‘Okay, make a list and give it to Malcolm and Konrad. I’ll be going back soon anyway. I need to make sure we didn’t cause a catastrophe with last night’s debacle.’

‘It was a good night.’

‘It was a foolish thing to do. We cannot, under any circumstances, do that again.’

‘Roger . . . sir . . .’ she says with a twitch of a smile. ‘I thought you were glad we were here?’

‘Pardon?’ he asks, blushing slightly.

‘So glad, so so glad, really rather glad,’ she says, looking at the spot over his head again.

‘Very funny. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, sir. Thank you, sir. Am I dismissed, sir?’

He waves his arms. A monster created and now standing in front of his desk.

‘Can we go outside?’ she asks, dropping back into a normal tone.

‘Yes,’ he sighs, his head still aching from being drunk and wishing she would bugger off now.

‘I thought you said about bacteria or something.’

‘We researched it. Malcolm or Konrad will show you but there’s a decontamination air-spraying thingy by the back door.’

‘Technical,’ she mutters.

‘I am not a technician. Malcolm and Konrad do those things.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I get money to pay for all this. Now, was there anything else?’

‘Er . . .’ she muses, pulling a face. ‘Not for now.’ She nods, turns smartly and marches through the door to catch sight of Malcolm and Konrad trying to scarper down the corridor.

‘You two,’ she barks, bringing them to a stop as Roland winces in his office at her brutal tone. ‘We need kit. Got paper and a pen?’

‘Paper?’ Malcolm asks ever so politely.

‘For a list,’ she says as though just this minor delay is causing her untold frustration that may manifest in extreme violence at any second. The two men literally quake in their boots, both of them shuffling and looking round nervously.

‘Got a tablet,’ Malcolm says, pulling a device from one of the many pockets in his cargo trousers. He slides a stylus from the side and activates the screen with a look of focused concentration. ‘So, er . . . what can I get for you? Oh . . .’ he says when she deftly plucks the tablet and stylus from his fingers and starts scribbling on the screen.

‘You’ve got our sizes, right?’ she barks at the two workmen.

‘Sizes, Miss Safa?’ Konrad asks.

She looks up slowly. ‘Feet,’ she says, pronouncing the word clearly.

‘Oh, shoe sizes, yes, we have those, and clothes sizes and . . .’

‘Who washed and changed me?’ she asks casually.

‘Pardon?’ Malcolm asks as the blood drains from his face.

‘Who washed and changed me?’ she asks again. ‘Because if I find out a man washed and changed me while I was drugged I will kill that man.’ Malcolm doesn’t reply but stands mute and terrified while Konrad shuffles back a few steps. ‘Did a man change me, Malcolm?’

‘No, Miss Patel,’ Malcolm whimpers.