Giles had pushed off. Those were his very words. He said, ‘Struan, I’m going to push off now. Can’t tell you how relieved I feel about you know, all that.’ ‘But,’ said Struan (Shirin, Myfanwy, Back-up, Help), and Giles had merely waved. ‘A most serendipitous morning,’ he said, ‘especially the dip. Very serene. I’ll be in touch, Struan, very soon – take care of the tortoise.’ And then he’d dashed off. Ran, in fact, to catch up with Bill, and off they went down the street, loping shiny-headed Bill, teddy bear Giles. They were suited, Struan could see that – Giles always looking for consolation, Bill to console – but it seemed miles home, and heaving the wheelchair up the ramp was no joke, solo. He was sad and bruised before he even entered the kitchen, and spotted its inhabitants, seated round the table for all the world like the three woebegone gnomes who lived in the garden two doors up from his gran, forever dining off an all-too-convincing toadstool. ‘Been shopping, Struan?’ said Myfanwy.
