‘I’ll still be a student really. Though I don’t know what we get in the way of time off yet.’

Angus had gained a place at the Vittoria Street school to learn jewellery-making and silversmithing.

‘I thought when you said you wanted to make things, it would be cars or furniture or something?’

‘There’s a lot of design involved in those, of course. And it’d certainly be a challenge. But when I saw the sort of work you can do in the Jewellery Quarter I knew I should like that much better. I’d like to make things that are beautiful as well as useful.’

‘You’re lucky.’ I sighed. ‘I wish I was good with my hands. Olivia’s clever at the piano and there’s you . . . Granny says William and I are doomed to be ham-fisted for life, and I’m afraid she’s right.’

Angus laughed. ‘Yes, I wouldn’t set William loose on a lathe or any other kind of tool. But he’s got more than his fair share of talents I’d say.’

I knew William often went out of his way to appear superior to Angus.

‘But William’s so ridiculous!’ I protested. ‘I know he’s awfully brainy and all that, but you can’t have a decent conversation with him. It’s like trying to talk to a shire horse – big and strong and quite intelligent but awfully dopy. I can talk to you so much more easily.’

Angus laughed. ‘Well, that’s something anyway.’

We turned through the wrought-iron gates. It was Birmingham’s biggest and proudest park, the expanse of grass sloping softly down from the bandstand under the chestnut trees to the fish ponds where there were boats for hire in summer.

We strolled round the murky oval of water. Ducks slid alongside us in hope of food.

‘I don’t know,’ I said gloomily, after a while.

‘What? What’s the rest of that sentence?’

I smiled. If I’d said that to William he’d just have ignored me. One of the things I’d always liked about Angus was the way he listened to you.

‘I’m not sure I like growing up really. The way you realize certain things suddenly.’

‘Such as?’

‘Mummy and Daddy were talking about those poor people in Spain this morning.’ The bombing of Guernica had reached our households in bold newspaper headlines. ‘How can people do things like that? I thought the League of Nations was going to stop there being any more wars?’

‘Not if countries defy the League. The Germans already have, remember.’

We found a spot to sit on the grass in the shade of a tree, near the park’s large war memorial. I was frowning. I felt heavy and preoccupied when what I really wanted to do was laugh and be good company. But I was already wondering whether our walk would cause trouble.

‘I can tell there’s a thought in there trying to get out,’ Angus said, leaning round to look into my eyes.

I laughed reluctantly. ‘It’s just, Angus, would you say your family was happy? I mean they seem happy to me.’ I’d thought a lot about the Harveys recently. Angus’s father, James, owned a business crafting pianos and harpsichords. He was kind, jovial. There was Mrs Harvey with her friendly, welcoming face, who spent her time reading and reading, and John and Mary, Angus’s younger brother and sister. I’d begun searching for undercurrents, wondering if there was something I’d missed in every family, even my own.