‘That can wait!’ Mrs SB yells. ‘Lucas! Barty and I are racing to the airport to stop you. You can’t leave, Lucas, you mustn’t. If I could offer you a pay rise, I would, or some job security of longer than two weeks, frankly, but – please! It’s not over yet!’ ‘You’re racing to the airport?’ I repeat, checking the time on the dashboard. ‘My flight departed forty minutes ago.’ ‘What? Did it? Barty!’ ‘It’s the time difference!’ Barty protests in the background. ‘It’s very confusing!’
