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step. She'd hardly taken the handles when the chair lurched forward. "Let go of me," Verity Drew almost screamed, bumping the chair down onto the path. She twisted round to glare at Leslie and caught sight of the picture above the stairs of Beethoven in a truck. "Can't even take good music seriously," she muttered in something like triumph.
    Leslie strode to open the gate and close it with pointed gentleness as soon as the wheelchair was past. She stood in her doorway and watched Verity Drew pack the chair and herself into a Mini, and as the car swerved away with a rubbery squeal she closed the front door. "She's gone," she called into the kitchen, "and we aren't going to care what she writes, are we? It can't touch us. We're here for as long as we want to stay. What happened is over now."

SEVEN
    "Mummy, look at the children in the clouds."
    "That one's bouncing on a cloud, mummy."
    "And those ones are dancing in a ring on one like we dance at ballet school."
    "That one wants to sleep on his cloud, doesn't he, only the others won't let him. Why is he laughing about it? Why have they all got the same face?"
    "Ask the old man, Felicity. He drew them."
    "I don't want to, Rosalind. You ask."
    "Stop being rude to the gentleman, both of you. You'll have him thinking you're no better than all these children let loose to roam the streets without their parents. I do apologise. I assure you they've been brought up to respect their elders."
    "No offence, madam. Your little charmer was only speaking the truth. When you're as old as I am there's no point in pretending you aren't."
    "Why is he speaking like that, mummy? Has he hurt his mouth?"
    "Felicity, I'm utterly surprised at you. You know perfectly well not to make personal comments. Just you tell the gentleman you're sorry."
    "But I only—"
    "Never mind turning on the squeaky tap. I want to hear a sorry from you as well, Rosalind, or there'll be no pony lesson for either of you."
    "Mummy, that's not fair. It isn't fair."
    "Seriously, madam, don't upset them on my account. I don't mind if children laugh at me. Let's have a laugh or let's have nothing, that's what I say. Do you two want to see the funny bunny?"
    "Yes."
    "Yes, please."
    "Please."
    "I should think so too, Rosalind. You're supposed to be setting your little sister an example. Now just see whatever the gentleman is so kindly going to draw you and then we must be trotting off to piano practice."
    "I don't need to draw him. Here he is. What's up, doc?"
    "Oh, mummy, the poor old—the old gentleman has hurt his mouth."
    "Don't worry about that, Felicity. I'm not crying, am I? Don't you think the rabbit's funny? Ehhh, what's up, doc."
    "Say thank you very much, both of you, and here's some extra pocket money each to put down for the gentleman."
    "Thank you, Mr. Rabbit."
    "Yes, very much."
    "That's it, Felicity. Wave goodbye now. And excuse me"—the young blonde blue-eyed mother leaned toward him, her tailored grey suit releasing a hint of discreetly expensive perfume—"but maybe you ought to pop round to the hospital and have that looked at in case it gets infected."
    She and her daughters weren't quite out of earshot down the newly cobbled alley opposite when the smaller of the two blonde girls remarked "His drawings weren't very good, were they, mummy?"
    "At least he's trying to earn himself a little cash, Felicity, and he isn't taking any younger person's job."
    "He mustn't have any children of his own to look after him," the older girl said.
    "He hasn't got anyone to make faces for," her sister agreed, as a group of chattering Japanese tourists put paid to the sight of the two children skipping along hand in hand with their mother. He was gazing after them as if doing so might bring them back when the chalk drawing on the flagstone between his splayed legs began to turn red.
    Nobody else saw. The tourists and students above him were ignoring him except to avoid his drawing, as though nobody existed below the level of