Firework resuscitation is exactly the kind of business you think it is, which is why Caroline has nine fingers and no eyes.

“I can just buy some new ones,” says Jodi, whose inability to make eye contact has her extra-nervous.

“And leave unexploded ordnance lying around? Not on my watch,” chuckles Caroline. Her hands probe the Flamingo Fountain as if it’s a sore appendix. “Scalpel. Fuse.”

Jodie passes them (the former, carefully, handle-first). “But don’t you always expect to get a few duds?”

“Nothing’s a dud,” says Caroline, “to a hacker,” and lights a match on the stub of her thumb.