‘I give up lifting years ago, Mr Kelly, you should know that.’

The two eyed each other for a few seconds.

‘Just make sure the wallet goes back into the pocket, Vi, or there’ll be hell to pay. Now get back on reception. By the way, before I forget, how old is that little black bird out there?’

Violet pulled her mouth down at the corners and shrugged her skinny shoulders.

‘I dunno.’

Patrick Kelly stood up.

‘You don’t know? Well, judging by the looks of her I’d put her at about fifteen, Vi, so get rid of her. Fuck me, I pay you to run this gaff. I might as well run the bastard place meself!’

‘All right, all right, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I’ll sort it, OK?’

‘Good.’

‘I’m sorry about your Mandy, Pat, heart sorry. We all are.’ Her voice was soft now. She had been working for, and fighting with, Patrick Kelly for years. He was a good boss. Fair but hard. His daughter had been his life. Everyone knew that.

He dropped his eyes.

‘Thanks, Vi.’

‘Right then, face ache, I’d better go and give my little friend the bad news.’ Her voice was once more loud and aggressive.

‘You do that, girl, and once she’s got her certificate, she can work her little arse off.’

‘I’ll get her a bent one off Vinny Marcenello.’

‘You get it where you like, love, but she don’t work till she’s got it. I mean that, Vi.’

‘I know that, don’t I!’ Her voice was shrill again. She walked from the office.

Kelly carried on looking over the books but his heart wasn’t in it. Finally he got up from his desk and walked out into the foyer of the massage parlour. All around the walls were plushly upholstered seats. Girls and women of every colour, creed, shape and size were sprawled all over them. They all sat up straight as Patrick walked among them.

He nodded at them absentmindedly. Then turning to the left he walked through a door to the back of the parlour. That was where the cubicles were. He walked silently along the thickly carpeted floor until he came to the last cubicle. He listened.

A childish voice wafted from behind the thin curtain.

‘Do you require any extras, sir?’

‘How much will it rush me?’

‘Well, hand relief is fifteen quid, a blow job’s twenty, and the full bifta is forty-five quid.’

Patrick heard the man laugh.

‘Gis the full bifta, girl.’