After a moment’s surprise, Matthew nodded and the three of them wandered along to the bar.

Given the Time Police love affair with utilitarianism, it was surprisingly welcoming. The colour scheme was uninspired, but the chairs grouped around low tables all matched and were comfortable. And well used. The Time Police were a twenty-four-hour organisation, therefore it was always drinking time for one shift or another. The bar was quite full that evening because of a savage rainstorm happening outside. No one was going out there without a boat.

‘Right, I’ll get these in,’ said Luke. ‘Matthew, you give me a hand and Jane, you can find a table.’

They stared at him.

He sighed. ‘OK – you get the drinks and I’ll find the table. Mine’s a pint.’

He wandered off to a small table in the corner, arriving microseconds before one of the clean-up teams who had obviously marked it out as their own. They glowered. He beamed. Matthew and Jane arrived with the drinks, thus confirming ownership and the clean-up team retired, muttering and defeated.

Jane sighed. More friends made.

‘What does it matter?’ said Luke, taking his pint. ‘Everyone hates us anyway. We can waste our time trying to persuade people to like us and failing miserably, or we can enjoy ourselves by living down to people’s expectations and confirming their worst fears. Think how happy that will make them. In fact, I firmly believe it’s our duty to make our senior officers’ lives as happy as we possibly can. Cheers.’

They drank.

‘A novel approach to gaining acceptance in our place of employment,’ said Jane.

Matthew nodded. ‘My mum always says something similar.’

‘Yes,’ said Luke, ‘but your mum’s from St Mary’s and they’re even weirder than you.’

Matthew opened his mouth, found himself unable to disagree and nodded.

‘Have you been back again recently?’ asked Jane.

He grinned suddenly. ‘Not since I got my hair cut there.’

Luke put down his drink. ‘You what?’

‘I go back to get my hair cut. R&D do it.’

‘You’re kidding me,’ said Luke.

‘No, it’s true,’ said Jane. ‘I went with him.’

‘What was it like? St Mary’s, I mean – not his haircut. The less said about Matthew’s hair the better.’

‘It was very nice,’ said Jane loyally. ‘There was a chicken and lots of water and that man nearly drowned and people shouted and they made me drink tea, but it was very nice all the same. And Matthew had his hair cut.’

‘With a hand-axe, presumably,’ said Luke, unconsciously patting his own immaculately presented but only very borderline regulation hairstyle.

‘Ignore him. I think it looks very nice,’ said Jane to Matthew.

‘And it must really get on their nerves here,’ said Luke.

Matthew grinned. ‘Yeah. So much more subtle than getting yourself put on report twice a week.’

‘Perhaps, but not so much fun.’