Jo had to blink. A shade of green so early in Mayes that it had to be the second or third day of the month. And on the front door.

What in all Mayes-Hitoran were they thinking? The teal hadn’t been that bad. Had a nice powder effect — especially with the chalk front - and had gone well with the circle window and dove-shaped knocker. Correction, the dove was still there but didn’t look like it was for knocking. Something he was going to have to do with his fist if he wanted to get-.

“Yuuee!” a voice belted from the dove. “What’s the password?”

Jo had to stop his heart from leaping out of his mouth. “W-when did this start up again?” he coughed.

“Come on, Mr Jones,” the ‘Dove’ continued. “You know the rules: No entry without the password.”

Jo frowned. The voice didn’t ring any bells; yet seemed to know who he was. Plus you didn’t have to book on a Winsday. Or Thunderi, Fishmac and Satoona for that matter. So what in all Merinorton were they playing at.

“I haven’t received a note if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said, glancing down the sparkle-lit road. Or rather, Suzé hadn’t said a word about having to give a name, object or vegetable before entry and she had arranged this evening appointment.

“It’s easy,” said the Dove knocker. “But just for you, I’ll give a little hint: What do you think of our new door?”

“That’s a question rather than a password,” said Jo.

“Oh go on. Give it a try.”

Trying not to growl, Jo glanced down the other side of the road to a group of side-buttoned adventuriers on a merry approach before taking a breath.

“It’s bold and on the far side of daring,” he began. “Few places could carry it off.”

“Really?”

“Could you give some examples?” asked a second voice.

“A handful altogether,” Jo continued, trying not to start at the new voice. “Two on this street.” One of them being the shop on the curve into Ullista Road with the children’s garden playhouse and matching windows. A rocking horse had been looking out of an upper window the previous week. Looking out, and throwing insults at the horse statue on the front of the bar up the road that looked like a vintage supermarket.

“Could you name them?”

“That’s two passwords,” said Jo.

“Could be three, dependant on your answer,” said the second voice. “Go on, you’re almost there.”

Jo wanted to growl. Almost there. He didn’t have this much trouble getting into the library - no, the aquarium - and they had upped their game since the rainbow-stickleback incident…

“Well, there’s the restaurant for a start.”

“The sparkling one opposite the supermarket?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“More the one near the Biscuit Place.”

“The Celery House?” the second voice said, “but that’s monochrome on the front; except for the lemon door.”

“So Last decadence,” the first voice drawled. “But a place the same side as Biscuits isn’t. It’s just had a refit.”

“Refit,” the second voice spluttered, “mistake more like. Black’s fine; says sophistication. But cover-your-eyes-pink and out-on-the-town-blue, that’s a monstrosi - is that what you’re saying about our door?”

“I didn’t say that it was, that…”

“Then what are you saying?” the first voice asked. “An insult to your eyes?”

“It’s daring,” said Jo. “Edgy. Not on your usual street.”

“You don’t like it,” said the second voice. “Just say that you don’t like it.”

“Its brightened up my evening, how about that?”

“You’ve poured a bucket of fizz water on mine. And after your hair was the inspiration.”

“…You’re... joking...” the first voice whispered as Jo opened his mouth.

“But it’s lovely,” the second voice said, “same colour as those butterflies in summer.”

“My hair’s not Mayes green,” said Jo, “it’s blue.”

“Electric teal in some lights,” said the first voice.

“A revelation,” said the second, “and the only reason you’re not seeing stars the other side of the street.”

“It’s distinctive,” Jo began. “Unique. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“If that pink, bumblebee’s party house is an example of a compliment I can’t wait for the other one.”

“No, you don’t want me to-” Jo began.

“Go on.”

“But I’ve got an appointment.”

“Don’t go all shy now. One half’s gone, so let go of the other half.”

“I - don’t want to be - barred,” said Jo. “Not when I haven’t even got in.”

“Say it.”

“The shop on the Curve with the playhouses that have bright doors and matching windows. The door’s distinctive, like one of them.”

“But that shop has a door the colour of flame autumn,” the first voice said. “The trees on the pave, and along Ullista Road, all do that.”

“He means the outdoor play homes inside,” said the second voice.

A sharp intake of breath came from the dove knocker. The door opened and beats, moody lights and, was that blackcurrant, enveloped Jo.

“Get inside and explain yourself,” the first voice whispered.

Jo might as well have been looking at fog. Would it be better if he told Suzé that he had fallen ill? At least he knew a little of what - she was - capable of…

“Clock’s ticking,” the second voice added.

At which Jo took a breath and jumped inside. Into a world of floorboards, curves, sofas and glitter?