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hurrying to guide him out of the driveway, as the fellow insisted on doing whenever he had the chance. Now David thought about it, he hadn't seen the man for weeks.

ELEVEN
    As David stepped onto the crossing at the fifth bleep of the green man he was almost deafened by the blare of a horn. He just had time to stumble backwards onto the pavement as a car hurtled at him. A woman cried out behind him, and the driver brandished the mobile phone he was using. "You nearly trod on my toe," the woman complained. "It's sore as it is."
    "My fault," David mumbled, though he hardly thought it was.
    When he ventured onto the crossing again a man at the front of the crowd that met him was ready with advice. "You want to watch out what you're doing, lad."
    "I'm trying to give people a holiday," David said and reached for a flyer from the bundle in his hand, but the potential customer had gone.
    As the green man fell silent and flickered like a dying flame David made for the opposite pavement. He'd set foot on it when a cyclist sped onto the crossing, almost knocking the leaflets out of his hand. "Mind the fuck out," the rider counselled him on the way to veering through the crowd.
    "Forgive me for walking on the pavement," David said, but nobody seemed amused or even sympathetic. At least he'd made people look at him, and he took the chance to hand each of them a Frugogo flyer. "Everyone's a customer," Andrea had told him, though in the words of the head office, when she'd sent him forth. He was heading along Church Street in the wake of the cyclist, though the road was meant to be reserved for pedestrians, and turning up his collar against the vicious March wind when a discarded Frugogo handbill followed by another fluttered past him.
    Might people keep the leaflets if he said something as well? As a young couple emerged from a department store he held out a flyer. "Are you thinking of going away?"
    "We're going, mate," the man said, and his partner called back to David "We've gone."
    A pair of oldsters looked more promising. "Are you going away this year? Because—"
    "She is and I hope she's coming back." In case it wasn't clear why his eyes had grown even moister the man said "The hospital."
    "I'm sorry I, I'm sorry." As a phalanx of young women wheeling toddlers in buggies came towards him David said "Have you booked your holidays this year?"
    "How many do you think we get?"
    "Try having kids and see how much they cost."
    "Do we look like we can afford one?"
    He had to dodge out of their way as they bore down on him, all three resuming conversations on their phones despite the wails of their brood. He seemed to have run out of questions, and so he didn't speak when he peeled off a flyer to hand to a woman on her own. "If it's about God I've got one," she said.
    "It's nothing to do with God. It's—"
    "Then you should be ashamed," a grey-haired man said and shook a pocket Bible at him. "Sinners like you are what's wrong with the world."
    "My God, all I'm trying to do is make people aware of our holiday offers. I don't think that's much of a sin."
    "Taking His name in vain is one, my friend." The man ensured that the capital letter was audible by emitting it with a wheeze. "Try making them aware of Him," he said in the same way, "and you'll do some good."
    "That's what I'm trying to do as it is."
    "He is all the holiday we ought to need. He brings more peace than any holiday."
    The woman had departed at speed, but a few amused bystanders were lingering. "You look like you need one yourself," a man called, and a woman told David "If he's thumping you with the book, give him one of your screeds. Fair swap."
    As the evangelist left him a testamentary frown David handed the woman a flyer. The preacher set about haranguing the crowd from the middle of the street, and David was moving onwards when a Frugogo leaflet sailed past him and flapped up an arcade of shops. He couldn't see who had consigned the flyer to the wind, but as he left the