Felicia comes to the door with the child in her arms. The two of them look at me out of eyes that are shaped the same, then Felicia smiles as if she’s glad to see me.‘This is Jeannie,’ she says, and the baby turns her head into her mother’s shoulder. Her hair is as fine as thistledown, and pale. There was never hair like that in the Dennis family. It must come from Harry Fearne.‘It’s all right, Jeannie. Daniel’s our friend,’ says Felicia, but Jeannie won’t look up. ‘She’s tired. I was just going to put her to bed.’I watch Felicia move about the kitchen with the child on her hip.‘She still has her bottle at night,’ she says, and heats milk in a little pan before pouring it into a newfangled-looking feeding bottle. I watch everything she does. Her hands move surely. Of course they do, she must have done this hundreds of times. Felicia being a mother is new to me, but not to her.‘I won’t be long,’ she says, and goes off with the child and the bottle. I look around the kitchen.
