‘Oh, I know all about your little visits to him in the middle of the night.’

Nancy was enjoying the fear she was creating. She finally had something over him and she liked that. She liked that very much.

She laughed derisively.

‘I can just imagine what your friends would say if they knew you liked little boys, Bert.’

He turned over in bed and grabbed her throat with an iron hand.

‘What you going to do about it, Nance?’

She laughed again, no trace of fear in her voice.

‘Who, me? I’m not going to do anything, Bert. You know me - each to his own. The only thing I want from you is more money.’

Bert let go of her and lit the candle by the bed. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

‘You mean . . . you’re not going to stop me?’

His voice was incredulous.

‘Why should I? Providing we can come to a financial arrangement, I’m not bothered about it.’

Bert smiled in the candlelight.

‘You’d do anything for money, wouldn’t you?’

Nancy lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out. Then she turned to him full on.

‘That’s about the strength of it, yes.’

‘Fair enough then, Nance. How much?’

‘An extra fiver a week should do it.’

Bert considered this for a few minutes.

‘I can go to three quid.’

‘It’s five or the deal’s off.’

‘All right then. But what about us?’

Nancy stubbed out her cigarette, then blew out the candle.

‘Us? We carry on as usual. Good night.’

‘Good night, Nancy.’

She was asleep in minutes. Bert, though, lay awake for a while pondering the situation. Nancy Markham had sold her son to him for a measly five pounds a week.

George came home to find Bert slumped on the settee, snoring loudly. When Bert turned over on the settee to make himself more comfortable, George smiled to himself. A little smile that barely showed his teeth.

He could smell the alcohol fumes with every breath Bert took and guessed, rightly, that he had passed out at some point in the evening. That’s why his mother had left him there.

George walked closer and stared down at the man. He had spilt a glass of whisky over himself. The smell was strong and the glass still beside him. It was trapped between his body and the back of the settee.

George picked up the bottle of Black and White whisky and gently poured the last of it along the back of the settee. He was feeling acutely excited.