George walked into the smoky heat of the Fox Revived and there was Peter Renshaw and a crowd of other men standing at the bar. Peter saw him and shouted: ‘Here he is, the man of the moment!’

George smiled. All the others smiled back. He had a drink thrust into his hand and smiled again. He didn’t mind the warehouseman being there now. In his euphoric state of mind they were his bosom pals. He was pleased with the turnout. If only Elaine could see him now. Why, there must be twenty-five men here. For his leaving do. For him.

Renshaw slapped his back and brought his red beery face close.

‘We’ll have a few more here and then we’ll make tracks to a nightclub. I know just the place. Drink up, man. We’re a good few ahead of you!’

One of the warehousemen, a large, bulky man called Pearson, winked at George and then shouted to the barmaid: ‘Another round here, love.’

He belched loudly and George felt his familiar distaste, but tonight he fought it down.

He was going to enjoy himself if it killed him.

He drank his brandy straight down and felt another being pushed into his hand almost immediately. The pub was filling up and the noise was getting louder. People were coming and going. George’s crowd had taken over the right-hand side of the bar. He was in the midst of the crowd. For the first time in his life he felt he belonged. The men from the warehouse made him feel welcome. They patted him on the back and wished him good luck. They made dirty remarks about Mrs Denham’s breasts and George felt a part of it all. When they left an hour later, in two minibuses, he was elated.

Renshaw certainly knew how to enjoy himself, by God. George regretted now not going on all the other dos Renshaw had planned.

The minibuses stopped outside a club in the seedier part of Grantley. They piled out on to the dirty pavement, then Renshaw produced a pile of tickets and they all walked boisterously past the dark-suited men on the door. George had heard of the Flamingo Club, indeed he had once wanted to join it, but the fear of Elaine finding out had put him off. Now here he was, sitting at a table with his friends and waiting for the pretty girls in their scanty outfits to serve them drinks.

The lights dimmed and a spotlight came on, illuminating the tiny dance floor. All the men cheered as a woman walked out into the bright light. She was wearing a schoolgirl outfit and her hair was in two long plaits that somehow stood out from her head like a St Trinian’s girl. She had large freckles painted over her nose and her breasts strained against the tunic.

George’s eyes were shining with excitement.