Poised, immobile, Will stood on the pedals of his bike. Concentrating hard, brow furrowed beneath its fair fringe of hair, he inched it around in a slow circle, never putting a foot to the floor.

Only feet away Nirmal did the same. His antiquated bicycle had larger wheels and was more difficult to turn. But he circled, balancing, brown calves taut, on the pedals. His square hands gripped the handlebars, as he shifted his weight, carefully, from foot to foot. His black eyebrows met in a frown and a triangle of pink tongue protruded from his lips as he concentrated.

They were over by the long fence, where the allotments met the heath, on a patch of open ground, rutted and flat, where they could wheelie undisturbed. The sky was blue, with high, white scudding clouds, though it had rained that morning, so there...

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