‘The Ratts, they attacked us—’

‘Yaz, are you safe?’

‘I’m fine. Listen, Graham, they left me behind and took Ace!’

‘Ace?’ Graham felt his heart plunge down to his socks. ‘But she—’

‘She’s not wearing a tag,’ Yaz snapped. ‘I know!’

The change in the atmosphere, the noises from the flesh of the station: now Graham understood their meaning. They beamed Ace up and pushed her on, and I was as much use as a chocolate teapot.

‘Where’s the Doctor?’ said Yaz. ‘She’s got to be able to find Ace somehow.’

‘She’s …’ Graham swallowed hard; there was no point scaring Yaz further. ‘She’s out just now, checking something. There’s still Ryan, though, right, with his tag on? Wherever Ace has gone, he’ll be going there, right? Stands to reason.’

‘I’ve just been attacked by a dozen giant rats in hairy skin hijabs, Graham, nothing stands to reason.’

‘We’ll still be able to find her,’ he insisted. ‘Have you tried calling Ryan?’

‘Yeah. He didn’t pick up.’

Graham swore under his breath. ‘I’d better keep watching the controls for him, he could be buzzed up any minute, yeah? Moment the Doctor’s back here, I’ll get her to call you. Stay safe. You got a cup of tea?’

‘No.’

‘Do it! Get a cuppa. Priority.’

‘Right.’ He could hear the smile steal reluctantly into Yaz’s voice now. ‘Take care of each other up there.’

‘Always.’

Graham’s heart was heavy as he turned and went back outside. The screen remained black-and-green and serene. ‘Come on, Ryan,’ he muttered. ‘And come on, Doctor …’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chantelle stepped through the door of her flat, and gave a deep sigh. Home. All she wanted to do was kick off her shoes, pour herself a glass of wine and unwind, but things never went that easily when Dorothy McShane was involved.

‘OK. Make yourself at home, it might be a long evening.’

Ryan came eagerly into the flat, obviously delighted at the prospect of spending the evening with her. If it had just been Ryan then she might have been happier about it too … But Kim Fortune was still standing there, looking pathetic.

‘What about me?’

‘Just go home,’ she pleaded.

‘I can’t go on the tube dressed like this.’ Kim pulled at the paper boiler suit. ‘Your friend took all my clothes!’

‘Well, what do you want me to do about it?’ snapped Chantelle, her patience rapidly running out.

‘You could at least let me use your shower,’ said Kim forlornly. ‘I was covered in that stuff, remember?’