‘Come here, Max.’ He put his arm around her and Van Owen. Now he was just a concerned family man trying to get his family off the streets. Luke did the same with Jane and they fought their way along as best they could, compromising the need for speed with not seriously upsetting the volatile mob on the way. Jane could feel the sweat sticking her clothes to her back as the uncaring sun shone brilliantly on a dark day.

Eventually, they turned into what Jane now thought of as their own alleyway, which was still deserted. As Luke put it, why would anyone hang around in this damp and smelly place when it was all obviously happening somewhere else? Then it was just a case of up the wooden steps. Leaving Luke and Markham to secure and wedge the outer door behind them, Jane led them back into the garden and, finally, with a huge sigh of relief, to the safety of the pod. They were home. They were safe. One set of problems safely disposed of – on to the next.

The six of them sat around the open pod doorway because the afternoon was still fine and sunny.

Any optimistic thoughts Luke might have had concerning the possibility that recent events might, just might, have distracted Matthew’s mother’s thoughts from her son’s shooting were immediately dispelled.

She smiled at him and he really wished she hadn’t. ‘So – it was you who shot Matthew, was it?’

‘It was his idea,’ said Luke, feebly.

‘It was my fault,’ said Jane.

‘Really,’ Max said to Luke. ‘That’s how you get through life? Either blaming other people or letting other people take the blame for you?’

This unexpectedly accurate assessment of Luke’s life to this point reduced him to silence. Not that he would have been able to get a word in edgeways anyway.

‘You shot Matthew. Why? Tell me. What’s this all about? What did you do? Is he all right? Do I have to go back to TPHQ and sort you all out? Again? Answer me.’

Peterson put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Now, Max, we’ve talked about this. You have to let the other person speak occasionally. Remember?’

‘Of course I do. And if you were listening, you’d know I’ve just invited this . . . person . . . to attempt to justify his actions before I strangle him with his own colon.’

Luke, searching for even the slightest hint that she was joking, failed. Failed utterly.

‘Well,’ he began, confident she would interrupt him before he could get more than three words out, which would give him the time he needed to think of an acceptable story.

Silence settled around him like a damp blanket.

‘Well,’ he began again.

Another damp blanket enveloped him.