There was a crash from the music center and then a silence louder and more painful than the noise. The tape had ended.

"Put on some reggae," said Blackie. He gyrated his hips and waved his arms in unsuccessful imitation. "Cool, mon."

Julie hurriedly selected a tape and put it on.

"Look, a bird that can drink," said Blackie. Ruth had drained her glass again. "Like a beer, darling?"

"All right," said Ruth, soundlessly under the music.

"Eh?" said Blackie.

Ruth held out her hand, and he playfully put his can of Carlsberg into it. Ruth handed him the can back.

"She doesn't want to drink yours," said Terry. "Very sensible. God knows what she might catch." He went into the narrow kitchen and got another beer from the fridge, replacing it with four others.

When he came back, Blackie was sitting beside Ruth on the settee.

Julie and Jenny were dancing to the music, ignoring Blackie and Ruth. Julie's high heels kept catching in the carpet, but it was too soon to take them off.

"Guess what line I'm in," Blackie was saying to Ruth. Ruth looked at him. God, what eyes she had, Terry thought, like bloody Greta Garbo. And black as tar.

Ruth did not guess.

Terry said, "He fixes cars."

"Yeah," said Blackie. "Nothing I can't see to. That's how I met our Julie. Fixed her up. 'Course, they ain't got a car now. Old Terry splattered it, didn't you?"

Terry drank down his beer. "It was a fucking drag. Always going wrong. You never fixed it. It got worse after you had your paws on it."

"Secret of my success," said Blackie.

"You've buggered yours up too. Now my Morris," said Terry. "Did the whole of Cornwall in that car."

"Yeah, place called Mousehole," said Blackie to Ruth.

"It's pronounced Mowsel," said Terry.

"Oooh," said Blackie. "Well, fark me. Moosil."

He looked up at Julie and Jenny disco dancing awk-wardly on the catchy carpet. "Come on, show a bit of whoopsie."

Julie glanced at Blackie archly, but said nothing.

Blackie shrugged. He got out a packet of cigarettes and a big gold lighter. He showed the lighter to Ruth. "See this? Present from a grateful customer. A bird." He put a cigarette in his mouth, flipped the lighter and raised the yellow petal of flame. When the cigarette was alight, he flipped the lighter over. "Look, it's inscribed to me. B to B."

"Don't you believe it," said Terry. "He fucking knocked it off. Or someone left it in a car."

Ash trembled from the cigarette to the carpet. Blackie rubbed it smartly in with his big black shoe. Julie gave a grunt and broke off from her dance. She went to the fire surround and picked up an ashtray, which she then set down by Blackie on the toffee-wood table, moving the tape player to do so. "Use that."

"Use that. Yis, Modum. Lovely."

"You brought the stuff?" Terry asked Blackie.

"I might."