[ He laughs, numbly — a low, soft susurrus of sound. She sounds like every British stereotype he's ever heard on the radio. The big yellow sausage curls are the proverbial cherry on top of the whole picture. ]

It's no place for kids, that's for sure. [ And so he not-so-neatly sidesteps the question.

—yeah, he's scared. He's terrified. More than he's ever been, maybe. ] Which means I don't belong here any more than you do. [ Might as well pass the time, and this kid's better company than all the rest of the room put together. ] I'm Roy, by the way. You can pull up a chair and tell me your name in return for the bird.