It was dark inside. All of our houses were pretty dark. Dad said this was because they faced east–west, but the Johnsons’ place was darker than most because of all the trees crowding round the doors and windows. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just stood by the door, tapping on the lintel, wondering what Mr Johnson wanted to show me. He put the kettle on the gas ring, and I tried again to tell him I would be late home for study, but he just waved away my worry with two swipes of his meaty fist, and then pointed to a chair at the end of the green formica table. I sat down. I could see a bit of the metal edging on the tabletop was coming loose, and pulled at it to see what would happen. He told me to stop fidgeting.

He left the room. I seriously considered making a run for it, but I was worried I wouldn’t be allowed to see Sixpence again, so I stayed put. There was spilled sugar on the tabletop, so I drew some circles in it while I waited. After an hour that was probably a minute, he returned with a magazine in his hand. He sat on the chair next to me. I could smell him – a combination of sweat, tinned tuna, car oil and the breath of someone who was a stranger to a toothbrush.

He opened the magazine to a page about halfway through and pushed the page under my nose. I was so surprised when I looked at it I made a little ‘O’ noise, which made him laugh. On the page was a very naked lady. I don’t think I’d seen a grown-up naked person before so it was a bit of a shock. I quickly turned away, but he grabbed my face in his huge paw and made me turn back to it.

‘What do you think of that?’ he said.

‘I’m not sure Jesus would want me to look at that, Mr Johnson, so it’s probably best if I just close my eyes.’

‘Not if you want to see your little furry friend again, it isn’t,’ he said.

I opened my eyes but did a sort of squint so I couldn’t really see much.

‘Why do you want me to look at this, Mr Johnson?’ I asked.

‘Because you’ll look like that soon,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say it’s part of your education. You’ll have hooters that size, I reckon, given your mum’s stack. Not like my Janet. She may as well be a boy.’ He snorted in a dismissive way. It made me feel even sorrier for Mrs Johnson.

‘In fact, while you’re here, Dorcas, let’s see how those baby hooters of yours are going.’

The whistle on the stove started to scream that it was time to take it off. He stood up and reached over to the hot plates. At that very moment Mrs Johnson walked into the kitchen, back from taking her girls to stay with their grandma overnight. She stepped towards the kitchen table and saw the picture lying open near the empty mug. She turned to Mr Johnson and said in a scary sort of whisper: ‘What have you done this time?’