‘What?’ She spun at him, though knowing that he’d spoken without thinking… that it was just petulance… that she should let it go.

‘Well…’ He looked uneasy. ‘You know…’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘OK, OK…’ Making placatory patting gestures with his hands, too late. ‘Wrong word, maybe.’

‘No, you’ve said it now. In normal life we’re not supposed to be sensible because we’re living the fantasy. Like we’re really not supposed to bother about everyday stuff like falling to our deaths down these bloody crumbling steps, because-’

‘There’s a guy over there,’ Robin said. ‘In the field down by the creek.’

‘It’s a brook.’ Betty paused on the top step.

‘He’s looking up.’ Robin moved back to the rim of the tower. ‘He’s carrying something.’

‘A spear of light, perhaps?’ Betty said sarcastically. ‘A glowing trident?’

‘A bag, I think. A carrier bag. No, he’s not in the field. I believe he’s on the footway.’

‘Which, of course, is a public footpath — which makes him entitled to be there.’

‘Naw, he’s checking us out.’ The sunset made unearthly jewels out of the tiny round mirrors on Robin’s fez. ‘Hey!’ he shouted down. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Stop it!’ Sometimes Betty felt she was a lot older than Robin, instead of two years younger. Whole lifetimes older.

‘He went away.’

‘Of course he did. He went home to warm his bum by a roaring fire of dry, seasoned hardwood logs.’

‘You’re gonna throw that one at me all night, I can tell.’

‘Probably. While we’re sitting with our coats on in front of a lukewarm stove full of sizzling green pine.’

‘Yeah, yeah, the wood guy ripped me off. He won’t do it again.’

‘Dead right he won’t. First rule of country living: show them, from the very start, that you’re not an urban innocent.’

Robin followed her down the narrow, broken stone steps. ‘While being careful not to antagonize them, right?’