‘Hey, Dad,’ his son calls from the living-room, a room on his right the size of what used to be called a parlour, with a fire-place they never use. ‘They’ve left earth’s orbit! They’re forty-three thousand miles away.’

‘Good for them,’ he says. ‘Your mother here?’

‘No. At school they let us all into assembly to see the launch.’

‘She call at all?’

‘Not since I’ve been here. I just got in a while ago.’ Nelson, at thirteen, is under average height, with his mother’s dark complexion, and something finely cut and wary about his face that may come from the Angstroms. His long eye-lashes come from nowhere, and his shoulder-length hair is his own idea. Somehow, Rabbit feels, if he were taller it would be all right, to have hair so long. As is, the resemblance to a girl is frighteningly strong.

‘Whadja do all day?’

The same television programme, of people guessing and getting and squealing and kissing the m.c., is still going on.

‘Nothing much.’

‘Go to the playground?’

‘For a while.’

‘Then where?’

‘Oh, over to West Brewer, just to hang around Billy’s apartment. Hey?’

‘Yeah?’

‘His father got him a mini-bike for his birthday. It’s real cool. With that real long front part so you have to reach up for the handles.’

‘You rode it?’

‘He only let me once. It’s all shiny, there isn’t a speck of paint on it, it’s just metal, with a white banana seat.’

‘He’s older than you, isn’t he?’

‘By two months. That’s all. Just two months, Dad.’