There was a paper cup of something with whipped cream on it that Nell drank about half of.

There was a small wrapped present, which turned out to be a set of gel pens, and which she was pleased with.

At one point the old man said something and my daughter laughed — a real laugh, the ugly honking one she does when something has actually got her, which cannot be faked and which I had heard perhaps five thousand times.

My child was happy in that room.