‘Ooh, that’s a steep one, pal. Flat fare is eighty pounds.’

‘No bother.’

‘Neil, you – we’re going to Glasgow? What?’

‘Don’t worry about it. It’s on the paper,’ he said, and pressed his mouth to her neck.

They snogged for the whole taxi ride, almost an hour. He didn’t want her to come up for air, didn’t want to give her time to think, remember who he was and what he wasn’t, change her mind. Slow. Pace yourself. His fingers found the low neckline of her dress, danced gently at the warm skin under there with increasing pressure; by the time they passed Falkirk he had his whole hand inside her bra, was rubbing her nipple between finger and thumb. There was heat coming off her, from between her legs, and his other hand needed to be up there. He guided her hand down and felt dizzy when, after a couple of seconds, she fumbled obediently at his belt buckle, slipped in there, held him in her fist, not stroking but pulsing faintly with her hand, slowing to a halt as his fingers reached her knickers and she breathed in-in-in. Out of the window, Glasgow approached, just as he was considering whether he could in fact be the sort of person who could fuck in a taxi with the driver right there, through a half-open pane of Plexiglas. He drummed his fingers lightly over the cotton, the softness beneath it, pulsed again against her hand just at the idea of slipping under the elastic edge, pulled back as he felt the cab slowing, heard the driver clear his throat.

‘All right, pal, thanks very much. Here you go, keep the change.’

‘You not wanting a receipt?’

She was slumped forward slightly, staring at her boots.

‘Nope, nope, all good. Night, pal. Night.’

She was stepping out, the cold night air hitting her face.

‘Aye well. Have a good night. Thanks for the show.’

‘What did he say?’ Clio asked, waking up, wheeling about on the pavement.

‘Arsehole. Don’t listen to him.’

He steered her through the gate, pushed her up against the door with one hand and kept kissing her while he groped in each pocket of his jacket. Got them. Got them. Door unlocked, he held her hand and practically pulled her up the stairs, three flights, her arms feeling thin and her body swaying dangerously over the concrete drop behind.

‘Christ, Neil, that’s some workout.’

‘Uh-huh. Come in.’

He could offer to get her a drink or something, but leaving her alone in his drab wee hallway would probably be counterproductive right now, so he steered her straight to the bed, walking behind her, holding her hip and her breast, pressing his erection into her arse.

‘You seem to be a bit overdressed, my lady. Shall we get you out of this?’