. . . well, if Jamie were one of those boys there, he wouldn't want to try and get by Helen.

He nods at her, and then creeps off across a sort of creaking porch-thing to get inside the house - inside which, it turns out, are dark grey trousers, black shoes, grey shirts, and navy-blue jackets galore, hung all about the place in semi-neat piles.

Jamie surveys the trove of clothing with immense satisfaction.

Damn, he's good.