‘I know,’ he said. ‘I saw the film. I like Robert Redford. You must think we’re all pretty ignorant, huh? I mean, we don’t have your brains, do we?’ The meaty hand on my shoulder began to massage the muscle slowly as he looked into my eyes. The whites of his eyes were slightly yellow, and a roadmap of tiny capillaries spread out from the corners, threatening to engulf the green iris.

‘No, no, not at all,’ I said, conscious of my own insincerity, ‘I don’t think you have to study to have brains.’

‘So, you think that what you’ve been doing, all that studying, you think that’s for nothing?’

‘No, no,’ I said carefully, ‘for me it’s fantastic. But for other people . . .’

He stared at me intently. ‘Other people? You was saying.’

‘Well, you know. Horses for courses . . .’ I trailed off lamely.

‘D’you know how I got the cash to buy that pretty picture?’ His voice had dropped dangerously low.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, d’you know how I got the cash to buy your fucking picture?’

‘I don’t think I want to know, do I?’ I said, smiling, desperately trying to sound like one of the lads, going along with the joke.

‘I’ll tell you, shall I? I got it by being a businessman. Not a thug – a businessman. Do you get what I’m saying?’

‘Yes,’ I said, still grinning, though my smile was frozen in place now, a fossil of the old organic one. ‘I think I do. Shall we get some more drinks in?’

The arm around my neck tightened. His huge body pulled on me as if possessed of its own gravitational field. I thought of my tenth birthday party when my father had hired me a petting zoo. The arm in its designer sheath reminded me of the smooth, lethal, muscular weight of the python my father had draped around my neck, with the flashes of cameras in my eyes. The club, with its noisy beauty and graceful racket, had receded from my thoughts and, despite the crowds, despite the presence of my friends laughing on the other side of the table, I felt completely alone with this man. The melody of the music disappeared and only the bass was left, thudding up through the floor and into my trunk, combining with the savage beat of my heart.

‘If you or your faggot friends ever trace this back to me, I’ll make it my business to find you. Don’t ever fuck with me, son. Even if I didn’t think you were a poncy tossrag, I’d still cut your fucking throat soon as look at you.’ This last sentence he whispered into my ear, and I felt his hot boozy breath down my collar as his spittle flecked my cheek.

All of a sudden White released his hold and clapped me on the back. The room, the lights, the music and the dancing rushed back into my head like air into a vacuum. ‘Look at his face,’ he shouted to his associate, the young man who had moved up to let me sit down, ‘isn’t that a fucking picture? You can tell he’s a smart kid, he scares easy.’