‘Angie, who was that guy?’ Seymour whispered, but Angie didn’t reply and didn’t seem to be listening to him, either. She seemed to be away in some other world of her own, with her eyes functioning automatically to steer her around people and obstacles, but he knew that she wasn’t really seeing them. After a few attempts at conversation, Seymour shut up and just sat in the stand while she went off periodically to place bets, waited for her to emerge from her silence and be cheerful, scatty, generous Angie again, the best companion he’d ever known. But that didn’t happen until far into the afternoon, and he had no way of knowing if she’d won or lost money, for she didn’t tell him. The betting, somehow, had ceased to be for pleasure and had become a grimly serious affair with her, strong enough to block out his presence. He waited patiently, and then, although there was still one more race scheduled, she said it was time to leave.

‘Let’s get out of here before all the traffic,’ she said, smiling brightly at him as though the past two hours hadn’t even happened. ‘You’ve got no idea what this place is like when everyone’s trying to leave at once and all the trams are packed. Have a nice day, did you, love?’

‘Yes, it was great,’ said Seymour, for although the shadow of that man lurked unpleasantly about in his mind, he still had most of his original winnings. ‘Thanks for letting me come to the races with you. It was beaut.’

‘That’s okay,’ Angie said. ‘Know what? I’m glad you wandered in off the alley that morning! You’re really good company, Seymour. I’d have gone nuts in that flat not knowing what to do with myself and Jas being…We’ve had a fantastic time, haven’t we, all the places we’ve gone to?’

‘Better than Morris Carpenter ever had.’

‘Morris Carpenter? He’s finished and done with, died of gloom disease, it finally caught up with him. Let’s play something different, let’s play Mangel Wurzel. What, you’ve never heard of Mangel Wurzel? Well, it sort of goes like this: Eee, lad, wha thee been oop to then, haring off to sinful gambling places with that there young hussy from down t’lane? Don’t you deny it, now, our Seth and our Gertie seen thee with they own two eye!’

Seymour grinned. Angie had altered her face so she looked like a pernickety old village woman. He could almost see floury hands and an apron.