‘I gotta dump this in the club safe tonight,’ she told Michael. ‘I told the punters to come get their winnings tomorrow, and I don’t want to be lugging it about.’

Michael took the box and went into the lit kitchen. Francis came and sat on the arm of Jessica’s chair.

‘Did I do well?’ he said. His voice was deep and sonorous, possessed of an aristocratic authority that jarred with a desperate need for approval.

She looked up into his eyes. I envied each the other’s gaze. ‘Darling, you fought like an angel,’ she said, half mocking herself in the delivery. ‘How much did you make?’

‘I made three thousand.’

‘But that’s perfect! You can pay off all your debts and still survive until the end of the month, and your dad won’t know a thing.’

Francis smiled, bathing his wounds in her approbation.

‘Now, you won’t spend it on anything silly, will you? You must promise me.’

‘But if I promise not to spend it on anything silly, how will I spend it on you?’

‘I don’t want you to spend anything on me.’

‘Please, don’t make me laugh, my ribs hurt when I laugh.’

‘You’re cruel!’

‘You’re cruel, trying to stop me having any fun.’

Lisa came up beside him, and made her own brusque offering. ‘I can take it for you. Look after it until you need to hand it over. Might be useful for me, I can think of a few things I could do with it till you need it.’ I guessed she was dressing an offer of help as a request for help. She was uniquely equipped to play this trick; she had a way of narrowing her eyes when she was speaking, and a firm unsmiling set to her dark lips that precluded both altruism and sensitivity.

Francis wavered. He turned his handsome face towards the ceiling, as if looking for guidance. Jessica put her hand on his leg, and Lisa tapped his shoulder with her fist. They did not look at one another, but their movements were perfectly synchronized. I could see the two of them gently applying pincer pressure, each in their own particular style. I sensed something, some significance flex under the event like muscle under skin, providing the mechanical force to drive this little tableau, but I could not identify it exactly. The girls seemed to be trying to downplay their tension, their hope that Francis would hand over the money. I felt privileged to be witnessing this private dynamic. If Francis felt he was being manipulated, I knew instinctively that he would bolt.

‘OK,’ he said, giving up with a graceful shrug. ‘You keep hold of the money. I have to pay up on Thursday, and I was planning to make the bastard wait until then anyway.’ He said this, but he made no move to hand over the cash. Lisa took his jacket from him and emptied the pockets. She zipped the two bundles away in her combats with her own money, and the slight trace of effort in Jessica’s cheerfulness dissolved instantly. It was as if a wilful child had been coaxed down from a high place.