“As I say, this event is rare—two souls sharing a ray of spirit. Been together for a lifetime, perhaps more. Maybe brother and sister, or man and wife, maybe lifetimes of not meeting, only looking, lonely for each other. Of this I can’t speak, not mine to know. If you can understand how difficult for soul to find its way through the spheres to even get body, you understand a little the chance of a spirit divided to come together. Million, millions to one. This night,” she jabbed down, jolting the table with a rigid finger, “this very night is special—special for you, because tomorrow . . .” She flashed a ringed hand in front of her as though rubbing away the word. “No, I will not talk of tomorrow, because this night you can do something for each other, make tomorrow different.” She paused, looking again into Phyllis’s eyes. “Look, listen to me. You have old knowledge of each other. Not strangers. You can . . . complete each other. I make sense to you? Must be tonight. If not, opportunity lost, not happen again, maybe. Sure.” She stopped speaking and blew out the candle. Zeno spoke. “Grandma, could you point a way for us, we’ve only just . . .”

“No.” The word cracked the ambience. Manushie opened an eye.

“You connected deep. Not for stranger like me to point way for you. Go now.”

Zeno pulled out the wad of notes he always carried, a habit from his antique-dealing days, and pushed two twenties across the table. Grandma took them.

“The honour is dukkerina’s. But it’s bad luck for Romany to refuse money offered.”

Zeno smiled, and leaned over to shake the elder’s callused hand. She grasped his and rubbed it between hers. “Put ghost palms back into the pot, please. If not, and someone take them, whoever it is will own your soul.”

“Is that true?” asked Phyllis, quickly dropping the ball into the pot.

“I don’t know, dacha,” said the old woman, giving Phyllis a kiss for the road, “but made you do it, didn’t it?”

Away from the smoky atmosphere of the encampment, life went on as usual. Back on the main road, a bus stopped at the lights. It had a cream roof, and the word ‘General’ stencilled on the side. It was freshly painted, without advertising, and empty save for a smiling conductor on the running board. On impulse, Zeno said, “Let’s grab this.”

They jumped on. First they sat opposite each other on the bench seats, and listened to the cheery conductor.

“All aboard? Good. Fares, please. Sorry, no HP. But American Express and Visa cards accepted,” cooed Mr Woo.

When they no longer had the bus to themselves, Phyllis took Zeno’s arm and led him to the left-hand front seat.

“Now just you tell me, Zeno Studd—or whatever your name is—what made you say this was my first time in a girl’s body?”