Then, all alone on the deserted ground, surrounded by the shapes of wooden horses and cheap fairy boats, she looked for a place to sleep. Now here and now there, she raised the canvas that shrouded the coconut stalls and peered into the warm darkness. She was frightened to step inside, and as a mouse scampered across the littered shavings on the floor, or as the canvas creaked and a rush of wind set it dancing, she ran away and hid again near the roundabouts. Once she stepped on the boards; the bells round a horse’s throat jingled and were still; she did not dare breathe again until all was quiet and the darkness had forgotten the noise of the bells. Then here and there she went peeping for a bed, into each gondola, under each tent. But there was nowhere, nowhere in all the fair for her to sleep. One place was too silent, and in another was the noise of mice. There was straw in the corner of the Astrologer’s tent, but it moved as she touched it; she knelt by its side and put out her hand; she felt a baby’s hand upon her own.

Now there was nowhere, so slowly she turned towards the caravans on the outskirts of the field, and found all but two to be unlit. She waited, clutching her empty bag, and wondering which caravan she should disturb. At last she decided to knock upon the window of the little, shabby one near her, and, standing on tiptoes, she looked in. The fattest man she had ever seen was sitting in front of the stove, toasting a piece of bread. She tapped three times on the glass, then hid in the shadows. She heard him come to the top of the steps and call out ‘Who? Who?’ but she dare not answer. ‘Who? Who?’ he called again.

She laughed at his voice which was as thin as he was fat.

He heard her laughter and turned to where the darkness concealed her. ‘First you tap,’ he said, ‘then you hide, then you laugh.’

She stepped into the circle of light, knowing she need no longer hide herself.

‘A girl,’ he said. ‘Come in, and wipe your feet.’ He did not wait but retreated into his caravan, and she could do nothing but follow him up the steps and into the crowded room. He was seated again, and toasting the same piece of bread. ‘Have you come in?’ he said, for his back was towards her.

‘Shall I close the door?’ she asked, and closed it before he replied.

She sat on the bed and watched him toast the bread until it burnt.

‘I can toast better than you,’ she said.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said the Fat Man.

She watched him put the charred toast upon a plate by his side, take another round of bread and hold that, too, in front of the stove. It burnt very quickly.

‘Let me toast it for you,’ she said. Ungraciously he handed her the fork and the loaf.

‘Cut it,’ he said, ‘toast it, and eat it.’

She sat on the chair.

‘See the dent you’ve made on my bed,’ said the Fat Man. ‘Who are you to come in and dent my bed?’

‘My name is Annie,’ she told him.

Soon all the bread was toasted and buttered, so she put it in the centre of the table and arranged two chairs.

‘I’ll have mine on the bed,’ said the Fat Man. ‘You’ll have it here.’

When they had finished their supper, he pushed back his chair and stared at her across the table.

‘I am the Fat Man,’ he said. ‘My home is Treorchy; the Fortune-Teller next door is Aberdare.’

‘I am nothing to do with the fair,’ she said, ‘I am Cardiff.’

‘There’s a town,’ agreed the Fat Man. He asked her why she had come away.

‘Money,’ said Annie.

Then he told her about the fair and the places he had been to and the people he had met. He told her his age and his weight and the names of his brothers and what he would call his son. He showed her a picture of Boston Harbour and the photograph of his mother who lifted weights. He told her how summer looked in Ireland.

‘I’ve always been a fat man,’ he said, ‘and now I’m the Fat Man; there’s nobody to touch me for fatness.’ He told her of a heat-wave in Sicily and of the Mediterranean Sea. She told him of the baby in the Astrologer’s tent.

‘That’s the stars again,’ he said.

‘The baby’ll die,’ said Annie.

He opened the door and walked out into the darkness. She looked about her but did not move, wondering if he had gone to fetch a policeman. It would never do to be caught by the policeman again.