“You do?” Ted turned, as if to go. “That’s good. You’ll need it. Because I was wondering what percentage of the population of Edinburgh you were thinking of lodging in this establishment. And for how long.”

“What?”

“You’ve got people streaming in. I don’t see too many streaming out.” He studied her. “You haven’t been trained for this, have you?”

Her mouth turned to a thin line. She was near the edge, he realized. She was just the manager of a small provincial theatre, a place that was a one-line backup on some local authority contingency plan that had never been expected to come to pass. And now, this. And everybody stretched thin, nobody around to help. Except an old arse like me.

Tact, Ted. Never your strong suit.

“Mr Dundas, I’m in charge here.”

“I know you are.” He held up his hands. “But I can see you don’t have what you need. No training. No emergency box. No call-out list. It’s all just been dumped on you.”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it has.”

He nodded. “You don’t need to keep everybody here, to begin with. Billet them. Find volunteers here, with their cars, waiting to take people away, to put them up in their homes. It just takes a little organization. Maybe I could help with that.”

“But the registration—”

“You can register them going out as easy as coming in. Maybe there will be some who won’t have to pass through the centre, physically, at all.”

“We won’t have enough volunteers. Hosts.”

“Get some more.” He pointed to her mobile phone. “Use that. Find a ham radio operator. Start tapping into the communication networks that already exist. Are there media people here?”

“Media?”

The telly. They are going to be here, and in your face. Use them. Find somebody to be a media spokesman.”

“Spokesperson.”

“Whatever… If a local radio station is still operating—”

The manager frowned, then scribbled a note.

He ought to speak to whatever copper was in charge here, probably a bronze-level commander. The sooner they could be persuaded to let the mobile and self-reliant pass on and out of here under their own steam, the better.

“What about resources?” Ted asked now.

“We have the social services and the volunteer agencies—”

“You never have enough blankets and warm clothing,” he said sharply. “Start an appeal. The local people. The ambulance service, the RAF… How about food?”

“Well, we have a canteen in the theatre. And I’ve been on to the school meals adviser for the town.”

“Good. What about cutlery? Paper plates? What about special needs? Vegetarians. People with medical requirements. Ethnic diets. Whatever.”

She said nothing.

“You know you have some unattached kids here, don’t you?” he said. “They may be orphans, I suppose. Even they don’t know yet…”

She was looking at him, her eyes wide.