Five minutes later our numbers were increased by the man who had been trimming his hedge. He didn’t know Tim and Gavin, so Gilly introduced them as well as Paul and me. His name was Mike and he had a loud voice and a highly confident manner.

‘How’s the siege progressing?’ Mike boomed, accepting a glass of Andrew’s Sauvignon and lounging against Audrey’s gatepost in his Gap shorts.

‘Um, it’s not a siege, exactly,’ I mumbled. ‘We’re just sort of keeping him company. He’ll come out when he’s ready.’

Mike was one of those people who don’t listen to the answers to his own questions. ‘Have you heard the news?’ he was already demanding.

‘No, what?’ Andrew asked.

‘It was on the local bulletin. There’s been a street fight over on the Ullswater estate. A pack of skinheads set on some Muslim kids, or vice versa. Stone-throwing, knives, several casualties, police in riot gear. It’s still simmering over there.’

In this crowded inner-city borough, the toughest areas and the most expensive often lay next to each other. The Ullswater was barely half a mile from the far end of Turnmill Street. Paul and I exchanged looks. Now that it was actually erupting, it had seemed inevitable all along that violence would boil out of the city’s overheated cauldron. We all listened, but the street was eerily quiet with purple shadows lying under the dust-coated trees.

‘I think they should all be sent right back where they came from,’ Andrew said, surprising no one.

Two blond children emerged from Mike’s gate, one of them riding an expensive bike. They came across the road to us.

‘Hello, Ollie, hello, Jamie,’ Gilly carolled. ‘Having a lovely summer? Freddie and Mills are at adventure camp in the French Alps. They adore it.’

‘We’re going to Greece next week,’ one of the boys said. ‘Are those your bikes?’ he asked Tim and Gavin.

The four of them clustered round to exchange technical information. The garden was getting quite crowded. In my bag, my mobile rang.

‘Mum,’ Jack hissed. ‘Who are those prats with the bike? What are all those people doing in Audrey’s garden?’

This was the first contact of the day and Jack had voluntarily initiated it. Even if it was only to make a protest. Clever Paul Rainbird, I thought.

I said airily, ‘Just hanging out. Why don’t you come down and join us?’

‘Don’t be stupid. Audrey’s going mad.’

‘Maybe tomorrow, then.’

‘Mum, for God’s sake. And what’s Mr Rainbird doing here?’

‘Keeping me company. Is that okay?’

‘Shit,’ Jack said despairingly. But he didn’t say it wasn’t.