‘Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children all gone,’ chanted Angie, aping his troubled voice with a degree of malice he didn’t know she possessed. ‘Listen, Seymour, you stay out of this! Lynne and her casual conversation…she’s been at you, hasn’t she? Telling you lies. You don’t want to believe anything she tells you, she’s just plain jealous of me having a flat of my own and being independent…’

‘Angie, you sort of promised them you’d go to Lakeview…’

‘Lakeview, where the hell’s that? I don’t know any place called that! Mum just popped in to clean my flat and that’s all there is to it! Got it all ready for me to go back to, because I was sick…I asked her…I’m not going to…They all seem to think…Hey, come on, let’s change the subject. You know what I thought of buying for my flat? One of those gorgeous big prints, they cover a whole wall. I saw this fabulous one like a forest scene—tree trunks and light coming down in a shaft…It will look great up on that wall behind my dressing-table.’

‘People ought to keep promises.’

‘Let’s change the subject!’ Angie said with taut desperation. ‘Visitors are supposed to talk about nice things in hospital. I’ve been sick, really sick, you know. I got a kind of pleurisy on top of that flu. Pleurisy’s serious, people can even…If you’ve just come here to hassle and nag me like everyone else, Seymour, talk me into…Oh, forget it! I don’t feel like visitors anyway! Why don’t you just nick off home?’

Seymour remembered the gift he’d brought her and handed it over in defeated silence.

‘Oh, a present—it’s lovely,’ Angie cried. ‘You’re sweet, bringing me a present. I’ve always loved this stuff, too, though I can’t remember what it’s called. It’ll come in really handy. Did I tell you I’m thinking of getting stuck into making things and selling them at craft markets? Little boxes with pine-cone lids, fabric picture frames, you know the sort of thing. I could use this—what’s it called…fennel? No, that’s not right. Oh, God, I hate it when I can’t remember things! You might be able to help me out at those craft markets, be my assistant. We’d have fun…’

‘I go back to school next week. I’m moving tomorrow with my mum to the new place.’

‘Where is it? I never knew you were moving…’

‘Honest, Angie, you and your rotten memory,’ Seymour said, thinking how far away that unknown suburb had looked on the map when his mother had pointed it out to him. ‘I already told you about Carrucan a million times.’