‘Jesus,’ Julia says, grimacing and rubbing her Joanne-side ear. ‘Tell me she’s not that loud at breakfast. I’m not a morning person.’

‘What’s an exfoliator?’ Becca wants to know.

‘Skin thing,’ Selena says. Joanne and the rest of them do every single thing the magazines say you have to do to your face and your hair and your cellulite.

‘It sounds like a gardening thing.’

‘It sounds like a weapon of mass destruction,’ Julia says. ‘And they’re the droid exfoliation army, just following orders. We will exfoliate.’

Her Dalek voice is deliberately loud enough that Joanne and the others whip around, but by that time Julia is holding up a forkful of meat and asking Selena if it’s actually supposed to have eyeballs in it, like Joanne has never occurred to her. Joanne’s eyes scan, blank and chilly; then she turns back, with a hair-toss like paparazzi are watching, to poking through her food.

‘We will exfoliate,’ Julia drones, and then instantly in her own voice: ‘Yeah, Hol, I meant to ask, did your mum find those net bags?’ They’re all fighting giggles.

Joanne snaps, ‘Excuse me, did you say something to me?’

‘In my suitcase,’ Holly tells Julia. ‘When I unpack, I’ll— Who, me, you mean?’

‘Whoever. Is there a problem?’

Julia and Holly and Selena look blank. Becca stuffs potato into her mouth, to keep the ball of fear and thrill from exploding out in a laugh.

‘The meatballs suck?’ Julia offers. And laughs, a second late.

Joanne laughs back, and so do the rest of the Daleks, but her eyes stay cold. ‘You’re funny,’ she says.

Julia crinkles up her nose. ‘Awww, thanks. I aim to please.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Joanne says. ‘You keep aiming,’ and goes back to her dinner.

‘We will exfoli—’

This time Joanne almost catches her. Selena comes in just in time – ‘I’ve got extra net bags, if you guys need them’; her whole face is knotted with giggles, but she’s got her back to Joanne and her voice is peaceful and sure, no hint of a laugh. Joanne’s laser stare sweeps over them and around the tables, searching for someone who would have the nerve.

Becca has shovelled her food down too fast: an enormous burp explodes out of her. She turns bright red, but it gives the other three the excuse they’re desperate for: they’re howling with laughter, clutching at each other, faces practically down on the table. ‘My God, you’re totally disgusting,’ Joanne says, lofty lip curling, as she turns away – her gang, well trained, promptly match the turn and the lip-curl. They just make the laughing fit worse. Julia gets meatball down her nose and turns bright red and has to try and blow it noisily into a paper napkin, and the others almost fall out of their seats.

When the laughter finally fades, their own daring sinks in. They’ve always got on fine with Joanne and her gang. Which is a very smart thing to do.