A surprising strength carried the voice into the place beyond. The bolero jacket and skirt Chanel-ed its way onto the sofa and he sat opposite, feeling full of manners and convention. He was placed in her life; so far there had been no effort and no need for lying.

He was in his outlet Armani, quite the gentle man, a gentleman.

Chapter Four

The little boy spent most of his time on his own.

Well, he had parents, and there were the neighbours: Spasha and Roy, from Greece, who seemed often more present in his life than his parents.

He was nine years old and small for his age.

The reason for the neighbour-focus probably stemmed from his mother being slammed against the headboard, the blood crawling down her face. This was a solitary incident that for some reason never coloured the feelings he had for his father and never brought a sympathy for his mother. Even at that age he felt clear about this emotion. But also because they became a safe refuge, Spasha and Roy that is, after he was accused, he was convinced, wrongly, of arson.

He liked to dig holes, big holes at the top of the garden which backed on to a wheat field. It was midsummer and hot. The reason for the holes was so that he could put the old tent that his father had, and his father had had before him, in a faded heavy green canvas, a simple classic pointed tent like a slice of cake the other way up and not very long, and peg it down to surround the dug out earth. It was just long enough to lie down in. The hole, which was like a trench in the ground, meant that Ever, being short for his age, could almost stand when at the apex of the tent.

When darkness descended, he could be found at the bottom of the garden, lighting a fire; he would have a potato ready to throw into the ashes to cook and then he could feel like a man living in the wilderness, a survivor, in the rough outback of the suburban Midlands. The fire produced, as it does, sparks, and the wind, as it does, found one, or may have been two, of these unsuspecting embers, the little bits of burning wood, and the swirling wind, with its deceptive knowledge, carried them towards the wheat field just feet away, through the pieces of upright wood posts, at two-foot intervals, connected by wire that constituted the fence.