‘Thank you very much, dear. Please have one yourself.’

She answered his tiny smile with a wide one of her own, showing big tobacco-stained teeth.

George handed her the five-pound note and waited for his change. Then, taking his drink, he went to a small corner table and sipped his brandy.

Elaine would go stark staring mad when he told her. It would be another thing to hold against him. Oh, Elaine was good at collecting grudges. She collected grudges like other women collected hats or shoes. She still hadn’t forgiven him for that other business. She never mentioned it, oh no, but he knew that it was there between them, like a silent ghost. He took a gulp of his drink, the rawness of the cheap brandy burning his throat.

It was not his fault. He had hardly known what was happening. One minute they had been smiling and laughing and the next the girl had been screaming. Oh, that scream! It had gone right through his skull and into his brain. The silly little bitch. Surely she had known what was going to happen?

‘Hello there, Georgie boy!’

Peter Renshaw stood in front of him, positively beaming with good humour and camaraderie. George felt his heart sink to his boots. This was all he needed, that bloody numbskull Renshaw twittering on.

‘Hello, Peter. Can I get you a drink?’

‘No. It’s my shout, Georgie. Not every day I see you in my little love nest!’

George watched him click his fingers at the blonde monstrosity behind the bar and wink at her.

‘Vivienne, my cherub. Bring me a G and T with ice and a slice, and whatever my good friend here is drinking. Oh, and not forgetting one for your lovely self.’

George watched the woman preening as she smiled her assent. Peter sat down beside George and whispered: ‘She’s been round the turf a few times, but she can warm a man’s cockles when the fancy takes her.’

George wrinkled his nose in disgust and Peter laughed.

‘Listen, Georgie boy, a bit of advice, man to man.’ He nudged George in the ribs. ‘You don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re stoking the fire. Know what I mean?’

George smiled for lack of anything else to do. He wished that Renshaw would have a massive heart attack and die if that was what it took to keep him quiet.

‘If you say so, Peter.’

‘Pete! Pete, for God’s sake, Georgie boy. No one calls me Peter, not even my old mum, God bless her.’

Vivienne brought their drinks to the table and George saw her tickle Peter’s neck with her fingers as she walked away. Bloody dirty filthy slag!

‘What you staring at, Georgie? Fancy a quick bonk with her, do you?’ Leaning back in his seat, Peter went to call the woman back.