I sat down. The grass was soft, springy. The air under the trees smelled richer, seething with spores and pollen.

‘What are you doing still here?’ Gemma wanted to know. ‘Are you staying here tonight?’

‘Um, duh, exactly where would he stay?’ Joanne, rolling her eyes.

‘Gems wants him to share with her.’ Orla, giggling hard.

‘Hello? Was I asking you?’ No being a bitch around here without Joanne’s say-so. ‘It’s not like he could share with you, anyway. He’d have to be like a midget to fit in with your massive fat thighs.’

Orla cringed. Joanne laughed: ‘OhmyGod, you should see your face! Chill out, it was a joke, ever heard of them?’ Orla cringed smaller.

Gemma ignoring them, eyeing me, corner of smile. ‘He could share with Sister Cornelius. Make her night.’

‘She’d bite it off him. Offer it up to the Child of Prague.’

Three feet deeper into the trees, we would’ve been in darkness. Here in the borderlands the light was mixed and moving, edges of moonlight, overspill from the lawn floodlights. It did things to their faces. That throwaway cheapness that had turned my stomach earlier, all artificial colourings and flavourings: it didn’t look throwaway now, not out here. It looked harder, chilled to something solid and waxy. Mysterious.

I said, ‘We’ll be heading soon. Just finishing up a few things.’

‘It talks.’ Gemma, smiling wider. ‘I thought you were giving us the silent treatment.’

Joanne said, ‘You don’t look like you’re finishing anything up.’

‘Taking a break.’

She smirked like she knew better. ‘Did you get in trouble with Detective Bitchface?’

To them I wasn’t a detective any more, big bad authority. I was something else: something to play with, play for, dance for. Strange thing dropped into their midst out of the sky, who knew what it might do, what it might mean. They were circling me.

I said, ‘Not that I know of.’

‘OhmyGod, her attitude? It’s like, hello, just because you managed to save up for one suit that isn’t from Penney’s, it doesn’t actually make you queen of the world?’

Gemma said, ‘Do you have to work with her all the time? Or sometimes, if you’re good, do they let you work with someone who doesn’t eat live hamsters for fun?’

All of them laughing, beckoning me or daring me to laugh back. I heard the small dull thud of Conway closing the door in my face. Watched those three faces dancing, every spark of it all for me.

I laughed. I said, ‘Jesus, have a heart. She’s not my partner. I’m only working with her for the day.’

Pretend collapses from relief, all of them fanning themselves: ‘Phew! OhmyGod, we were wondering how you survived, like if you were on Prozac . . .’