Angie came out of the shower and twirled about showing off a change of clothing. She was dressed completely in pink: a ruffled dress tied in narrow pink ribbons over her shoulders, pink plastic bangles that jangled from wrist to elbow, a long rose-coloured scarf knotted about her head with the fringed ends falling down one side of her face. She looked, to Seymour, as fresh and pretty as a carnation.

‘Well, now, what do you think?’ she said seriously. ‘Your honest opinion, mind, not just being smarmy. Are these shoes all right, or do you think I should wear my white sandals?’

‘I kind of like those shiny ones you’ve got on already,’ he said, unaccustomed to being called upon to give advice about girls’ clothes. He held out the earrings he’d chosen, tiny pink roses, because Angie had been so radiant when talking about her florist shop.

‘Thanks, love, you picked out a really good pair to go with Susan-Jane. I couldn’t have done better myself.’

‘Susan-Jane?’

‘That’s the name of this dress. I give all my clothes names, like this one’s sort of little girly and frilly, so Susan-Jane suits it, don’t you reckon?’ Angie held her long hair back to put the roses in, and he saw that she already had several silver hoops and studs in each ear lobe.

She sprayed herself lavishly with perfume, pretended to do the same to him and followed, giggling, as he retreated outside.

‘Very funny!’ Seymour said.

‘Well, your expression certainly was—you just should have seen your face! Now then, where’s my blasted key…must be my lucky day, here it is right on top of the junk in my bag, and not only that, my spare key, too! Thought I’d lost both of them. I’m always losing stuff and locking myself out, so I had this other one cut.’

‘It’s pretty mad, carrying them both together,’ Seymour said, still upset about the perfume. ‘Most people leave their spare key under a flowerpot or something, for an emergency.’

‘Quite right, too, professor,’ Angie said and danced across the paved yard, holding out the wide ruffled skirt of her dress. She slipped the spare key under a flowerpot, then held the gate open and motioned him through. ‘Off you go now. Scoot! Might see you around some time, chatterbox.’

Seymour looked out at the alleyway and remembered those terrifying kids who were perhaps still lurking there like Ninjas. Waiting for him to reappear. What they’d said about going to the oval, that could have been a ruse. He’d been tricked like that before. He hovered by the steps, unable to move, gazing at Angela with scared eyes.

‘Hey, what’s up?’