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I didn't want... are you Mr Wilkes?"
    "I am."
    "I'm James Sinnett, I work with Archie. Might I have a word with him?"
    Mr Wilkes stood aside to allow me through the door, which he locked behind us, then led me on through the shop and into the back rooms. He spoke as we walked, saying, "Archie's walking his sister to their grandmother's, Mr Sinnett, but if you don't mind waiting he shan't be long."
    I heard the chattering of children before I saw them, misjudging how many of them there would be from the amount of noise they were making; but the house never seemed rowdy, somehow, despite its small size and the way there never seemed to be quite enough chairs for everybody in it. As an only child I was forever fascinated by the way the Wilkes siblings behaved together, playing and talking all over each other in a cacophony of words and laughter, as though they all shared their own particular language that outsiders such as I would never be able to fluently speak. Mrs Wilkes was sitting on the rug by the fire brushing a little girl's hair while the girl told a meandering story to three slightly grubby dolls packed into a toy crib, but she was doing it by touch alone, focusing her gaze instead on a pair of boys who were trying to do handstands against the wall, bumping their stockinged feet against it so the picture-frames and the plates in the dresser rattled alarmingly. Mrs Wilkes was admonishing them to be careful but laughing at the same time, bright-eyed and lovely with her hair coming loose from its pins around her face. To the other side of her a baby slept on the edge of the rug, back to back with a dreaming mongrel whose legs were twitching as though it dreamt of chasing rabbits, and another girl of about fourteen years or so was sitting in an armchair sewing some words on a bit of linen with brightly-coloured silks, her hair tied up to curl in dozens of rags and the tip of her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration.
    One by one they noticed me and stopped what they were doing, apart from the baby and the dog who slept on obliviously. Mrs Wilkes got to her feet at once, still laughing breathlessly but pressing her hand to her chest as though embarrassed to have been caught unawares.
    "You've brought us company, dear, and here's all the little ones ready for bed."
    The littlest girl, the one with the dolls, went over to her father and lifted her arms to him to be picked up. He nestled her close against his chest and she watched me curiously over his shoulder with her dark eyes peeping through her hair. "This is Mr Sinnett," Mr Wilkes said, "he's Archie's pal from the photographer's," and Mrs Wilkes' smile broadened into one that reminded me so much of her eldest son that I felt myself begin to flush.
    "How wonderful to meet you at last. Now we can all judge you and see if you stand up to Archie's tall tales of the magnificent Mr Sinnett."
    I dreaded to think of what tall tales she meant, but the teasing amusement and open kindness in her eyes made me warm to her at once and I let her take my hat and show me to a chair. At once the children crowded round, the two boys and the little girl after Mr Wilkes put her down, and I tried to remember their names from the stories Archie had told me over the months we had known each other.
    "Which is Robert and which is Thomas?"
    They looked at each other and back at me, wrinkling their noses in distaste.
    "He's Tom and I'm Bobby ," the younger one said, and the other, Tom, interrupted with, "And Archie ain't here, he's taking Hattie to Granny's."
    "Cos she lives there now cos Granny's got no friends."
    "She comes back for visits though."
    "Hattie does, not Granny."
    "I see," I said solemnly, fighting not to smile; they seemed very serious about telling me the news but in fact came across as a strange young double act from the music-hall. "Which means you must be Elizabeth," I said to the girl watching me curiously over the top of her sewing.
    " Bessie ," the boys