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chirped.
    “Not bad,” I said. “What are you doing home this early?”
    “Induction day. I finished at dinner time.” She all but dragged me over to the neighbours. I was impatient to write the article I’d mentioned to Jo, and email it over to her, but Mum insisted. “Everyone, this is Sam. He’s started at Maybrick High today.” She said it as if she was saying ‘Eton’ or ‘Cambridge University’.
    “Hi,” I said weakly.
    The old couple from No. 2 were Mr and MrsGifford. They were both short and wore fawn cardigans which, while not actually matching, definitely looked like they’d been bought in the same shop. Mr Gifford was beaky and peering, with a neat green collar and tie. Mrs Gifford spent the whole time delicately holding the lowest bead of her necklace. Both of them had the same very slightly runny nose, a single thin line of yellow visible on their upper lips. Mrs Gifford dabbed hers with a hanky. Mr Gifford sniffed.
    The people from No. 1 were the Daltons. Michael, Susan and their two-year-old Greye. With an ‘e’. Greye, for God’s sake! The child wriggled and whined. His multi-coloured socks dangled off the ends of his pudgy feet.
    “Are you cold, sweets?” cooed his mother. “Daddy get you your coat.”
    Mum flashed the sunny face at me she reserved for social situations. “Did you make some new friends today?” she said. And to make it worse, she added an aside to the neighbours. “He finds it difficult to make new friends. We’ve moved around a lot.”
    “Yes, they do these days,” smiled Mr Gifford. That didn’t make any sense, did it? He noddedsagely, and Mrs Gifford nodded sagely, too.
    I wanted to die. Greye whined.
    “Has Daddy not got you your coat yet, sweets?”
    Without a word, Daddy handed the child to Mummy and headed back into their house.
    “Sam?” prompted Mum.
    “Er, yes, I made a couple of friends,” I said, in a smart-alec tone. “I met the girl who lives over there.” I indicated the Priory.
    “Oh, Emma,” smiled Mrs Gifford.
    “Emma,” said Susan Dalton. “She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
    “Lovely girl,” agreed Mrs Gifford.
    Susan Dalton dabbled at Greye’s rosy cheeks. “She’s your favourite babysitter, isn’t she?”
    “They’re a lovely family,” smiled Mrs Gifford.
    “Pillars of the community,” added Mr Gifford. “Emma’s father, Byron Greenhill, is a surgeon. Or was. I believe he’s in research now. One of the country’s leading psychopharmacologists.”
    “Crikey, there’s a word with a big Scrabble score!” said Dad.
    Mum laughed a little too loudly.
    Michael Dalton came back holding a chunkylittle anorak that Greye kicked and grumbled over while it was put on him.
    “There you go, sweets,” said Susan. “Daddy get your tea ready in a minute.” They both smiled amiably at their squirming little brat, then at the rest of us.
    “And Byron’s father lives at the Priory, too,” smiled Mrs Gifford.
    “Solid fellow, Ken Greenhill,” smiled Mr Gifford. “Served over thirty-five years on the town council. Half the amenities in this area are his doing. Very sound fellow. The Greenhills are a very respected family. The library up in town is reopening soon, saved from closure and fully refurbished by the Greenhills.”
    “How marvellous,” said Mum.
    “Pillars of the community,” repeated Mr Gifford. “Byron’s brother is the local chief constable, and I believe they have relatives in Whitehall. A couple of senior civil servants, and one is in parliament.”
    “An MP, yes,” smiled Mrs Gifford.
    “I might pop over later and say hi,” said Dad.
    No, please don’t
, I groaned inwardly.
    “The Greenhills’ annual Halloween Ball is thesocial event of the year,” smiled Michael Dalton. “That’s where I met Susan.”
    Susan bobbed a finger on Greye’s nose. “That’s where Mummy met Daddy.”
    I was beginning to feel slightly creeped out by these people. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.
    “Is