Amy spins round. She crashes out of the room, across the hall, up to the top of the stairs. She hears Dad walk out of the kitchen to the living-room door.
“Any luck?”
“None, Dr Grant.” Mary’s voice comes grim and sad. “Amy won’t budge an inch.”
“Didn’t think she would.”
There is a rustling.
“This is for their livery, Mary. Thank you . . .”
Dad’s voice breaks.
“They’re all yours now. Take them away.”