Unsure what to say, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet. He’d never been to a brothel in his life before, but he’d presumed it would be like any other business and he would be invited in, no questions asked. In hindsight, he realized what a ridiculous assumption that had been. Prostitution was still illegal, as far as he knew, so of course they wouldn’t let any old Tom, Dick, or Harry walk in off the street. But he’d come this far, so he wasn’t about to give up now.

‘I was, um, told I could get a good time here,’ he said, trying not to stare at the tattoo of a thick snake that rose up from the woman’s wrinkled cleavage and wrapped itself around her turkey neck.

‘By?’ she demanded.

‘Er . . . Dave?’ He blurted out the most common name he could think of.

‘Dave who?’ The woman narrowed her eyes and shoved her sleeves up, revealing yet more tattoos on her arms.

‘I don’t know him all that well, so I’m not sure what his surname is,’ Evan said, half-expecting her to slam the door in his face. ‘He’s got grey hair and a bit of a limp,’ he embellished, guessing that most of her customers were getting on a bit, like the two he’d seen tonight. ‘Drinks in the Dog and Duck.’

The woman looked him up and down, then jerked her chin up at him and opened the door a little wider to allow him entry. Closing and bolting the door when he stepped into the dingy hallway, she turned to face him.

‘This your first time, son?’

Cringing with embarrassment, Evan nodded.

‘OK, well this is how it works,’ she said. ‘It’s eighty for an hour, fifty for half. If you want extras, you settle up when you’ve finished and I’ve seen what state you’ve left her in. Just so you know,’ she went on, a clear warning in her voice. ‘I’ve got security. And if you get too rough, you’ll be walking out of here with a cunt where your cock used to be. Got that?’

Disgusted by her coarseness, Evan muttered, ‘Got it,’ and pulled out his wallet. Sliding two twenties and a ten out, he handed them over – praying, as he did so, that Marie wouldn’t question why the Christmas bonus he’d received from work had gone down so fast, because this would be bloody hard to explain.

The woman snatched the notes and shoved them into her pocket, and then opened an internal door and led him down a narrow corridor. At the end, she ushered him into a shabbily furnished lounge area, where five young women wearing skimpy underwear were huddled together on a long sofa, while two others were perched on tall stools at a tiny bar in the corner.

‘Take your pick,’ she said.