The way the man was looking at her led Martha to believe that he might actually believe her if she told him part of the story. Deep down, she realised she was hungry for it, to not keep all these things bottled up, for all-too-rare conversations with Jack or a gaping group of UNIT techs after a mission.

She was beginning to get the impression that around here, it would seem far less like a ridiculous mad story and might be a valid life narrative.

"It was damn cold," she agreed, "and all we had were these skins, I reckon they'd been tanned or something, but they still stank to high heaven. I'd need far more apple martinis to even try to approach the memory." It was a hint, a fairly bold one for Martha.