Their drinks arrive and Ray pours a pile of change into the barman’s hand, who counts it then gives him some back. They head towards what has become their spot in the corner by the window. William takes his first gulp of cider. It flows down his throat easily.

‘Have you made a move?’ Ray says.

‘I’m not sure what that means, but we talk a lot,’ William says. ‘She makes me cocoa every night.’

‘Steady on, that kind of behaviour could land you in a lot of trouble!’

‘Take the mickey all you want!’ William can’t help but laugh. ‘I like talking to her and I like drinking cocoa.’

‘If you do want to step things up, and you need any advice, I’m your man. Let’s just say I’ve packed an orifice or two in my time.’

William winces, can’t help it.

Ray’s confidence visibly falters. ‘I know you think I’m a loser, but you could at least try and hide it.’

‘I don’t think that,’ he half lies, feeling guilty, ‘sorry.’

Ray softens at the apology. ‘Who’d have guessed there were boys in this world who spent Saturday mornings putting make-up on stiffs?’ Ray warms to his theme. ‘Not me, that’s for sure.’

‘Not every Saturday.’ William laughs. ‘And not until I was fourteen.’

‘Why fourteen?’ Ray frowns. ‘Is that the age of initiation?’

‘It’s when I moved in with my uncle.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘I might not know where a carotid artery flows from and to, but I’m sure I can follow your living arrangements.’

William is relieved to see the time on his watch. He gulps down the rest of his drink and picks up his coat. ‘Right, I’m off.’

Ray looks at the clock on the wall. ‘We’ve got ten minutes yet.’

‘I haven’t. I’m going out with Arthur.’

‘Where?’

‘Home visit, council bigwig. His wife wants him embalmed at home.’

‘I see,’ Ray says, his face closed down, smile gone. ‘Golden Boy to the rescue.’

Arthur has never invited Ray to a home embalming, and this is the third time William has been asked. But the flicker of sympathy William feels is extinguished by a sudden and strong feeling of superiority.

‘Talking of advice, I’ve got some for you.’

‘What’s that then?’ Ray stands and puts his coat on.

‘Get a haircut. Even if your marks improve, you won’t get asked on any home visits looking like that.’

William’s afternoon goes well. Arthur praises his work and professional, solicitous manner with the councillor’s widow. But the whole thing is sullied for him because of the fiery colour that rose on Ray’s face before he had time to laugh it away.

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