‘I think you’d better come into the kitchen and have a large drink, Carol.’

Carol looked fearfully at Donna’s tired face, the dark smudges under her eyes and the hard edge to her lips, and instinctively knew that what she was about to hear would only hurt her.

‘Do I need a large drink then, to hear what you’ve got to say?’

Donna walked towards the kitchen and said over her shoulder, ‘Carol, love, you’ll need more than one drink before this day’s out, believe me when I tell you that.’

Carol sat nervously at the table, Dolly’s bowed head bothering her more than anything. If it upset Dolly then it was serious.

Donna seated herself and poured Carol a scotch. ‘Before I start, how much do you know about Georgio and Davey’s dealings in Sri Lanka?’

Carol felt her insides turning to ice water as Donna spoke.

‘I know enough,’ she said. ‘The point is, how much do you know?’

At this point, Dolly looked over at Carol with distaste - a look Carol didn’t understand; was unsure how to take.

‘I expect you’ve found out it was porn, have you?’ she said defensively. ‘Well, my advice to you is to come down to the real world with everyone else, Donna. Porn is a part of our daily life, whether it’s a blue film or a page three girl. Soft porn never hurt anyone. So if you’re running round like a cat with a scalded arse over a bit of old bluey, I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong, Donna. Dead wrong.’

When Donna and Dolly still remained silent, Carol sighed heavily.

‘Listen, I know porn probably gives you the heebie-jeebies, it does me to be honest, but it’s like Georgio said: if we don’t do it, someone else will. Whatever happens it’ll be made and we might as well be making it. Can’t you see that? It’s just economics, sound economics.’

Donna sipped her scotch and looked into Carol’s heavily made-up face.

‘Have you ever seen any of the books or the contents of the floppy discs? Have you ever seen any of the so-called soft porn my husband and yours are peddling to all and sundry? Only I have, and believe me, Carol, it’s bloody disgusting.’

Carol spread her hands. ‘What are they, hardcore porn? Stag movies? Look - my sister used to make them for a living in the seventies. They’ve been around since the silent movies, love . . .’

Donna interrupted her. ‘The films and photographs aren’t of women, you fool, they’re of children! The hotel in Sri Lanka deals in children. Little ones, Carol, like your own kids. I’ve been there, seen it, done it, got the bloody T shirt, for Christ’s sake!