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insisted.
    "And you're Annie," I said to the littlest girl, remembering at the last moment not to say Anna , and the boys nodded approvingly as though I had passed a test. Archie had spoken of her more than any of the others – he had never called her his favourite, but it was evident in his eyes when he told me funny stories about the things she said and did – and I felt the strange sensation that I knew her as well as if she were my own little sister, although she became shy when I smiled at her and hid behind her father's legs until he picked her up again.
    "Yes, and Annie and Bobby and Tom are up past their bedtime," Mr Wilkes said, nodding to me as he ushered the little ones out of the door in a howl of protests. I couldn't help laughing; for a moment it was as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between Archie and me, and I was visiting a friend's home as any other young man might, then I remembered why I was there and my laughter suddenly sounded forced and fake in my ears.
    Mrs Wilkes was pouring tea when the back door opened and closed and footsteps sounded out in what must have been a little hallway beyond the living-room door. Instinctively I stood, then hovered there awkwardly until Archie came into the room; he was already saying something to his mother, but when he saw me he stopped where he was and I wondered whether his fleeting moment of surprise and panic was as obvious to his parents and sister as it was to me.
    "You did say I might call round any time," I said stupidly, and Archie stared at me for the briefest moment longer before gathering himself and smiling as though seeing me in his living-room making conversation with his mother and father were the most ordinary thing in the world.
    "Shall we go to the pub?"
    I said my goodbyes and followed Archie back through to the hall, where he took his hat and coat from a peg, and my hat, leading me then out of the door in the scullery, through a scrubby little garden of struggling vegetables and out of the gate onto the street. He was barely looking at me, his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched slightly. There was an air of desperate discomfort about him, which I recognised instantly; I felt it crippling me too. Neither of us spoke for a while, although I tried, and I could see him trying. There was only the soft clump of footsteps on the road and this heavy hanging silence between us, until eventually he took a breath and asked quickly, "Did you get the sack?"
    I could see the pub up ahead of us, lit windows and crowds of men both inside and out. "Is there somewhere more private?"
    He led me instead to Kennington Park, half a mile or so from his house, and we walked across the open fields so we would be sure not to meet anybody on the paths. Once we were a safe distance away, with space all around so we would be able to see anybody coming long before they could hear us, I finally glanced at Archie's face and found it flushed in the cheeks, perhaps with the chill of the evening but I thought not, and his lower lip caught anxiously between his teeth. He looked back at me, then his gaze slid away and settled on his feet, kicking at the grass and clods of dirt as thought they were to blame for this whole situation.
    "I've not got the sack, and neither have you." His head whipped back up to stare at me, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as though he didn't believe what I was saying. I tried to explain as we walked slowly through the park, although I stumbled over the words; first I began to tell him what Mr Everett had said about the need for discretion, then halted myself hastily because it sounded as though I believed this to be some sort of genuine love affair that would carry on despite all the risks and despite this painful shame between us that was making it difficult for both of us to talk. I tried then to cover up my stumble with nonchalance, but that sounded as though the night before, the dressing up and kisses