After another bottle of Andrew’s good wine and a trial for each of the boys on each of the bikes, Tim and Gavin said they had to get ready to go out. Gilly had suddenly gone quiet, and Andrew and Mike were talking at each other about how to prevent the arrival of illegal immigrants from across the Channel. Fifteen minutes later Paul and I were alone in the garden again. The light was fading to the colour of dust.

‘I think we should call it a day,’ he said.

I went to the front door and called through the letter box into the listening space of the house, ‘Audrey, I hope you don’t mind too much that we were here today. You’ve got some good neighbours. ‘Night, Jack. I love you. Call me any time you want. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Paul and I drove home. The streets near the Ullswater estate were uneasily deserted, except for white police buses with fluorescent-jacketed occupants parked on almost every corner. A pair of police horses paced slowly by with their riders in riot helmets and with heavy sticks swinging. The peace sat uneasily and there was the smell of burning in the air.

‘Where are you?’ Mel demanded when I answered my mobile.

It was the next evening and Paul and I had resumed our comfortable vigil in Turnmill Street. People were stopping to chat as they passed by.

I told her and she laughed. ‘We’ll be along in half an hour.’

‘Mel …’

But she had already rung off.

She was true to her word. Jasper’s car nosed to a halt under the trees and Mel leaped out. Jasper followed her with a cool box in one hand and two more folding chairs in the other. Mel’s presence, as always, made the light seem brighter. She called joking greetings to Jack through the letter box and introduced herself to Gavin as he arrived home from work. Mike’s wife Andrea came across because, she said, Mike had told her all about what was going on and she didn’t want to miss anything. Within minutes Mel and she discovered that they had worked at different times for the same company.

‘Whose idea was this?’ Jasper asked me. He was wearing an immaculate white linen shirt and his height and breadth made Paul look shorter than he usually did and severely crumpled. Even so I reflected that I wouldn’t have accepted an exchange.

‘Paul’s,’ I said proudly.

‘There’s Jack now,’ Jasper said. I swung round and saw my son’s face at the downstairs window with the other Jack, Audrey’s alpha cat, like a furry sack alongside him. My Jack was watching us all with surprise and, I thought, a degree of satisfaction. All this was happening because of him.

‘Hello, Jack,’ I called.