‘Debbie,’ she whispers.
‘So, Debbie. You’re in Harrods, the department store, and some big fucker grabs the kiddie you’re supposed to be lookin’ after. What d’you do?’
‘Scream?’
‘Wrong answer. Milly?’
‘Try and grab it back?’
‘Wrong again. You, what’s your name? I don’t recognise you.’
‘Oxana.’
‘Tell me what you’d do, Oxana.’
‘Attack the kidnapper.’
‘With?’
‘A knife.’
‘You always carry a knife, Oxana?’
‘Whenever possible.’
‘Interesting. Go on.’
‘I would go low. Aim for the femoral artery.’
Sergeant Nobbs nods. ‘I like your thinking. But it’s easy to miss the artery. Personally, I’d go for the groin. A blade in the plums can come as a very nasty surprise. Or better still, the ring-piece. So let’s practise that. Debbie, you go first.’
At lunch, the final-year students eye Oxana with wary respect. Sergeant Nobbs, it turns out, is usually sparing in his praise. ‘He really took to you, though,’ Debbie says.
‘I think he fancied you, Ox,’ Georgie murmurs.
‘I was quite surprised he teaches here,’ Oxana says. ‘I mean, you’re all nice, well brought up girls, and he is quite?—’
‘Coarse?’ Charlotte suggests.
‘Something like that.’
‘Well,’ Charlotte lowers her voice. ‘We all think that he and Honey are, um…’
‘Nobbing,’ Georgie says.
‘Goodness.’ Oxana’s eyes widen.
‘Do you have a boyfriend, Oxana?’ Charlotte asks. ‘If you don’t mind my asking.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Oxana says. ‘And I don’t have one. Do you?’
‘I’m hoping I’ll meet someone when I start work.’
‘How, exactly?’
‘Well…’ Charlotte begins.
‘Oh God.’ Georgie rolls her eyes. ‘Here we go.’