This particular section of the terrace had a dismal aspect, the two top floors of those three houses black and damp, a grim combination, their charred interiors still exposed. The poor plane tree was just the bare bones of itself. Its branches were like the remains of a wood fire that has been put out because it has begun to rain and its shriveled blackened leaves lay in drifts all over the pavements and the gardens. Silver had already been there several times on reconnaissance and reported back that the fire must have been under control before there was too much structural damage to the roofs. The struts, though burned black, seemed intact. Once the tarpaulins were up we’d be able to go up there again and Silver, as was often the case, had been right to say don’t worry.

Maida Vale lacks a real shopping center but it has several little groups of shops, the largest of these being in Clifton Road, where there are two news-agents. Each had glass cases of advertisement cards, but there were no jobs on offer, only babies’ cribs for sale at bargain prices and bookshelves as good as new and women with dubious motives offering French and German lessons. I walked up to the Edgware Road but the café on the bridge had no situations vacant. For once, the only time I really wanted one, which I suppose is what Jonny would have called sod’s law. It was then I decided that as soon as I saw a job on offer, provided it wasn’t disgusting or potentially criminal and, of course, within my powers, I’d do it. Maybe that was less a decision than a prayer because ten minutes later it was answered. The newsagent’s window in Lauderdale Road had a card advertising for a gardener.

I had never done much gardening except for once or twice mowing the lawn at home and I had even been persuaded to pull out a few weeds. Dad had taught me the difference between a weed and a cultivated plant and because I was quite interested I’d learned. Perhaps I’d have been wiser to go home and smarten myself up a bit, but I was clean and wearing clean clothes and I had just washed my hair. Besides, I told myself, no one wants a designer-dressed gardener. It made no difference, anyway, for they said they’d take me on. Provided I could produce two good references.