The flower in a tiny pot on Babs’ desk has huge petals the same colour as her hair and delicate purple tendrils reaching down along the stem. Babs is absently stroking one of the leaves as she reads something on her computer screen, and Dinah has never seen anything like it before. “Where’d you get that?” Dinah asks.

Babs jerks her hand away from the plant. She looks guilty for a moment, caught out, and then her expression flattens into something blank.

“It was a gift,” is all she says, and Dinah doesn’t ask further.