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imagine I can hear children playing.
    When Mac comes back he is carrying a clipboard.
    ‘You’re in the Old Barn,’ he says. ‘Not the grandeur of the main house, I’m afraid, but it’s quiet, at least.’
    ‘OK,’ I say, because I can’t think of anything else. ‘Thanks.’
    As we continue down the gravel path, past the stables and towards the second roundabout, the school-canteen smell becomes stronger, as does the sound of children playing. I frown, trying to pick out distinct sounds. There are definitely children here. This is playground noise: I would recognise it anywhere.
    ‘Kid Lab,’ Mac says.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Kid Lab. That’s what you can hear. We’ve got about fifty children on site at the moment. Focus groups, observation, research. Ideal location for it, isn’t it? You’ll probably get to meet some ofthe kids very soon. What you can hear might be some of them working with the Games Team, who, as you may know, are now based here on Dartmoor all the time.’
    I didn’t know that. I thought the gamers were all in Berkshire.
    ‘Videogames?’ I say, uncertainly.
    Mac laughs. ‘No, no. Real-time, live-action team games. Football, hockey, cricket, paintball. Only we’re inventing a new game, of course. We have a Sports Hall, and a games pitch right here on site, just around that corner.’ He points off to the right.
    I wonder what he means by ‘we’. We’re inventing a new game . Is this just ‘we’ as in PopCo, or does Mac actually get involved in this himself? I have heard that this is his country retreat, paid for by the company. Does he hang around here at weekends, tinkering with these outdoorsy, wholesome projects? Is he a team-game type of guy? I bet he plays cricket, actually. I imagine him as a fast bowler who gets his wickets with well-timed slower balls.
    ‘This is an amazing place,’ I say. It is, too, even if I am trying to be polite.
    ‘You haven’t seen half of it yet. Used to be a boarding school, although you guessed that, right?’
    No, but then I’m too tired. I say nothing.
    Alone again, now Mac has gone. I am in what appears to be a dormitory in a converted barn. There are four beds in the room, each one screened off with these unstable-looking blue things on legs. I pick the bed on the far side of the room, next to the window, and put my case on it slightly tentatively. The idea of sleeping in the same place as other people does not appeal to me and I am irrationally hoping that no one else comes to share this room. The floorboards under my feet are dark and polished. Each bed has a cabinet next to it, as if this were a hospital, although each one is different. Mine has a small lamp on the top of it, three drawers and an open compartment at the top. It is made from dark wood like the floor. I sit on the bed and the blue screen adds to the hospital effect, leaving me with the feeling that I am about to be examined. I badly want to sleep now but I am not sure enough of my surroundings to allow any form of unconsciousness.
    The water in my flask isn’t completely hot any more but I use it to make some chamomile tea anyway. Then I roll up a cigarettewhich I smoke out of the window while drinking the tea. The emergency chocolate doesn’t seem necessary any more; neither does running around celebrating. It’s hard to know exactly what to do next. I don’t want to leave this room in case I meet Mac again. What would I say to him? We’ve surely already had the only conversation we could ever have. Now I imagine him driving off in an SUV to get milk for his wife, vaguely laughing at this geeky girl he just met, a tiny atom in a tiny molecule of whatever metaphor you may like to use for this corporation. (A virus? A lump of green goo they sell in toyshops? A hive of industrious insects?) My brain keeps running this jerky film of Mac: planning his after-lunch speech, thinking dismissive thoughts about his underlings, thinking about playing cricket with members of the PopCo