As usual, Smith was immaculately turned out. Jane was very conscious of her sweaty face, straggly hair and pit stains.

‘Yes,’ continued Smith, ‘I’ve brought some magazines for you. I thought we could look through them together and perhaps choose you a new hairstyle. It’ll be fun. I mean, your plait is fine, please don’t get me wrong. I loved mine when I wore my hair that way three years ago, but I think it would suit you so much better to wear it short.’

She thrust a pile of women’s magazines at Jane.

Lacking the social courage to club her to death with them, Jane took them automatically, realised her tactical error, and opened her mouth to say she didn’t want them but thank you very much anyway, but it was too late. Smith was already swinging her way down the corridor, calling a greeting to someone she knew and stepping into the lift.

Jane found herself alone and clutching half a dozen glossy magazines. Her first instinct was to hurl them into an incineration chute – there was one just over there – but that might be considered impolite. This might be a genuine offer to bond. How hurt Smith would be to find her offer of friendship so rudely rejected. So she took them back to her room and shoved them under the bed. She showered, did her hair in the defiant plait she was now determined to wear until the end of time and went for another solitary lunch.

The following days didn’t get any better.

Jane found it hard to believe a situation could go so downhill so quickly. She was conscious of the oddest sensation that, try as she might, she could never quite catch up. That every moment, her team was getting further and further away from her. That they were becoming the team they should have been, only she was no longer a part of it.

Far from all of them eating together, it seemed that no matter how early she arrived in the dining room, the three of them were always just leaving the table.

On several occasions, the briefing start times that flashed to her scratchpad turned out to be incorrect, and the other three would be there before her, all sitting together. She would quietly slot herself in behind them, hoping no one had noticed. What made things so much worse was Smith’s supposed sympathy.

‘Never mind, Jane. We all oversleep occasionally and you do look tired. I tried to cover for you and I don’t think anyone noticed you were late. I’ll let you have copies of my notes if you like.’

Jane started to say, ‘But you sent me the wrong—’ when the briefing officer looked over and said, ‘Something to say, Lockland?’