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her home rather than in it. Sometimes she feels like she only exists if other people’s attentions are on her. When she returns a minute later, heels and a silver necklace have been added to her outfit. Stood at the glass, it’s as though she’s struck with wonder by the web of people who populate the city sprawl, but as she fixes the necklace against her chest, pulls down the dress a little on one side and flicks back her neck length hair, it’s apparent that she’s only looking at her own reflection. Turning now, she bunches a scarf and handbag under her arm, stops at the door, looks in another mirror and sprays a mist of perfume to walk through as she exits the apartment. The music continues to play and the lights remain on when she’s gone, but as they’re set to do, turn off after five minutes of her absence.
    Ava is on her way to meet Doctor Alistair Evans.
    When she left the conference room earlier that day you might have set a timer to count down. She had a mission in mind, and her article on the riot, satisfied as she was to get her way, became something to be dealt with rather than indulged. What she wanted was to track down the intern who had brought the doctor’s story to Barry Danger, so once her piece was typed up she went about her business of compiling a list of those currently employed. Finding the one who helped Barry had been as easy as finding a soup stain on the boorish man’s suit. She’d first divided the interns into two categories, the few names she knew and the many she didn’t, then on learning them, the many Barry would like to sleep with and the few he wouldn’t. Of nine interns, five were female, and of those, three were overweight. Between the remaining suspects, one was well out of Barry’s league and, so far as Ava could tell, completely unaware of the English mug’s existence. The other was pretty enough to get his attention and just timid enough for him to feel like he might have a chance. Once she found the girl’s name she decided to talk to her privately. Email is a medium for cutting ties rather than creating them. Conversation, where buttons are revealed in expression, tone and body language, was the mode Ava chose. And besides, Agent Mullen was about. Even though he seemed set on avoiding her for the rest of the afternoon, he was stuck in the corner of her vision like an eyelash she couldn’t rub away. When she found the girl she decided she had to talk to her somewhere out of the social agent’s sight. With that, she leaned back to get an angle on the intern’s desk and staked it out until she saw her heading for the bathroom. Like the kickback from a sniper rifle, Ava’s chair was left spinning as she chased the girl into the stalls.
    ‘Nice shoes, Susan.’
    The intern Susan Ward had stood a heartbeat, surprised that the glamorous assistant editor was not just talking to her, but giving her a compliment too. Ava noticed the girl’s suppressed giddiness and realised she had a better shot at getting into her pants than Barry did.
    ‘These things? They were on sale,’ she said, and not wanting the talk with Ava to end at that, added, ‘I love your blouse.’
    Lipstick uncapped to spread across her mouth, Ava allowed a silence for the girl to fill.
    ‘Your articles got me through college.’ Her voice bounced off the bathroom walls as she routed nervously through her handbag. ‘I was such a tomboy before I found your stuff.’
    Turning to review Susan, Ava noted the skirt the intern was wearing – past her knees but a long way short of her ankles – the frumpy cardigan, faux pearl necklace and finally, the thinly framed glasses that made her face seem rounder than it was. And that hair. Was that supposed to be red? She decided not to take it as a fault of her writing, but as the girls inability to learn, that she was dressed so badly.
    ‘Please Susan, you’ll make me feel old. Next thing you know I’ll be puffing on an e-smoke all day and screaming that I