I go into breakfast with Ama. GMT refuses to enter the café. Her lips are pursed and I say I’ll get her a bread roll if she likes. Everyone else is already there eating bacon rolls like they haven’t eaten for a week. The boys have two or three on their plates. Jake looks the happiest I’ve seen him, ever. Big Ben’s sitting with Martin Aston and he looks away when he sees me. This makes me sad. I missed running with him this morning and him timing me to a nanosecond.

‘Morning, girls,’ says Le Temps.

I jump. I hadn’t noticed him. I was expecting Season to come out of the kitchen looking like Season, even though she’s become a Carnivore overnight. Maybe when she smiles she’ll have fangs instead of teeth. But I wasn’t expecting Le Temps.

‘Where’s Season?’ I say.

‘Season’s off season today,’ he says, smiling.

I don’t know why he’s smiling from East to West. It isn’t a very good joke.

‘No, she isn’t,’ I say. ‘Her car’s outside. What have you done to her? Have you locked her in the pantry?’

‘Now, now,’ says Le Temps. ‘Save your accusations. She came in early but felt unwell. She had to leap home. She was too ill to drive.’

I don’t believe him. Season loves her car almost as much as Big Ben does. She wouldn’t leave Fiona even if she were vomiting like she was after the party. Ama lowers her eyes at Le Temps but says nothing. Once she realises I’m not going to say anything else, she rises to get her breakfast.

I watch Ama at the serving counter. And, guess who’s on the other side, throwing rashers of bacon onto white bread rolls that have been torn rather than cut in half? Mange-Tout! Why are they here? It’s supposed to be a robot-free zone. Mange-Tout wasn’t on the introductory film. Does Millennia know about this?

I’m hungry but can’t eat a thing. Le Temps has broken the rule. The only time you’re allowed meat in The Beanstalk is on a leap day, and even then you can only transport it through the café to cook outside. You can’t cook and eat it on the premises.

Ama sits down and begins eating her roll bursting with two large rashers, grilled so the fat’s gone all crispy.

‘You have to eat,’ she says, taking a large bite. She pushes a plate in front of me with two white rolls on it. ‘Or you’ll get sick.’