James came down the stairs at half nine expecting toast.
Nyra was standing in the hall with her shoes on.
Not near her shoes. Not carrying them. On, laced, and she had a jacket over her arm and she was facing the front door like a greyhound in a trap, and when the third step creaked under him she spun round so fast her hair went with her.
"You're up."
"I'm up."
"You said we'd go out."
"I said we'd see—"
"You said *we'll see* and that means yes, you always say we'll see and then it's yes, Mum says it too, and it was last night so it's still—" She stopped, took a breath, and started again at a slightly more survivable speed. "Are you ready? Because I'm ready. I've been ready. Are you having toast? How long does toast take?"
"Nyra."
"Because if it's the toast I can do the toast."
James rubbed his face.
Alice was in the kitchen doorway.
