He sat in a window seat looking down at the cottony clouds and felt a moment of euphoria. He was going to Florida, he was going to see Edith. His Edith. He was going to enjoy himself.

He thought about the night before and his happy expression faded for a second.

The memory of the child was troubling him.

Then he shrugged. All children got beaten at some point, by parents or by teachers. He knew this for a fact.

Satisfied again that he had not done anything really wrong, he savoured once more the delights of the woman’s body. He could feel his own excitement and forced those thoughts from his mind, concentrating on the clouds and the blueness of the sea that peeped through the whiteness every so often, reminding him that he was leaving England. England, Elaine, his mother . . . mustn’t forget his mother . . . and all his troubles.

He would start again in Florida, he had decided. He would sell the house. It was all his now. He experienced a small feeling of annoyance, just a flicker really, that Elaine had had to die like she did. Not because he felt any guilt, but because it had stopped him claiming the insurance money.

He had it all worked out. When he went back to sell the house he would say that Elaine had run off with someone. He gave his little grin. That would immediately win him sympathy. He would put the house up for sale and then return to Florida and Edith.

He would remove Elaine from her watery grave and bury her somewhere. He’d put her out with the garden rubbish in black bags and then dump her on the tip.

This made him want to laugh again. Elaine on the tip! Better than she deserved, maybe. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Either way, she was gone.

Beside him sat a little girl. She was sandwiched between George and her mother. Her mother was still laughing at Frank Spencer, showing pearly white teeth.

George decided he approved of her. She looked like a mother should. Flat-chested, clean and wholesome-looking. No make-up or jewellery. The programme ended and Desmond Lynam came on the screen to talk about the next feature. George pulled off the headphones and relaxed. The little girl did the same. She smiled at him shyly. George smiled back, smelling the sweetness of the little body. He noticed she had a pack of cards and leant towards her.

‘Would you like a game of snap?’

The child flicked back her long blond hair disdainfully.

‘I don’t play snap. I play poker, pontoon or five-card stud.’ She saw the dismay on George’s face and hurried on, ‘I also play rummy and trumps.’

George smiled once more.

‘How about a game of rummy, then?’

‘All right.’ She began to shuffle the cards expertly and he sighed.

Nothing and no one was ever what they seemed.