Amused, Commander Hay affected not to have heard him. ‘I’ll leave you to enjoy your visitors.’

‘Please don’t.’

She patted his shoulder. ‘Get well soon, Major.’

14

14

Feeling oneself to be on the verge of acceptance was all very pleasant, but as Jane was very aware, she wasn’t quite there yet. They were still regarded as Team Weird. If, she thought, we are indeed a team. Other teams ate together, socialised together, did all the things that teams did. Team Weird emerged from the shadows, came together for the mission and then went their separate ways again.

She was sitting at lunch one day. She always sat alone. No one ever wanted to join her or asked her to join them. Other teams crowded around tables together, telling tales, exaggerating exploits, shouting and laughing. Roaring testosterone was, as usual, bouncing off the walls. The room was loud with male voices. Jane sat in her usual corner. More accepted she might be, but she still ate alone. She usually brought something to read so she wouldn’t have to watch them all talking, arguing, calling from group to group.

The dining room, like everything else to do with the Time Police, was bland and utilitarian. Tables and chairs were grey and easily wiped down. An attempt had been made to enliven the walls with a series of innocuous but somehow depressing landscapes. They weren’t reduced to plastic plates or plastic cutlery, but it wasn’t a cheery room. No one ever lingered. She sometimes wondered if that was deliberate. Get your food down and back to work as soon as possible.

She was finishing her sensible salad and piece of fruit and contemplating a rare free afternoon – Luke and Matthew had been scheduled a self-defence session from which she was, until all her scrapes and bumps healed, happily exempt – when a strange voice said, ‘May we join you?’

She looked up in surprise.

She knew he was a senior officer by his insignia, which was puzzling. The dining room was democratically sit where you like, but senior officers traditionally clustered together in a quiet corner. Far from the madding crowd and herded together for mutual protection, as Luke had once remarked.

There were three of them. A major, a captain and a lieutenant – Lt Grint. Guilt kicked in. Was she sitting at their table? Should she leave? She was uncertain whether to stand up or not. The dining room was supposed to be an informal no-man’s-land where rank need not be formally acknowledged.

They sat down. Without waiting for her permission, she noticed. Not that they needed it, but in that case, why ask? None of them had a plate with them, so they weren’t here to eat. Two sat opposite her with Grint at the end of the table. Not exactly blocking her way out, but making it difficult to squeeze past.

The major spoke. His name badge read Callen. ‘Nice job, Lockland.’