But since the whole homeosaurus had been Nick’s idea, she let him take it there, even if it had been a struggle to fit it into the van. Ally Pally was a trek from Willesden, but the boys sat on the Tube with their Beano and Hotspur. Dee had packed them some fish paste sandwiches and a bottle of Tizer which they consumed on the grass in the park before being strapped up inside the husk of the great model. Ban the Bomb had been written on the sides, a letter on each scale, and it was topped with a papier mâché head of Harold Macmillan. Betty had been sceptical, but she had to admit it was eye-catching. Thirty feet long, each segment hooked into the one adjacent. It took some practice to put on and link up, and then to manoeuvre, walking in syncopation. She could hear Martin and Graham laughing behind her, along with the other children in the tail.

Nick had booked a jazz band which played alongside them, saxophones and trombones, banjos and guitars, and the human homeosaurus stomped in time, swaying in rhythm. She could hear clapping, laughter. They had attention, were making a point. This was sure to make the papers. Perhaps the front page, or the main item in the evening news on the Home Service. Nick planned to take it on the next Aldermaston march, though, given the rains that had descended last time, she wasn’t sure how waterproof the paint would be even if the tarpaulin held out.

But it was hot, airless beneath the canopy, with the autumn sun bearing down. The smell reminded her of the inside of tents, damp canvas and wet grass. She’d never taken to camping, not even as a child in the Jungmädelbund, with the smelly latrines and tin mugs. It brought it back, those fearful days, made her cringe with guilt. She wanted to slip out, take off her jacket, find a water fountain and drink. The boys could probably do with a drink too. Nick was in the lead, handing out leaflets as he went. She’d promised the boys an ice cream and a ride on the roller coaster and there was no shortage of volunteers to work the beast. She passed a message up the front and the monster stopped.

‘Sorry, Nick,’ she said. ‘I need to take the boys now. I promised them an ice cream and a bit of fun in the playground.’

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘It works, doesn’t it?’

‘If I’m honest,’ she said, ‘it looks more like a giant centipede than a homeosaurus, but it does pull the crowds.’

‘Thanks for your help,’ he said. He shuffled his feet, flicked through the leaflets he was holding. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a drink sometime?’

She smiled. ‘That’s kind, Nick. Sometime.’

She grabbed the boys by the hand. If she wasn’t mistaken, John was applauding the homeosaurus.

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