‘Morris Carpenter wouldn’t spend his money on taxis,’ Seymour said. ‘He’d save it all up and buy cough lollies or books about nuclear war.’ Experimentally, he had a stab at being Morris Carpenter. ‘Just look at those rotten flowers in the park over there,’ he said grouchily. ‘Hurts your eyes, doesn’t it? I reckon parks should be all asphalt, it looks tidier. Flowers only attract bees and bees sting you.’

‘Yeah, let’s get out of here,’ Angie said. ‘Though one place is just as crummy as another. No point in going anywhere, really, might as well stay home all day and pull our duffel coats over our heads.’

But then she came to a halt outside a cream brick building on the edge of the shopping centre and stopped being Morris Carpenter. She stood underneath a pavement tree and tenderly drew out the gift-wrapped china ballet slippers.

‘Just who did you buy those nutty things for?’ Seymour asked. ‘Glad it wasn’t me.’

‘Cheeky!’

‘What on earth would anyone use them for? You couldn’t dance in them, you’d get sore feet and glass splinters.’

‘They’re ornaments, smarty. They’re meant to hang up on a dressing-table to stick flowers in, or just to look pretty. I know Lynne’s going to love them, even if you’re being so rude. That’s who we’re meeting for lunch. She doesn’t even know we’re coming, I wanted it to be a terrific surprise. I used to pick her up from ballet class when I lived at home, so it’s just like old times…’

Three girls came out of the building and stood on the top step, chatting to each other.

‘Yoo-hoo, Lynne, surprise!’ Angela shouted, darting out from behind the tree and running up the steps to hug her sister. ‘Oh, it’s just great to see you! My itty bitty baby sister…’

Lynne said quickly over her shoulder to the other girls, ‘I have to go, see you both on Thursday,’ and came down the steps. She glanced at Seymour briefly when Angie introduced him, but he knew that if she’d walked away then, she would never have recognised him if they’d ever met again. She didn’t look much like Angie, apart from having the same large, greenish-blue eyes. Her long brown hair was drawn smoothly back to the nape of her neck and everything about her was controlled and graceful and reserved. She seemed, Seymour thought, a good deal older than fourteen.

‘I’m shouting us all out to lunch,’ Angie said happily, slipping one arm through Lynne’s and the other through Seymour’s and setting off jauntily down the footpath, but Lynne removed her arm after a few paces, as though to adjust the shoulder strap of her bag.