‘Somebody going to take an interest in me?’ Achilleus butted in. ‘I didn’t come over here to fix your computers.’ He pointed to his bandaged head. ‘See this? It’s a clue.’

‘You want to compare wounds?’ asked Brooke. ‘See whose is the grossest?’

‘I’ll beat you, no contest, girl.’

‘You reckon.’

‘I reckon.’

‘OK,’ said Brooke. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

Achilleus laughed.

‘Deal.’

They each began to unwrap their bandages, the girl in the headscarf hovering nervously.

‘Oh my God,’ she said when she caught sight of Achilleus’ ear. She had gone bone-white and her lower jaw had dropped about a metre. ‘You look like Frankenstein.’

‘Cheers.’

‘That is the worst stitching job I have ever seen.’

‘It was that or lose my ear,’ said Achilleus.

‘Did they even sew it back on the right way up?’

‘Don’t think you’re going to get in there and try to make any improvements,’ said Achilleus. ‘Cos you ain’t. What’s done is done. If it gets infected, I’ll need some of your pills. For now just keep it clean.’

Brooke had finished removing her own bandage, and when the girl saw what was underneath she was, if anything, even more freaked out. She put her hand to her mouth and couldn’t say anything.

Achilleus took a look for himself and had to admit it was pretty rank. A ragged purple scab ran right across the girl’s forehead. The skin around it was puffy and swollen and pulled out of shape. She’d been patched up like him. But none of the kids at Buckingham Palace had exactly been surgeons. Brooke would always carry a nasty scar there. She implied she’d been hot before. Hard to tell, the state she was in. She sure wasn’t going to be hot any more.

And she knew it.

‘Oh, Samira …’ she said to the girl in the headscarf, and could say no more; her mouth quivered and she began to cry. Samira held her, waiting for her to stop.

Achilleus didn’t have anything to contribute. He stood there awkwardly and nodded at the big guy with the wounded arm.

‘You’re back.’ A kid with bad teeth and bad hair had come into the room. He was wearing a dirty lab coat and he looked at Brooke, Achilleus and the big guy as if they were specimens in a jar. He inspected Achilleus’s ear, showing no reaction other than mild curiosity. He was the same with Brooke’s ruined forehead.

‘I heard about DogNut,’ he said to Brooke when he was done. ‘I’m sorry about that. He was no scientist, but I did quite like him.’ He tilted his head to one side and gave Achilleus a proper once-over, noting his unimpressed manner, the pattern razor-cut into his stubbly hair, his scars and injuries.

And then he tutted.