Enid got out of her chair. The library was back along the same corridor, past shrieks and chatter and masters saying “Quiet.” Through the hall, and along another passage. Miss Barnes left her at the door.

It was more of a room with books. Not a library; not something head-to-toe in spines, with ladders and deep armchairs and pipes. Fagus sat at a table. His legs were too long to swing now. His toes were tucked under; he held the table edge, he sniffed the air like a dog.

“Fagus.” Her voice came out wrong, like an arrow fired when her arm wasn’t ready.

“Mummy?”

She couldn’t move.

“They said you were coming.”

He was grown so big; she’d missed it all over again. He was a youth in uniform, whose body had taken over. It strained at the seams of his blazer, his shorts drew up from his knees, his socks fell down.

She wiped her nose and went over to him. She drew up a chair beside him. “I’ve come to see you.”

“I knew you would.” He smiled.

She took his hands in hers. “Do they treat you well here?”

“Oh yes, frightfully well.”

“And you’ve a comfortable bed?” Why had she asked that? What difference did it make?

“Oh yes. We sing songs.”

“In bed?” He needed a haircut. His fringe fell almost to his eyes.

“In the dorm. At night. Mary sits with me.”

“Mary?”

“She’s one of the housemaids. She’s frightfully nice. She puts me to bed.”

She thought he’d been talking about Mary at Cherry Trees. “Why does she put you to bed?”

“None of the others are blind, Mamma—”

He hadn’t called her that since he was little.

“Only me and Mary takes care of me.”

She let go of him. She’d never heard him say blind, either.

“Miss Barnes says you’ll take me for luncheon. Mondays is left overs, so I’m glad. Mary says there’s a place the other boys go with their parents. What’ll you have? I’d like chops and rice pudding. Can I have that?”

The taxicab was still waiting outside. She’d forgotten. “Hang on a minute, Fagus, my driver, I just have to—”

She ran outside. She could get in and tell him to head for the station. She could. What good had she ever done? She could drive away. Fagus would remember it as some strange interlude in his half-lit life, someone would explain it to him as another erratic move from his strange, half-crazed mother. She leaned in at the driver’s window. “Do you know a place for lunch? Near here? The other boys go there.”

“The Grenadiers.”

“Can you wait?”

She ran back inside. Fagus hadn’t moved.

“Jolly good. Shall we go? Where shall I find your coat?”

“I think Mary left it over there.” He pointed toward another chair.