Then Robert asked if Paul could come too.

I hadn’t included Paul in my image of the train journey, hadn’t pictured him walking next to Robert as we approached Madame Tussaud’s, hadn’t heard his voice in the Berni Inn restaurant I’d located. I’d seen only the three of us, Robert walking between Kathryn and me as we introduced him to the wondrous waxworks.

He was almost at my shoulder then; the year before, he’d suddenly sprouted. It was like he’d been elongated; everything about him was shooting up towards the sky. His arms and legs had extended.

‘It’s his birthday, Howard,’ Kathryn said. ‘It would be good for him to have a friend there.’

So Paul came.

His father dropped him off. He had a blue Rover that was so wide I thought he’d never get it in our drive.

Paul stepped out of the car and slammed the door. ‘Hello, Mr Hall.’

Paul was always very polite. Mr Hall this, Mr Hall that. He didn’t seem at all afraid of me, not in the way I remember being afraid of other boys’ fathers. And how are you Mr Hall? he’d ask, as if he was an adult too. And how’s your wife? That always seemed like a strangely intimate question for a young boy to ask a man.

‘Hello, Paul.’

‘How’s your wife?’

‘She’s fine, thank you.’

I walked past him and over to the car. Resting one hand on the roof, I peered into the driver’s window. Mr Kearney sucked on a cigarette. He wound down the window.

‘He’ll be safe with us,’ I said.

Mr Kearney frowned as the smoke hit his eyes. ‘Good stuff,’ he said, starting the engine.

I managed to pat the roof of the Rover before he pulled away.

I successfully manoeuvred us through Paddington Station. Out on the street, we had to shout to make ourselves heard over the clatter of traffic and the chaos of bodies.

‘We’re going to McDonald’s,’ Robert announced. His eyes were on Paul, who was walking several paces in front of our group. I suddenly noticed how short Robert’s jacket was. And his jeans looked much too tight.

‘There’s one just round the corner,’ Paul shouted back at us.

‘He’s been there loads of times,’ yelled Robert.

The two boys strode ahead, and I thought the better of protesting.

A man with a gold chain round his neck bumped into my shoulder and I had to step into the road to keep from falling.

Kathryn and I had to jog to keep up with the boys as they wound through the crowds, their heads bobbing together.

‘Where is he, Howard?’ Kathryn kept asking me. ‘I’ve lost him again.’

‘He’s just ahead. Don’t worry.’

‘Where?’

I looked and for a moment didn’t see anything but a wave of the wrong heads, ginger curls, blue hats, blonde wisps, black frizz – but then his wiry brown hair came into view, the back of his head a little flat, like mine. A swirl at the crown. His cockatoo touch.