‘This freaky kid when I was in primary school. Heavens, I’d nearly forgotten all about old Morris Carpenter! You should have seen him, he was the most miserable gloomy kid in the whole world. I reckon when he was born the first thing he would have done was throw a punch at the nurse. Middle of summer, on days just like this one, there he’d be all bundled up in a duffel coat, no kidding. And if you ever felt sorry for him and asked him to join in things, he’d just sort of glare at you and then he’d croak, “Why should I?” ’

Angie gave such a good imitation of a surly voice growling, ‘Why should I?’ that the passenger in the seat in front turned around to stare, but Angie didn’t seem troubled at attracting attention. She went on scowling at Seymour, the contours of her face yanked down into gloom and doom. Still being Morris Carpenter, she rattled the thin silver bangles on her wrist contemptuously. ‘Look at this rubbish,’ she sneered. ‘A person can probably get lumpy old eczema from wearing metal. Not that that matters, seeing we’re all going to die of skin cancer from the ozone layer being what it is. That hole in the sky over Antarctica’s getting bigger and bigger, you know, all the time. Grrr, I hate sun! Rain’s nicer. Rain’s lovely, all wet and cold and if you’re lucky enough you can go out and catch pneumonia in it. Acid rain’s best of all.’

‘Angie!’ Seymour protested in a whisper, because several more passengers were looking, but Angie, enjoying herself enormously, kept on being Morris Carpenter even after the bus stopped at East Merken and they got off. Now she even looked as he imagined Morris Carpenter to be, stomping along with shoulders hunched to her ears. You could almost have sworn she was huddled up in a duffel coat. ‘You’re a dill, Angie!’ he said.

‘My name ain’t Angie, it’s Morris. Morris Mervyn Reginald Carpenter.’

‘Get out, no one’s called that.’

‘Well, he’s probably changed his name by deed poll now. What would you know about it, pal? You just watch it. Or watch the pavement, that’s more interesting, it’s nice and grey and concretey and that way you don’t have to look at people, either. People stink. You want to know what really narks me? It’s how people say “Have a nice day!” Why should I have a nice day if I don’t want to? Next time a taxi driver tells me to have a nice day, I’ll slam the door on his fingers.’