‘Go on, is that so?’ Angie said, smirking. ‘Well, never mind, one day I’ll sneak up on you when you’re asleep and paint your nails, toes and all. Cut your hair, too, while I’m about it, and make you…well, let’s say different. So, I guess you’re on school holidays, are you?’

He nodded soberly, thinking of the excruciating four weeks before him, all those barren days like a long dusty road leading to nowhere in particular. ‘I’ve got nothing to do,’ he said. ‘I reckon I’ll be glad when school starts again.’

‘You’re crazy. Holidays are lovely! I’m on one, too, sort of,’ Angie said. ‘Well, between jobs, at any rate. What I’m really planning to do is open my own florist shop. Bet you never guessed I was a qualified florist, did you? Well, I am. At least, I never actually got the certificate yet, but near enough as makes no difference.’

Seymour felt impressed. She didn’t seem quite old enough to be the potential owner of a shop, but she was so unusual, so unlike anyone else, that the idea didn’t seem very outlandish. Anyone who wore satin and silver lace and black nail polish, anyone who had a little flying horse tattooed on one shoulder, could reach heights undreamed of by other people.

‘I’ve got a name already picked out for my shop,’ Angie boasted. ‘ “Fleur”. That’s French for flower. Cute, isn’t it? And I’m going to have the benches and walls and floor and everything snowy white to set off all the flower arrangements, and a ceiling made out of that opalescent stuff you see inside shells on the beach. What do you think about that? I’m going to specialise in bridal bouquets, too, that’s where the big money is.’

Seymour was captivated, having no difficulty in imagining such a shop, with Angie at its fragrant centre. He pictured himself inside the shop with her, permitted to watch as she arranged soft boughs of blossom, being allowed to make morning coffee in opalescent mugs, getting praised for it…

‘Have to get some money saved up first, though,’ Angie said and sighed and tossed all the manicure tools back into the little basket. ‘Bring the mugs inside, will you, Seymour? The old dragon nearly has a hernia if you even leave a clothes peg on the ground out here.’