‘The Triple M would suit you. But the Double M would reward you.’

‘The Double M?’

‘My boss, Millennia. Known in our circle as MM. The mastermind. She gives the orders. You could go to school in the week and have a weekend job here.’

‘In 2048?’

‘No. In 2100. I’ve established a business in the future.’

‘2100?’ I narrow my eyes.

‘Seriously, Elle. I see your talent. Come and work for me.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I make more money than you could ever imagine. You wouldn’t have to live in a pokey little flat. You could live in a mansion, have your own training facilities.’ He’s still tapping his phone. I look around the office, at the whiteboard covered in letters and dates.

‘Have you been to our flat?’

‘No. But I can imagine it.’ He gives me the bull’s-eye. I look away. ‘What do you say?’

‘What’s the job?’

‘Assisting my undertaking?’

‘Funerals?’ I don’t want to work with dead bodies. They would rot and smell and make me sick.

‘Not exactly. Freudian slip. Shall we say, I supply the demand.’

‘For what?’

‘Meat.’ He gets up from his chair and turns on the computer. It makes a whirring sound as the screen lights up. ‘Since the Rations, I’ve made millions.’

‘You’re a smuggler?’

‘No, no. My Old Leapers do all that. They can leap. I can’t. They luggaged me to set it all up but now I leave it to the ancients and the robots.’

‘That’s an Anachronism and it’s illegal and you should all go to prison.’

‘It’s a bit naughty, yes. But people will always eat meat. Mange-Tout coined the slogan MAN=BEAST. The Vegetables still quote it. Equal rights for animals and people, they say.’

‘That’s not true. MAN=BEAST doesn’t mean PEOPLE, it doesn’t mean men. It just means one man. You. You’re an animal!’ I take a slow step back towards the door.

‘No, Elle. It’s not about me. The slogan’s a bit old, I give you that. But it gave me the idea. MAN=BEAST. What about a man-beast hybrid? Meat was rotting in transit, the animals’ bodies couldn’t withstand the leap. We needed a magic ingredient to preserve it. I thought human DNA . . .’

‘People! You eat people! You’re a . . . a . . . cannibal!’ This is worse than I imagined. It’s not like Le Temps is stuck on a desert island with no other food to eat, and even then he should cut off his own leg and eat himself first before thinking of eating another human.