I sat down beside him. ‘It’s not that bad,’ I said.

He didn’t reply; he was blowing his nose.

‘When I was a nipper,’ I said, ‘when I was your age, it was like a road drill.’ I made the noise, loudly. ‘Don’t know how lucky you are.’

He still didn’t reply.

‘Honest,’ I said, ‘it’s nothing to cry about.’

‘I’m not crying,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a cold.’

I paused. His eyes were red.

He pointed to the surgery door. A whine came from it. ‘I’m waiting for my Mum.’

‘I see.’

‘Sodding hell, I’m bored.’

He shouldn’t have sworn, at his age. I said: ‘She won’t be long.’

‘She’ll be all bloody morning.’

‘Blimey. What’s she having done?’

He looked at me as if I was three years old. ‘She’s the frigging dentist.’

I paused. ‘She’s Pam?’

He nodded. ‘Finished my Mads.’ He pointed to his comics. ‘And she’s got a lousy selection of magazines. All women’s crap.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Got this cold, haven’t I.’

The room was silent; the whine had stopped. I looked at the boy, who was picking his fingernails with a matchstick, and my stupid heart thumped.

I said: ‘How old are you?’

He looked at me as if I should know. ‘Eleven and three-quarters.’

All of a sudden a strange thing happened. He was no longer a rude kid with a runny nose; he had changed into a precious child. This was the boy who had played with my son. He knew more about my son than I did. I watched him, awe-struck. From his pocket he drew out a damp length of toilet paper and blew his nose.

I took a breath but my tongue wouldn’t work properly: ‘You know about Edward!’ I said loudly.

He gazed at me for a moment; then thank goodness the surgery door opened and a man came out, followed by a small, ruddy woman in a Doctor Kildare tunic. The man went downstairs.

She looked at me and said in an Australian twang: ‘You’re not Mrs Patel.’

‘No.’

She shrugged. ‘She’s always late.’

I didn’t know what to do next, so I shook her hand. ‘I’m Desmond.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Desmond.’ She grinned. Unlike most dentists she had a terrific set of teeth.

I didn’t know where to start, so I just said: ‘I’ve come about Lesley.’

She frowned for a moment. Then she said: ‘Oh yes. She’s coming at three.’

My stomach lurched. I paused. ‘Lesley is?’

She nodded. ‘She really needs to see an orthodontist. Maybe you can persuade her.’ She gave a pile of dental wipes to her son, who blew his nose. ‘You her stepdad?’

I paused for a moment. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I mean Lesley Featherstone.’

‘Featherstone?’

‘Lesley, of Ardley Road.’

‘Lesley, of Ardley Road!’

I nodded.

‘Miss Castration Complex!’

‘Pardon?’

‘Miss Penis Envy!’ She laughed. ‘Boy, did that woman have hang-ups.’

‘Did she?’

‘Men the oppressors, all that shit. Germaine Greer’s got a lot to answer for, even if she is an Ozzie. You knew her?’