Such luscious mulberries – warmed and loosened by the sun – right into our hands.

Here, Fuzz. Catch. I’d just tossed a few down to Fuzz when I saw my dress hanging out of my shorts, smudged with purple. Shitoshit. I must have bumped into a couple of mulberries on the way up.

Fuzz, guard this. The dress floated down, and Fuzz grabbed it. Wait, Fuzz. Wipe your hands first.

Too late.

Tich and I didn’t bother to chat. We ate as we picked, cramming our mouths with the dusty, inky-sweet berries until Fuzz called, hey, throw some more down here!

We showered him. Dark stains popped up over his white Sunday shirt as he scrambled about in the lane and gathered the fruit into a little pile at the base of the wall.

A weird cackle made me look up: An odd-looking bird sat on a branch above my head. Funny. I shifted position to see it better and almost keeled over. A miniature Junkman Christie perched there, no bigger than a sparrow! Junkman Christie, teeny and bobbing in the sunlight, teeny goat-bird face, leering at me.

The omen! My heart bumped against my ribs. I shut my eyes quick then opened them. Phew! It was only a bird. It flew off with a squawk, then––

Oh, you naughty boys, what are you doing?

––I froze.

I see you. I see you. Don’t think that I can’t.

A high-pitched voice from down below us! I turned my head very slowly to peer through the gaps in the leaves. A female midget wearing a burgundy evening gown and a string of pearls teetered about under the tree. With her one hand, she held up the skirt of the gown to show off a pair of glittery high heels that were much too big for her feet; her other hand carried a black satin handbag ribbed with spangles. She squatted to see us better.

There you are. There you are, she said. The midget lady wore a tiara. Tufts of blonde hair sprouted behind it. Her face was ghostly white with red-circled cheeks like Tickey, the clown in Boswell’s Circus – a big beauty spot under the left one. And thick black circles surrounded her eyes.

Who-who are you? Tich quavered.

Who am I? Why, my goodness, who are you, silly boy? She rose from her squatting position. Don’t you know you’re in my tree?

Obviously, some new girl lived in Junkman s house. I climbed onto the wall to introduce myself. Tich followed me.

Are you in a circus? I asked.

Not blooming likely. I am a Lahdidah.

What’s a Lahdidah? I wondered. That your real voice?

Quite so.

No, it’s not. That’s a him, that is. I’ve heard him speak proper. Tich sounded relieved and disgusted at the same time. He’s the newpot in auld Botty’s class.

Edwin Chaplet, at your service. The Lahdidah curtsied.

Nick, Tich. Who are you talking to? yelled Fuzz from the lane.

The newpot from 3A. He’s wearing a dress!

And pearls and a crown. It was too warm for me ermine, Edwin Chaplet added in his squeaky voice.

He thinks he’s the queen. Tich informed Fuzz.

What’s that black stuff round your eyes? I stared as though I were hypnotized by a king cobra.

Them’s my spectacles, m’dear. And I am not pretending to be the queen; I’m actually in disguise. On a mission.

Jings. What a dweet! Let s awa. But Tich didn’t move.

How do you climb in that get-up? I asked.

I take it off, silly. Watch.

In a trice, the burgundy dress, shoes, tiara, handbag and pearls fell in a heap on the ground. Edwin Chaplet, in singlet and underpants, grabbed a low branch, shot along it, upside down like a night-ape, then hauled himself right side up to sit on the wall next to Tich.

He was peculiar. His neck, lower arms and lower legs had seen the sun but not his skinny torso; you could see his ribs move under the delicate skin, white as talc. He told us that he and his ma had moved here a week ago from Nairobi in Kenya and that his dad, who worked for the government, had to stay there until further notice. His dad had sent him and his ma south to escape the beastly Mau Maus. They’re eating people’s kidleys and livers. They come and get you in the night. Tich and I took this in. Did he say kidleys?

Did you know a dead man used to live here? Tich asked. Edwin replied no, he didn’t, but he wondered how a man could live and be dead at the same time. We reported all that we knew about Junkman Christie and his grisly reputation. I let old Tich speculate that Junkman now roamed the earth as a zombie and might well show up in his former abode. I did not mention I’d seen – or thought I’d seen, Junkman in bird form just moments ago.

Edwin listened, not the least perturbed. I’ll watch out for him, he said. And Mother will be interested. She finds local customs charming. She’s a collector. He told us his mother used to tread the boards in London before she married. That meant she acted on the stage as a music hall actress who called herself Iris Paige.

She has performed with Florrie Ford and Max Miller, and she knows a lot of naughty ditties.

I straightaway wanted to meet her. Is your mother home now?

Edwin shrugged and adjusted a shoulder of his singlet.

Awa to church then? asked Tich, as curious as me.

She rests until three on Sundays. Edwin stretched out his thin legs and stared at his toes, which were long as little fingers.

Want a mulbry? Tich held out a grubby handful.

Ta, said Edwin, taking one, dainty and smiling. He had a beautiful smile.

Nick, don’t we have to go home for Sunday lunch? Fuzz yelled up. Oh hell! I had forgotten lunch.

We gotta go.

Edwin grabbed my arm. What’s your name?

I’m Nick, this is Tich, and down there is Fuzz.

Edwin turned himself around on the wall. Fuzz? He dropped off the wall into the lane and held out his hand. How do you do? Fuzz, taken aback, stared like a dumb cluck. Edwin picked up my Sunday dress from where Fuzz had left it and held it against himself.

It’s nice. Yours?

No, course not. It’s Nick’s. Fuzz and Edwin faced each other like clown twins: Edwin with black eyes and red cheeks, and Fuzz with purple mouth and spotted shirt. I jumped down and Edwin handed me the dress.

Come around this afternoon, if you like, I said, ducking inside the dress and turning to Fuzz so he could button it. Number eight, Marimba Road.

All right said Edwin. He blew a kiss and gave us his dazzling smile.