Typical, thought someone who was neither Dr Walden nor Mark’s Sapphire nor the Saffy who had been, someone who hovered between those three selves and a fourth newly waking. Somehow, despite the surprise, it was the exact thing that she’d expected, the thing that made all the rest make sense. Was a man like Mark Daubery truly sexually inspired by the ardent pursuit of a tired schoolteacher, very nearly forty? Probably not. But was he entertained by the challenge of two-timing a naïve and adoring twentysomething with her line manager’s line manager, when they both lived on the same not-very-large school site: oh, obviously he was.

I always liked younger women—another little joke. What a funny, funny man.

Poor Lilly obviously hasn’t the foggiest, one of the watching selves tried to think. Her own pity rang false in her ears.

Mark looked up from gently, kindly detaching Lilly’s hand from his sleeve, and saw her there. He made a joke—she wasn’t close enough to hear the joke, but she could see the expression on his face, and Lilly’s smiling, shamed reaction. Her other-self’s pity became truer. A nasty man. An arsehole sandwich. Easier not to be hurt if you knew the type. The watching person was not, she thought, hurt. No. It would take a much greater power than a mere mortal magician to hurt her.

“Afternoon, Dr Walden,” said Mark. Lilly had fled back inside, which made the watcher fairly certain that Mark’s comment had been something along the lines of Better fix your face, you look like you just got shagged within an inch of your life. Getting rid of her. Clearing the field. Mark was a person who thought in terms of conflict and power and self-interest. So, a person like herself. “Something I can do for you?”

“Walk with me,” she said, smiling.

They walked the gravel path around Scrubs, past the raised flowerbeds. The young birch tree planted at the back of the building was stark and pale against the backdrop of grey concrete and dark, gapping windows. The memorial plaque had yellow-green lichen growing over the C of Charlie’s name. Some rude child had sat on the grass eating cheese and onion crisps and then not taken their litter away with them. Walden considered the blue crisp packet thoughtfully. It caught fire, and burned for a few seconds with a white flame, before the foil unravelled into ash.

“Bit of an overreaction,” remarked Mark. “Everything all right, Sapphire?” A look of humour, self-abasement, understanding. “We haven’t misunderstood each other, have we? I hope we haven’t.”

“Not at all,” she said. “Do you mind if I ask who, exactly, you work for?”

His eyebrows went up. “Well, the Board of Governors, at the moment—”

She looked at him.

“Nothing interesting, I promise you,” Mark said. “Nothing important.”