‘He’s very popular,’ observed Jane.
‘He’s very ugly,’ observed Luke.
‘No, he’s not,’ trilled Bolshy Jane.
‘You – behave,’ said Jane.
‘What?’ said Luke.
‘Nothing.’
The crowd forced the horses to a slow walk but even so, they caught only the very briefest glimpse of the king. A wave, a smile, a flutter of the royal handkerchief and then he was past them.
Jane turned to Luke, her eyes sparkling. ‘We saw the king.’
‘And the king saw us,’ said Luke, smiling down at her.
‘I didn’t see him,’ said Imogen, sourly.
‘That’s because you’re not important,’ said Luke. ‘Get used to it. You’ll be even less important where you’re going.’
She tried to kick him. ‘You are so dead, Parrish.’
‘Just get in the fire-trucking pod, Imogen, before you do any more damage.’
Imogen stormed past him into the pod. A difficult task with her hands still zipped but Jane had to admit she managed it magnificently.
Unfortunately, with the better light, the full extent of her injuries became apparent.
Her fine blue dress had been ripped from the shoulder nearly to her waist. She was barely decent. Her skirts were torn around the hem and stained a dubious yellowish brown around her knees. She was soaking wet and there was more than a faint smell of the midden about her. On top of everything, she had a cut lip and a bloody nose.
‘Same as she gave you,’ said Matthew to Luke.
Luke cut her free. Imogen folded her arms tightly around herself and sniffed.
Matthew stirred, whispering, ‘Jane, I think this might be one for you.’
‘No,’ said Luke, quietly. ‘I think this one’s for me.’ He took off his cloak and carefully wrapped it around Imogen.
‘Um, we’ll wait outside if you like,’ said Jane, and she and Matthew shuffled out. The door closed quietly behind them and Luke and Imogen were alone. With this barrier between her and the outside world, Imogen seemed to relax slightly.
‘Would you like some coffee, Immy?’
‘Oh, yes. Please.’
She hunched over the hot drink, warming her hands. Luke frowned at the black and blue contusions on her arms and face and busied himself with the medkit, laying out wipes and sterile dressings, seemingly paying her no attention as she sipped at her drink.
‘Now then,’ he said when it was ready. ‘I’m not sure how best to do this. Can you manage for yourself and I wait outside, whistling, or do you need a bit of a hand?’
Her face quivered. ‘It hurts, Luke.’
‘Yes, I expect it does.’
Silence.
‘What can I do?’ she said suddenly, the words tumbling over each other. ‘I can’t go back. Not like this. And Eric . . . what will he say? And Mummy will probably put me in a nunnery.’
He crouched beside her. ‘Convent.’
‘What?’
‘I think it’s a convent – not a nunnery.’
‘Shut up, Parrish.’
‘Shutting up now.’
She sniffed again. ‘What’s going to happen to me, Luke? My life is over. Everything’s ruined.’
‘Well – and I hardly know how to break this to you, Immy – but you’re not the centre of the universe and not everything is ruined. Now, I can see that’s come as a shock to you, so I’ll just give you a moment, shall I?’
‘Idiot.’
‘Ah. Good. Back to normal. There’s a small fire axe by the door should you feel the need to reinforce the point.’
She managed a weak smile. ‘I can hardly even stand up by myself.’
He tried again. ‘If you don’t want me to patch you up then I can call Jane back again.’
Silence.
‘Immy, if you won’t talk to me then I’ll just have to call you Immy again.’
She shook her head, her hair obscuring her face.
He shifted his weight to ease his legs. ‘Immy, you and I fight like cat and dog. This makes us old friends. Let me help you.’
She made a slight sound and clutched herself even more tightly.
‘Look, I probably shouldn’t say this – in fact I know I shouldn’t say it – but perhaps you don’t have to go to prison. When we get back to HQ, tell them everything. Every single little scrap of info you can remember. If you do that – and given who your mother is – you may not go to prison. But you mustn’t hold anything back. Cooperate – do everything you can to assist with our enquiries and perhaps . . . well, perhaps you might just get away with it.’
Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I do,’ said Luke, unthinkingly. ‘Just tell them everything they want to know. Oh – and don’t hit anyone. Otherwise, you should be fine.’
Imogen nodded. ‘I will. I don’t want to go to prison, Luke.’
‘You won’t. Now, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Jane to help you? It’s all right if you do. I can get her back here in a minute.’
A bloodstained hand gripped his arm. ‘No. Don’t leave me.’
‘OK, then – not Jane – although between you and me she’s not that scary.’ He appeared to stop and think. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, she’s got a powerful right knee and doesn’t hesitate to use it. It was hours before I could walk properly again. You’d have loved it.’
Encouraged by Imogen’s silence, he continued. ‘And she emptied a fire extinguisher over half a dozen officers once. And, now I come to think of it, she was once arrested for murder, so you may be right – you’re probably better off with me. Who’d have thought, eh?’
Still no reaction.
‘It’s a good five minutes now since you’ve told me I’m an idiot or tried to hit me and I’m becoming concerned about you.’
‘Luke . . .’ A tear rolled down her dirty face and she turned her head away again. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t even look at you.’
He sighed. ‘I get that a lot from my ex-girlfriends. I’ll go and get Jane. Don’t be fooled by her mild-mannered exterior – she’s the Tasmanian she-devil of the Time Police but you’ll be fine as long as you don’t make eye contact. Finish your coffee – I’ll be back in a minute.’