From Banbury I took a bus. 「Angelfield?」 said the bus driver. 「No, there』s no service to Angelfield. Not yet, anyhow. Might be different wheel』s built.」
『Are they building there, then?「
『Some old ruin they』re pulling down. Going to be a fancy hotel. They might run a bus then, for the staff, but for now the best you do is get off at the Hare and Hounds on the eys Road and walk from there. 』Bout a mile, I re.「
There wasn』t mu Angelfield. A sireet whose wooden sign read, with logical simplicity, The Street. I walked past a dozen cottages, built in pairs. Here and there a distinctive feature stood out—a large yew tree, a children』s swing, a wooden bench—but for the most part each dwelling, with its ly embroidered thatch, its white gables and the restrained artistry in its brickwork, resembled its neighbor like a mirror image.
The cottage windows looked out onto fields that were ly defined with hedges and studded here and there with trees. Farther away sheep and cows were visible, and then a densely wooded area, beyond which, acc to my map, was the deer park. There was no pavement as such, but that hardly mattered for there was no traffic, either. In fact I saw no sign of human life at all until I passed the last cottage and came to a bined post offid general store.
Two children in yellow matoshes came out of the shop and ran down to the road ahead of their mother, who had stopped at the post-box. Small and fair, she was struggling to stick stamps onto envelopes without dropping the neer tucked under her arm. The older child, a boy, reached up to put his sweet er in the bin attached to a post at the roadside. He went to take his sister』s er, but she resisted. 「I do it! I do it!」 She stood on tiptoe and stretched up her arm, ign her brother』s protestations, then tossed the paper toward the mouth of the bin. A breeze caught it and carried it across the road.
『I told you so!「
Both children turned and lauhemselves into a dash—then jolted to a halt when they saw me. Two blond fringes flopped down over pairs of identically shaped browwo mouths fell into the same expression of surprise. Not twins, no, but so close. I stooped to pick up the er and held it out toward them. The girl, willing to take it, went to step forward. Her brother, more cautious, stuck his arm out to bar her way and called, 「Mum!」
The fair-haired woman watg from the postbox had seen what had happened. 「All right, Tom. Let her take it.」 The girl took the paper from my hand without looking at me. 「Say thank you,」 the mother called. The children did so irained voices, then turheir backs from me and leaped thankfully away. This time the woman lifted her daughter up to reach the bin, and in doing so looked at me again, eyeing my camera with veiled curiosity.
Angelfield was not a place where I could be invisible.
She offered a reserved smile. 「Enjoy your walk,」 she said, and theuro follow her children, who were already running back along the street toward the cottages.
I watched them go.
The children ran, swooping and diving around each other, as though attached by an invisible cord. They switched dire at random, made uable ges of speed, with telepathiicity. They were two dancers, moving to the same inner music, two leaves caught up in the same breeze. It was uny and perfectly familiar. I』d have liked to watch them longer, but, fearful that they might turn and catch me staring, I pulled myself away.
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