I didn’t tap at all that day. Neither of us did. We strolled through the market, looking at the costly junk and the punters who were buying it. We got Cokes and even ate again, though my wizened gut wasn’t hungry. I don’t believe I thought of Ginger once, except when I was telling her about him, which is rotten, but shows what love will do. And so the day slipped by.

I’d told her about Captain Hook, and when it got dark I thought of suggesting a night on board, but I didn’t. For one thing it’d have seemed cheeky when it was her dosh, and for another I didn’t want us to spend our first night in a reeking crowd. I wanted Gail to myself, so I took her to a favourite doorway of mine where we bedded down for the night.

Nothing happened. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s true. I don’t know why. Malnutrition perhaps, or stepfathers. All we seemed to want was to sleep with our arms round each other, and that’s what we did. But if you think that must’ve been dead boring, you’re wrong.

* * *

Sunday she wanted to try her hand at tapping so we rode down to Charing Cross. I remembered how Ginger had started me off – leaving me by the National Gallery while he did Trafalgar Square, and we did the same. I didn’t want to leave her, even though we’d be practically in sight of each other. It was a cold morning but dry, and there were quite a lot of people about. As I made the round of benches, a little video kept playing itself inside my head. I was the star. The opening scene showed me going across to collect Gail in a couple of hours’ time and finding she’s vanished. After that came a succession of shots of me in various stressful situations. Running through unfamiliar streets, calling her name. Trying to interest the police who don’t want to know. Waiting on Camden Station forever. I tried to suppress this video, reminding myself that it was Gail who’d wanted us to stick together, so she was hardly likely to do a runner the minute my back was turned, but it was no use. I guess I was still haunted by the way Ginger had dropped out of my life. Anyway, I didn’t stick it long. The pigeons were doing better than I was in any case – scoring chunks of bread and handfuls of corn while I got sweet FA. I swear if I ever come to London again I’ll come as a pigeon. I did about half an hour then started making my way back, tapping all the way.