‘How did you do that?’ I wanted to know.
‘Ho-ho,’ she said.
Janie said, ‘It’s easy. She’s really twins.’
‘Oh,’ I said. Then another girl, exactly the same, came from somewhere in the shadows and stood beside the first. They were identical. They stood side by side and stared at me. This time I let them stare.
‘That’s Bonnie and Beanie,’ said the painter. ‘This is Baby and that—‘she indicated the man—‘that’s Lone. And I’m Janie.’
I couldn’t think of what to say, so I said, ‘Yeah.’
Lone said,’ Water, Janie.’ He held up a pot. I heard water trickling, but didn’t see anything. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, and hung the pot on a crane. He picked up a cracked china plate and brought it over to me. It was full of stew with great big lumps of meat in it and thick gravy and dumplings and carrots. ‘Here, Gerry. Sit down.’
I looked at the stool. ‘On that?’
‘Sure.’
‘Not me,’ I said. I took the plate and hunkered down against the wall.