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...ever asked for your account number or said "The situation is this: your letter has been overlooked - here am I sorting it out right now" or played repetitive CDs at you or anything. The snag: Marc knew all about parallel dimensions and Patricia would have to stay. Her friend, unfortunately, was too fiery and they'd be glad if she went back to her own world: they could offer her nothing here.

Through the window came the strains of Haydn's Serenade in F Minor. This time it was being played by a live orchestra and being conducted with panache by Mr. Sethargis, who danced very lightly to it and occasionally looked through the window of the fast-food outlet to smile or wink at Patricia. Suddenly the canned music which had seemed so irritating now seemed really beautiful - they continued it right through rather than stopping after a few seconds.

This would, if Patricia agreed, mean the parting of the two great friends.

And they both knew it would probably be forever.

The Return of Mr. Kennedy

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