My system is safe too, about as far from a fire risk as any wiring can be. It makes me think of its reverse, the hit-and-miss electrics in Silver’s flat where there were still old-style five- and fifteen-amp outlets, cords trailing from wall outlets, two of these at head height, I never found out why, one cord looped up and hung over a curtain rod. I knew nothing of wiring in those days, couldn’t have mended a fuse, still less changed a plug, but even I sensed it might not be too great an idea to have an electric heater standing on a stool in the bathroom, its cord running across the floor, waiting to be tripped over, and an iron in the kitchen whose cable stretched across the sink. We never had a fire but there was one in a house in Torrington Gardens, and it was caused, people later said, by a similar kind of carelessness.

The fire started while we were up on the roofs, Silver and Wim and I. We had twice been back to the balcony outside the flat where the people Wim was positive were Andrew and Alison and Jason lived. We had been in daylight but had seen nothing of them. Eight hours later we went again but this time the whole place was in darkness. If they were indeed who Wim thought they were, it was inconceivable that they could all have been out. Perhaps they were in bed, though it was only just after ten when we got there. Silver and I had a great feeling of let-down because we had given a lot of thought to what we meant to do about them. Reveal ourselves? Make contact? We even thought of writing to them. We had come to no conclusions at that point, being certain only that our conduct would not include giving them up to the police or the social services. But when we went back that evening, Silver and I once more crawling along inside the parapet, we had made up our minds that if they saw us it was essential they recognize us as friends and not as hostile voyeurs.