"Come in!" said a voice. It was a deep, boy's voice; quite unlike Simon's light sophisticated tones.
Bee, being half a head taller than Mr. Sandal, could see over his shoulder; and her first feeling was one of shock that he should be so much more like Simon than Patrick ever was. Her mind had been filled with images of Patrick: vague, blurred images that she strove to make clear so that she could compare them with the adult reality. Her whole being had been obsessed with Patrick for the last twenty-four hours.
And now here was someone just like Simon.
The boy got up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and with no haste or embarrassment pulled from off his left hand the sock he had been darning. She couldn't imagine Simon darning a sock.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning," said Mr. Sandal. "I hope you don't mind: I've brought you a visitor." He moved aside to let Bee come in. "Do you know who this is?"
Bee's heart hammered on her ribs as she met the boy's light calm gaze and watched him identify her.
"You do your hair differently," he said.
Yes, of course; hairdressing had changed completely in those eight years; of course he would see a difference.
"You recognise her, then?" Mr. Sandal said.