Avigail is confused. She has no memory of this incident – this curious little drama. She replays the walk up Trevor Street with Wang Shu and Ying Yue in her mind but can’t recall anything remotely untoward …

Nope. Nothing.

Just the normal sales pitch about the local area – not that this was remotely necessary, since Wang Shu and Ying Yue both work, full-time, on Llandudno pier (Ying Yue collects the tokens on the Bouncy Castle) and they know the town extremely well.

Although … uh … Didn’t Avigail just think some negative gull thoughts – literally moments ago? Perhaps she was aware – at a subconscious level – of something untoward having recently occurred?

And wasn’t there a phone call? On her mobile? Didn’t she receive a phone call from the office just as …?

Nah. This makes no sense.

Avigail demands that the world make sense. At least her tiny piece of it – the tiny bit that she so carefully and rigorously marshals.

Charles winces. He holds the popcorn maker even closer to his chest as if to protect it from the horror of random accidents.

Don’t worry, popcorn maker. You’ll be fine. Never fear. I’ll look after you, I promise.

x

‘It’s okay,’ Ying Yue explains, ‘Ma dabbed the blood off with this tissue.’

Dabbed!

What a funny word! Ying Yue thinks, and smiles at her capacity to astonish herself.

Avigail sees that (a now mysteriously smiling) Ying Yue is clutching a bloody tissue in the hand of her good arm. Wang Shu is still talking, animatedly, in a harsh, rasping voice, on the phone, apparently completely unperturbed by what has happened.

Avigail peers into Wang Shu’s short, chaotic, clumsily cropped head of hair and detects a kind of dampness – a reddish-blackness – down one side, just behind the right ear. She also sees a patch of something suspiciously like blood on Wang Shu’s shoulder.

‘Ma is very strong.’ Ying Yue bows, proudly. ‘Nothing worries her. She is very tough. A tough lady. Like … uh …’ she muses for a second, ‘… water off a duck’s back.’

She beams.

Charles looks over at Avigail, disquieted. Avigail is an estate agent who has been hired by the bank. The bank have had a gutful of Charles but are trying to play ball because it still suits them to do so. Although they really don’t give a damn about Charles – or any of their stupid customers. The TV adverts to the opposite effect are all just a hoax, a dreadful lie.

Avigail is dressed somewhat inappropriately for her role, which Charles finds confusing. Avigail dresses as though she might be going out for cocktails. Avigail dresses for another, better kind of life. Her skirt is trimmed with sequins.

‘Are you going out for cocktails?’ Charles suddenly wonders, apropos of nothing.

‘Pardon?’

Avigail glances down at herself.

‘Are you …?’ Charles starts to repeat himself and then stops and swallows, realising what an idiot he sounds.