Something broke downstairs, and Philip sadly mounted the stairs to the nursery. He pitied Baines; it occurred to him how happily they could live together in the empty house if Mrs Baines were called away. He didn’t want to play with his Meccano sets; he wouldn’t take out his train or his soldiers; he sat at the table with his chin on his hands: this is life; and suddenly he felt responsible for Baines, as if he were the master of the house and Baines an ageing servant who deserved to be cared for. There was not much one could do; he decided at least to be good.

He was not surprised when Mrs Baines was agreeable at lunch; he was used to her changes. Now it was ‘another helping of meat, Master Philip,’ or ‘Master Philip, a little more of this nice pudding.’ It was a pudding he liked, Queen’s pudding with a perfect meringue, but he wouldn’t eat a second helping lest she might count that a victory. She was the kind of woman who thought that any injustice could be counterbalanced by something good to eat.

She was sour, but she liked making sweet things; one never had to complain of a lack of jam or plums; she ate well herself and added soft sugar to the meringue and the strawberry jam. The half light through the basement window set the motes moving above her pale hair like dust as she sifted the sugar, and Baines crouched over his plate saying nothing.

Again Philip felt responsibility. Baines had looked forward to this, and Baines was disappointed: everything was being spoilt. The sensation of disappointment was one which Philip could share; knowing nothing of love or jealousy or passion he could understand better than anyone this grief, something hoped for not happening, something promised not fulfilled, something exciting turning dull. ‘Baines,’ he said, ‘will you take me for a walk this afternoon?’

‘No,’ Mrs Baines said, ‘no. That he won’t. Not with all the silver to clean.’

‘There’s a fortnight to do it in,’ Baines said.

‘Work first, pleasure afterwards.’ Mrs Baines helped herself to some more meringue.

Baines suddenly put down his spoon and fork and pushed his plate away. ‘Blast,’ he said.

‘Temper,’ Mrs Baines said softly, ‘temper. Don’t you go breaking any more things, Baines, and I won’t have you swearing in front of the boy. Master Philip, if you’ve finished you can get down.’ She skinned the rest of the meringue off the pudding.

‘I want to go for a walk,’ Philip said.

‘You’ll go and have a rest.’

‘I will go for a walk.’