‘Same,’ Becca says, tossing a ball into the bag. ‘My mum’s home. Although she’d actually probably be delighted if I put on an entire makeup counter and a miniskirt and went.’

‘Make her day,’ Julia says. ‘Come home drunk, E’d up and pregnant.’

‘I’m saving those for her birthday.’

‘Lenie?’

‘I’m at my dad’s.’

‘Well, fuck,’ Julia says. ‘Finn Carroll owes me that tenner, and I need it. My earbuds are going.’

‘I’ll sub you,’ Holly says, spiking the last ball at the bag and missing. ‘It’s not like I’m going to get any shopping in this weekend anyway.’

‘I want to rub it in, though. That smug bastard.’ Julia has just noticed how much she’s looking forward to seeing Finn.

‘He’ll be at the debating next week.’

For a second Julia considers going to the social on her own, but no. ‘I know, yeah. I’ll catch him then.’

They give the courts one more scan, and head off. ‘Water,’ Julia says, as they pass the tap by the gate, and peels off from the other three. Up ahead, Ms Waldron calls, ‘Chop-chop, girls! Hup, two, three, four, march!’ The others drift on, Becca spinning in circles swinging the bag of volleyballs, leaving Julia to catch up.

She drinks out of her hand, splashes her face and her neck. The water is underground-cold and gives her a quick, pleasurable shiver. A stream of geese pour overhead, honking, and Julia squints up to see them against the clouds.

She’s turning away from the tap when the Daleks march up. Joanne stops right in front of Julia, folds her arms and stares. The other three fan out and stop one step behind Joanne, fold their arms and stare.

They’re blocking Julia in. None of them say anything.

Julia says, ‘Are we doing something? Or is this it?’

Joanne’s lip curls – Julia figures she thinks it makes her look superior, but if she did it in front of a mirror just once, she’d never do it again. She says, ‘Don’t show off.’

Julia says, ‘Bored already.’

Joanne’s pale flat stare gets paler and flatter. Julia remembers – amused, like it was a different person, some small silly cousin – how a few months ago that stare would have had her zinging adrenaline.

Joanne says, ominously, ‘We want to talk to you.’

‘They talk?’ Julia enquires, nodding at the rest of them. ‘I thought they were your robot bodyguards.’

Orla does an outraged noise, and Gemma throws Joanne a slantwise look. Joanne’s face is pinching up. She says, tight as spitting, ‘You tell that fat slut Selena to stay away from Chris Harper.’

Which is not what Julia was expecting. ‘Loser say what?’

‘Don’t act innocent. We know all about it.’ Nods from the robots.