He hung a left off Argyle Street and made his way to The Waterloo public house. Pulling up outside, he turned the engine off and faced her.

‘Have I said something wrong?’

Donna shook her head. ‘Annie seems to me to be very much the stronger of the partnership.’

‘Oh, she is,’ he agreed. ‘Before they married he’d do a blag, piss all his money up the wall and be looking round for work again. He also sold himself short. It’s Annie what got him into this business. She’s his negotiator, and she looks after the dosh. That flat in Harmony Row is just a front. Eventually him and her are going to get right out of it, buy a place for cash then carry on from there. She’s shrewd, old Annie. She knew what Jonnie H. could offer her and she took it. Like most brasses she’s loyal to him. They’re always loyal, brasses. Funny that. They’re loyal to their pimps, their boyfriends and their husbands. Never ceases to amaze me.’

He jumped from the car and held Donna’s door open for her.

‘What are we doing here?’

‘This, Donna, is where we pick up the front men. I know a few faces here who can help us.’

She followed him into the stagnant warmth of The Waterloo. It was a known haunt of homosexuals and Donna breathed in perfume, aftershave and sweat as they pushed their way to the bar. The music was loud and heavy. Leather and earrings abounded.

‘Two large scotches, please. Is Nick Carvello in at all?’ The barman nodded and jerked his head at the corner of the room. Alan paid for the drinks and they squeezed through towards Nick Carvello and his friend Albie Doyle.

Nick was tall, slender and very good-looking, with thick red hair tied back in a ponytail and green eyes like a cat’s. Albie was short, dumpy and dressed in overalls. Donna felt as if she had gatecrashed a Village People concert.

Nick squealed loudly. ‘Alan! Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Look what the cat’s dragged in, Albie.’ He was looking Donna over as he spoke. ‘Love the suit, dear, very Sharon Stone. Now let’s sit down and get settled.’

He walked to a table where four men were sitting chatting. He made a waving gesture with his hands and the four beat a hasty retreat.

‘Come and sit down, and let’s catch up. Sit beside me, Albie dear, but first go and get another round of drinks. And ask Phillip if he can put on some Stylistics. This shit is giving me a headache.’

He turned to Donna and said conspiratorially, ‘Ever since that shit “Relax” came out, they think we all gyrate to rubbish like that. Sickening, isn’t it?’

Donna smiled, feeling very out of place. ‘You’re not Scottish?’ she said tentatively.