Julia was admiring the anemones placed alongside the framed snap of Miss Sage when Phyllis came in from the kitchen.

“They’re probably grown under glass, but they are nice.”

“Like you,” said Julia, turning to her.

“You’re cutting it a bit fine for eight, aren’t you?”

Julia took Phyllis’s face between her hands and kissed her.

Phyllis, already suspicious said, “You going like that?”

“Listen, Red, I’ve had three of my staff let me down tonight. I’ll have to work the evening shift myself. I left the day girl on till I get back. I wanted to explain face to face.”

Phyllis considered her response. “I see,” she said.

“I had to pop in to tell you. Sorry love.”

Phyllis put down the hairbrush and walked back into the kitchen to switch off the kettle. “No problem. I’ll go for a jog and have an early night.”

“No, no,” said Julia. “You’ve got to go. I promised to plug you into the glitterama.”

“I can’t go on my own—I don’t know anyone.”

“Oh, don’t be soft. You’ll knock’em dead. Look, I want you to go.”

“Jools . . .”

“Listen, she probably wants me to re-equip her gym. If neither of us shows . . . well, it could be a big order.”

Phyllis looked down and Winston, who was still imitating a fox fur, caught her eye and said “Go.”

Julia went on. “Now, wear something sensational and have fun. You can tell me all about it in the morning—give me something to look forward to.”

“Okay,” said Phyllis grudgingly.

“Thanks, love. I’d better be getting back.” She went into the kitchen and was helping herself to a peach from a bowl when the cat decided he had waited long enough for his snack and jumped to the floor. His movement startled Julia and she upset the bowl, peaches rolling across the floor.

Phyllis, who had followed them in, said, “Don’t make yourself late, I’ll tidy up.”

Julia, the peach forgotten, made for the door.

“Count ten,” advised Phyllis.

Julia counted six under her breath. “See you when I see you. No perfume on your knees tonight, okay rooster?” Phyllis nodded.

As soon as she was alone, the delayed response caught up. with her. She picked up two peaches and slammed them together.

“There’s a girl in my class who’s got six toes.”

“Has she?” said Zeno. “That’s nothing. I’ve got eleven fingers.”

“You do not.”

“You wanna bet?” They were coming down the stairs, both in their bathrobes. Zen was trying to look at her dad’s hands, but he had them deep in his pockets.

“You’re on,” said Zen finally.

Zeno, displaying his right hand, counted backwards starting with his thumb: “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six.” He pulled his left hand from his robe and held it up: “And five is eleven.”

Taken aback, Zen began to count his fingers herself. By the time they entered the ground-floor living room, she had caught on. “Look, Mum, I’ve got eleven fingers,” she announced, her face shining.