Where were we from, the kids wanted to know? England, Ireland and Pakistan, between us. There was a girl of maybe ten who was learning English at school.
"What's that?" she said, and "Thankyou." "Afwan," I replied: you're welcome. They asked for more faces and I pulled more, high on the kids' laughter. One started doing somersaults on the railing beside the road. I reached, monster-like, under the railing for their feet and the shrieking and giggling started again.

A tiny one with round cheeks, long black plaits and a face full of mischief blew a raspberry and doubled up with mirth. I blew kisses, with expansive arm gestures, and they blew kisses back. I could describe everyone one of them as "the gorgeous one with huge eyes": bright, chatty little girls and laughing boys, a little girl all in black with the most melting smile, a taller one carrying her little brother, kissing and nuzzling his cheek, a young boy who tried to copy the faces I pulled, all of them with hearts wide open and full of laughter.

Eventually we had to leave and they waved us off with more kisses blown after the taxi. I suddenly caught sight of the sharp, bright crescent of the new moon in the dusk sky. Then Felicity pointed out the Ministry of Defence building, just a minute or so away from those laughing children, their mothers and their homes, right in the firing line if the U.S. and U.K. decide the Ministry is a target.