They walked down the incline towards the Bayswater Road in silence, yet in their silence there was unceasing communication. Her monogrammed slippers and his Cuban heels accentuated the difference in their heights; nevertheless, there was an easy rhythm between them, and their bodies touched as they strolled. Gaining distance from the house, the feeling of ‘at one-ment’ became so strong that even a word would have jarred—a breach neither wanted to risk until they reached the Friday-night clamour and lights of Notting Hill Gate. And then it was her reason that began to question the recent events.

“Perhaps it’s the stuff we smoked,” she said. It was more a statement than a question.

Zeno listened to the inrush of her voice. Although it was true that the spoken sentence obstructed the energy of the silence, the obstruction of a flow of electricity produces a light—and the quality of her voice lit a beacon within him.

“I’ve smoked some deadly weed in my time,” he said, accustoming himself to the sound of his own voice. “Even used to put THC under my tongue at night so I’d wake up stoned . . . I don’t know what this is, but it sure isn’t dope.”

“What shall we do?”

Zeno grinned. “Speaking for myself, I could just stand here with you for a day or two.”

The large, almost loose mouth widened, the motion bringing dimples to her cheeks. “Zeno Studd. Is that your real name, by any chance?”

“Zeno is. I became Studd when I got my break. Don’t you like it?”

“It does have a ring to it. Someone in the family?”

“Who, Zeno? No. Mum wanted a Zena.” He grinned lopsidedly without thinking about it. Phyllis opened her bag, and Zeno caught a glimpse of the heather. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I bought them from a woman, a gypsy. Well, she pushed them onto me, actually—on the train coming here.”

“Real gypsy, not a didicoy?”

“Didicoy?”

“A traveller, a tinker—they’re different from the Romanies, who are real gypsies.”

“They looked real to me. She called me Rawnie.”

“And she gave you two sprigs. You didn’t ask?”

“I didn’t say anything—just gave her some change.”

“Okay.” Zeno considered. Every time he stopped speaking he was aware of a current pulsing in him. “Rawnie. Well, she was right there. It means beauty, or lovely. Listen, I’d like to take you to meet someone. I have theories about everything, but I would like to get some back-up on this. It’s not far—we can walk if you like.”

Phyllis put her hanky back into her bag. “Who could say no to someone called Zeno?”

The air was warm, and the full moon cast a mantle of shadowless light around them as they walked west. When they were nearing Shepherd’s Bush she linked her arm through his, and at her touch he launched into the opening phrase of Johnny Ray’s hit ‘Such a Night’.