Free Midnight Sun by Ramsey Campbell

but my purity — the purity I have in mind — is distinguished and aloof... metaphysical, of the stars ... of the big spaces ..."
    David Lindsay, Devil's Tor

    NINE

    The children were expecting London to be an adventure, and it proved to be one. Ellen was congratulating herself on having navigated the Volkswagen into the West End despite the lunch-time traffic when they were confronted by a sign which said Oxford Street was closed to private cars. Now Ellen saw why it was surrounded by so many one-way arrows on the map. The car tailgating Ben's blared its horn at him for braking, and a businessman crossing in front of him brandished two fingers as if he had sounded the horn. "That's a bad example," ten-year-old Margaret advised her brother.
    "I expect he was wishing us success," Ben said. "V for victory. I don't mean to change the subject, but where do I go now?"
    The map appeared to have turned into a mass of arrows which collided and dodged away like a diagram of turbulence. "Across and next right," Ellen said, since that seemed to be the only way to go.
    The route took them past the British Museum. "That's where they have lots of old weapons, isn't it, Dad?" seven-year-old Johnny said. "Could we go and see them if there's time?"
    "I don't suppose they'd have an old tank we could use to make our way to where we're going," Ben wondered, showing his teeth at a No Entry sign.
    "Only if there's time," Johnny said rather plaintively. "We aren't going to be late, are we? Won't they publish your book if we're late?"
    "I'm sure they will, sweetie," Ellen said, turning 'to smile at his thin pale eager face, almost a miniature of his father's except for his hair, which was black like hers. "Be a little quiet now until we get there."
    Shaftesbury Avenue led them across Cambridge Circus, beyond which Ben raced the oncoming traffic into a wide street, beating a double-decker bus to the intersection so narrowly that Johnny cheered while Margaret screamed and Ellen held her breath. Traffic wardens and women wearing fishnet stockings prowled a labyrinth of streets made even narrower by illegally parked cars, some immobilised by wheel-clamps. Whenever a gap opened in the traffic there seemed to be a taxi poised to dart into it. Ben drummed the wheel as if he was about to fling up his hands, and then he bumped the car over the kerb into a oneway street. "A miracle. A space."
    Most of the parking meters in the street had bags over their heads, but the one at the end was working. He steered the car into the space and jumped out, and was reaching in his pocket when he read the sign on the meter. "How much for ten minutes? At this rate we'll just about have time to walk to the end of the street and back. My curse on whoever's responsible. May their noses turn into sausages and be eaten by dogs, may their toes grow so long they have to tie them in knots to walk
    Anxiety and mirth and dismay because she'd brought no money were chasing one another over Margaret's long delicate oval face. "What comes after noses and toes?"
    "Don't ask, or something might be after yours," Ellen said, searching her own purse. "Oh dear, the milkman took all my change."
    "Shall I ask that lady in the doorway if she can change your notes, Mummy?" Johnny suggested.
    "I think she might misinterpret your intentions, Johnny," Ben said, squeezing Ellen's knee and winking at her as he climbed into the car. "Let's blunder onwards. I see now, this is like a kind of life-size board game where the object is to avoid Oxford Street. I only hope this isn't an illegal move."
    He backed to the intersection and was veering left when Margaret said "What's the name of your and Mummy's publishers?"
    "Any other time I'd enjoy repeating it. Ember, a subsidiary of Firebrand Books."
    "We just saw it."..
    "Across the road you just came out of," Johnny gabbled, and Margaret added, "Where a lady's jumping up and down and waving."
    Ellen looked back. On the far side of the crossroads a young