Robert and Paul took a left through some bright red and yellow doors. I followed them with relief; it would be good to sit down and concentrate on a menu.

But inside was just as noisy as out. A great sound rose up from the floor of the restaurant. People yelled orders, gobbled food and shouted at each other; a kind of music – mostly a beat – blared over the tannoy.

At the far end was a long counter with photographs glowing behind it. It was like the meat counter at Tesco’s, only not as ordered, because there was nowhere to take a ticket. And no one seemed to be in charge. The people behind the counter were dressed like garage mechanics, in brown dungarees and caps. There appeared to be no waitress. There was no queue, and nowhere to hang your coat.

Robert and Paul were already pushing into the throng of bodies around the counter. Kathryn stood on tiptoe and shouted in my ear, ‘Why don’t you let the boys do the ordering? We can find somewhere to sit.’

‘Boys!’ I called. Paul looked back at me, but Robert stared ahead at the counter. ‘Boys!’ I tried again, but Robert still did not turn around.

‘Order whatever you want!’ I shouted into the throng.

There was a long queue outside Madame Tussaud’s. Loud foreign voices surrounded us. A group of Italian boys were in front, and they didn’t stop talking for a second. They all seemed so excited, despite the fact that it had begun to spit with rain, and the entrance to the waxworks was still not in sight.

‘Put this on.’ I handed Robert the bright red fold-up waterproof we’d bought for him the year before. The hood had toggles and poppers at the chin. Kathryn opened her umbrella. I pulled my own blue waterproof over my head.

When I’d zipped my raincoat up to the neck, Robert still hadn’t got any further than putting his arms in. He was punching the air before him, and marching with stiff legs for Paul’s amusement.

‘Prince Charming! Prince Charming!’ trilled Robert, and Paul laughed.

The rain came down harder.

‘You’ll get wet,’ I warned.

Robert stamped one foot and then the other on the pavement and fixed me with a stare. A couple of the Italian boys looked round at him.

‘Prince Charming!’ He marched towards me with a flourish. His eyes were bright and slightly bulging. His bared teeth flashed. His nose was long and straight now; it had lost its early fleshiness.

‘Ah-woah!’ hollered Paul, joining in with the stomping dance as if he was a member of some primitive tribe.

When they’d finished, the two boys leant back together and laughed.

The Italians began to applaud.

I looked at Kathryn. She was smiling at them both. ‘They’re really very good at that, Howard.’

The first waxwork I remember was Sleeping Beauty. You suddenly noticed, after long minutes of admiring her, that her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. It was oddly reassuring to realise that she was really only asleep.