“Want a toy.” The voice had risen, slightly but perceptibly.

“But we’ve been through this, haven’t we, darling?” said the adult. “Rufus gave you that lovely car for your birthday, and we’re going to buy him this lovely robot that—look, Oliver, isn’t it fun?—turns into a plane that turns into a submarine. And I’m sure that Rufus will let you play with it, too, darling, because Rufus is a very kind boy, and kind boys let other boys play with their toys, don’t they?”

“Want a toy.” The voice was definitely louder now, and the threat in it unmasked.

“No toy today, darling.” Without turning to look, Lulu could see clearly the desperation in the adult’s smile. “Now, you’re going to be a very good and patient little boy, aren’t you, darling, and stand there quietly while Mummy waits for nice Joanna to wrap up the present in the lovely way she always does. Thank you so much, Joanna, you are marvelous. And you can’t have another toy, darling, because you’ve got all those lovely birthday toys at home already waiting for you, haven’t you?”

“Want. A. Toy.”

“Ohhhh …” The adult’s voice wavered into a sigh. “Oliver, darling, you are such a grumpy little boy sometimes. But I’ll tell you what, darling. If you’ll just stand by very, very patiently, and wait very, very quietly while Joanna wraps up Rufus’s present, then perhaps, now just perhaps, mind you—”

“Ow!”

The boy Oliver, executing a triumphal war dance of victory, had careened into Lulu, knocking his head against her stomach and sending the book she had been examining flying to the floor.

“Excuse me.” Frowning, Lulu looked down at the child. He had a long head with hard dark eyes and a fierce expression. He reminded Lulu a little of the Jack Russell terrier she walked on the Heath on Monday afternoons.

“I think you need to pick that book up, don’t you?” she said.

The boy looked up at her, and uttered a snort of derision.

With the Jack Russell, thought Lulu, it was all in the tone of voice.

“Pick that book up,” she said. “Now.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, and from the corner of her own gaze, Lulu saw his mother beside the till brace herself in dread. He looked at her for a long moment, and then, suddenly and without a word, bent to retrieve the book from the floor, and handed it to Lulu.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked the book over: happily, it seemed to be unharmed. “Now you need to say sorry for running into me.”

The boy looked at Lulu.

Lulu looked at the boy.

“Sorry,” he said then.

“That’s all right,” she said. The Jack Russell, she remembered, was actually quite a nice dog once you had established who was boss. “Just watch where you’re going in future. You’d better go to your mother now, hadn’t you? She’s waiting to go home.”

As mother and child left the shop, they both stopped in the doorway and turned to cast on Lulu an identical gaze of the purest astonishment.