogen, I mean, not her mother. Shit-hot skier. Tried out for the Olympics once and . . .’