They were already dressed for the day in their smartest clothes. Probably expecting a visit from Grandma or due any minute to set off with the family across town themselves. They’d clearly been got ready and sent out of the house with a warning to keep themselves clean and tidy. They had on white collars, pulled-up socks and shiny boots, Lily noted. One boy, the smallest, was even wearing a Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, years old and passed down the family. He appeared ill at ease in it and was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, excluded from the game, Lily guessed, on account of having to keep his frills clean while his three brothers and one sister played hopscotch. They bobbed with subdued energy up and down the number grid chalked on the flagstones.
Number 67 was opposite but not directly opposite. In a confusing old London way the numbers on this street ran consecutively and started back on themselves to complete the tour. Number 67 had a green front door, as did several others in the street, and like number 42 it passed Lily’s clean window test.
With a confident smile, she approached the children. She grabbed Little Lord Fauntleroy from behind and, carrying his slight weight in front of her, she began to hop the chalked grid, bouncing his feet on each of the squares and chanting the rhyme as she went.
‘Five, six, seven, this way to heaven. Eight, nine, ten, turn round again.’ She reached the top and hopped back. ‘Three, two, one, you’ve had your fun!’ She deposited the giggling child on his feet at the start.
‘Again! Again!’ he shouted, holding up his arms.
Lily obliged.
Fighting for breath she addressed the oldest boy, distinguished by his sailor collar. ‘I wonder if you can help me?’
They stared at her with surprise and suspicion. No one replied. Instead they gathered together in a huddle and the big boy appeared to be laying down the law. His sister defied him. ‘Naw! Gerraway, Jim! She’s never! Look at ’er! Seccetary or somefin’ — that’s what she is. An’ anyway — rozzers i’n’t women. An’ if they woz they’d never play hopscotch.’
Emboldened, Jim looked her up and down and asked: ‘You the law, miss? You with the rozzers? We don’t talk to them … Dad’d tan our arses.’
Lily was affronted. ‘Crikey, no! I’m looking for digs. Secretary as you guessed, miss!’ Lily beamed at the little girl. ‘I’ve just got a position in a solicitor’s office … Crabtree and Bingham at the end of the road. A friend of mine lives hereabouts … she’s going to help me find a respectable place to stay. I’ve just got in to Paddington this morning. Only I’ve lost the number she gave me. I’m sure this is the right street and she said it had a green front door.’