Mavis held the lapels close together. ‘I like it.’

‘Wrap me in it, too.’ He stretched out beside her. ‘You smell nice.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘You don’t wear scent, do you?’

‘No,’ said Mavis, ‘no, it’s all me.’

Claud kissed her mouth. ‘You taste nice too.’

‘Tell me the story of your novel.’

‘I’ve got an erection.’

Mavis clutched her coat about her and crossed her legs.

‘Oh, for the happy days of carefree love!’ Claud accepted her refusal.

‘That generation don’t look any happier than us, I can’t see that it makes all that difference really.’

‘It’s the idea—’

‘Shouldn’t you direct your energies into intellectual activity? Sublimate.’

‘What have you been reading?’ Claud inserted his hand between the buttons of the coat and started peregrinating towards Mavis’ breasts. ‘Where are they?’

‘Higher up.’

‘What a lot of clothes you wear.’

‘I feel the cold.’

‘The stove is warming us nicely, let me in.’

‘No.’

‘All right.’ He lay beside her. The effort of moving his belongings to the attic had been strenuous. He began to feel sleepy in the increasing warmth. ‘The shock of being thrown out of the parental home was traumatic,’ he murmured.

‘That’s not the story your mother told my mum. She helped you pack, ironed your shirts for the last time, bought you new bath towels.’

‘What a literal girl you are.’

‘It will be useful for your novel, though; are all suggestions gratefully received?’

‘Not really. I have to work it out for myself; the new schema is one no one has ever tried before.’

‘Is that so.’ Mavis in her overcoat sounded sceptical. ‘What’s so original about it?’

‘It’s about my mother.’

‘And?’

‘Her love life.’

‘Her love life?’

‘You are not to tell anyone.’ The scent of Mavis’ flesh filled Claud with dangerous indiscretion; her exertions had made her perspire, which curiously enhanced her attraction. Again he set his hand to explore the labyrinth of garments, fumbling up towards her breasts from the waistband of her jeans. ‘However many layers of clothes have you got on?’ he asked in irritation as he unbuttoned her coat.

‘Vest, tee-shirt, shirt and sweater. Your hand is somewhere between the vest and the tee-shirt.’

‘You sound like the guide to Hampton Court maze.’

‘Go on about your mother.’

Claud withdrew his hand. ‘She’s past the age for ordinary sex, right?’

‘Is that so?’

‘For the purpose of my novel it is.’

‘Okay, go on.’ Mavis resettled her clothes, rebuttoning the coat so that should he be so minded Claud would have to start again from scratch.

Claud folded his arms behind his head, ‘She is in love with her machines.’

‘Her what?’ Mavis reared up on an elbow.

‘Her dishwasher, washing machine, spin dryer, mixer. They are all more real to her than a man’s penis, she has a special relationship with her microwave.’

‘Your mother hasn’t got a microwave.’