‘I’d be so embarrassed if he turned up making a scene. Victoria Road’s a quiet, decent street and I’ve got a good name here. Remember you’re not to go anywhere out the front, and if there’s a ring at the door while I’m out, you’re not even to answer it. I just wouldn’t know what to say to your mother if he turned up here and made off with you again, when she’s relying on me to look after you for the school holidays. Oh, it’s such a worry…Mind you, I don’t want you thinking I feel put upon, even though that doctor up at the clinic said I should avoid stress with my blood pressure being the way it is. I’m not one to turn my back on people in need and I know your mum’s got no one else to turn to. You certainly couldn’t very well stay in the flat with her out at work all day and him knowing the address. Well now, I’m off to work myself, and you should find plenty to do with catching up on your studies. If you want to sit in the lounge room, make sure you wash your hands before you go in there, young man, and don’t touch the photo albums or anything in the china cabinet.’

Seymour replaced the front door safety-chain as instructed, and watched through the stained-glass panel as Thelma walked briskly down the path. She clicked the iron gate shut behind her, glared at a stray dog that was lifting its leg against her privet hedge, and walked up to the corner of Victoria Road to catch the city tram. Seymour looked through all the stained-glass panels in turn, decided that even a rose-tinted Victoria Road was just as boring as amber or peacock blue, and wandered back to the kitchen. He washed all the breakfast things and put them away, peeled the potatoes to get that task over with and covered them with cold water in a saucepan. Then he went and sat on his bed, despairing, wondering how to fill the hours of the third long day. He’d already glanced through the stock of books in the living room, uninteresting books, most of them with old thick pages like blotting paper, unpleasant to the touch. There was a television set in there, but the controls were temperamental and he didn’t like to fiddle about with them and perhaps make the reception worse. Thelma was devoted to her ritual of evening viewing.