If he squinted, Johnny could just make out a figure in the rear seat, a mere shadow behind the darkness of the glass.

He ran around and snatched at the handle of the back door, yanking it open.

‘All right! I know you’re in there! Who are you, really?’

Most of the figure was in deep shade, but there was a pair of hands visible, resting on a black cane with a silver tip.

Then the figure moved. It unfolded slowly, and became a large man in a coat that was half coat, half cloak. He emerged carefully, making sure both feet were firmly on the ground before easing the rest of his body out of the car.

He was quite tall, tall enough so that he was big rather than fat. He wore a large black hat and had a short, silvery beard.

He smiled at Johnny, and nodded at the others as they hurried up.

‘Who am I?’ he said. ‘Well, now … why don’t you guess? You were always good at this sort of thing.’

Johnny looked at him, and then at the car, and then back up the hill to where the old church was just visible.

‘I think …’ he said.

‘Yes?’ said the old man. ‘Yes? Go on?’

‘I think that … I mean, I don’t know … but I know I’m going to know … I mean, I think I know why you’ve come to find us …’

‘Yes?’

Johnny swallowed. ‘But we were—’ he began.

The old man patted him on the shoulder.

‘Call me Sir John,’ he said.

Chapter 8

Trousers of Time

There were differences in the mall. One big difference, certainly. The burger bar had changed. There were different-shaped paper hats, and the colour scheme was blue and white instead of red and yellow.

The old man led the way.

‘Who is he?’ hissed Kirsty.

‘You’ll laugh if I tell you! This is time travel! I’m still trying to work out the rules!’

Sir John sat down heavily in a seat, motioned them to sit down as well, and then did the second-worst thing anyone could do in a fast-food restaurant.

He snapped his fingers at a waitress.

All the staff were watching them anxiously.

‘Young lady,’ said Sir John, wheezing slightly, ‘these people will have whatever they want. I will have a glass of water. Thank you.’

‘Yes, Sir John,’ said the waitress, and hurried away.

‘You’re not s’posed to do that,’ said Bigmac hoarsely. ‘You’re s’posed to queue up.’

‘No, you’re supposed to queue up,’ said Sir John. ‘I don’t have to.’

‘Have you always been called Sir John?’ said Johnny.

The man winked at him.

‘You know, don’t you,’ he said. ‘You’ve worked it out. You’re right. Names are easily changed, especially in wartime. I thought it might be better. I got the knighthood in 1964 for services to making huge amounts of money.’

The waitress hurried back with the water, and then produced a notebook and looked expectantly at them all with the bright, brittle smile of someone who is expecting to be sacked at any moment.