She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. “I’ve been playing since I was five, Lucy! You’re just more talented than I am. " "Is he leaving England?" demanded Thames, in astonishment.
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