I didn’t know how to play it or whether to play it or what. My heart was thumping so hard it was hurting. My mouth had dehydrated, so I downed the rum and Coke in one and was about to pour another with uncontrollably shaking hands when I was held from behind. I went so weak-kneed that I began to sink to the ground, but he was holding me with those long, strong arms that I thought I’d never feel again, and he was apologizing for the manner of his leaving and he was … brimming.

Now, I’m not one to show my tears – we have a special relationship based on privacy. It’s a pact we made, oh, about forty years ago. In any case, they prefer the moist warmth of my ducts and will do anything to stay inside. What the heck, I admit it, I betrayed their trust.

Out of my peripheral I caught my ‘business partners’ skunking off into the kitchen, snickering at the show Mama Ballbreaker was making of herself.

Said he’d missed me rotten.

‘How can I trust you not to throw another wobbly and leave me in the lurch again?’ was what I wanted to say but couldn’t, what with his pitiful, tearful eyes.

Once we’d both blown our noses and acclimatized, I smirked. ‘I’ll give you a lesson you’ll never forget. Bend over.’

‘You what?’

‘Bloody bend over.’

I looked at the kitchen door. The Losers were still in there, injecting, ingesting, snorting, licking or whatever it was they did. Stanley bent over and I gave him a good spanking. Thirty smacks, really hard. We fell into fits of convulsion, the way you do after you’ve been crying and opened up. Felt him get hard. Horny little git.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, finally straightening up, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands. ‘I heard about Mama Hortense and I just knew it had to be you.’

‘Running the New York Marathon in a Donald Duck suit. What does it look like, Stanley? I’m trying to survive.’

He hung his head at that, and so he should have. I explained the circumstances of my current situation and he swung into action. ‘Okay, show me your business plan and I’ll see if this enterprise is feasible.’

‘What planet are you on?’

‘All right, then. Show me your books.’

‘Do you think I’ve had any time to read books? I don’t even get eight hours sleep,’ I said mischievously.

Look, I told him, it goes like this. Sergio pockets the takings, deducts the running costs, claims he divvies up the profits forty–sixty.

Stanley thought for a minute, then said with delayed and, I’ve got to say, sanctimonious outrage, ‘You can’t stay here with those leeches. Let me cover costs until we make some money. Is that agreeable to you, my lovely Jessie?’