[Iris has been weaving corn dollies out of coloured plastic straws, filched in handfuls from the pub, and she's in the act of hanging them on the tree in the level eight common room when Dillon's message comes through.

If it were anyone else, she'd put it down to simple chance. She grins quietly to herself, hangs up the green-and-pink Sheela-na-Gig dolly and reaches for her comm.]

I'd be surprised if any of us 'ad been under that impression, Dillon my love. Elsa weren't very 'appy but I don't think anyone thought you'd leave 'er by choice.

'Ow'd it go this time?