‘Oh, so there is,’ he said, and gave his thick laugh again.

‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s not.’

‘Right you are. Right you are.’ He tapped his nose and winked. Then he sighed and seemed to settle deeper into the bed.

‘Do me a favour, though,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour. When there is a boy you like, you have to tell him. Do you know why?’

I shook my head.

As if it was painful to him, he said, ‘Because it’s a kindness.’

I thought he was going to say more, but he went quiet for a minute, resting the glass of whisky on top of the hot water bottle on his stomach. I felt the cold on the back of my head again.

‘They don’t know themselves,’ he went on after a moment. ‘But you know. You see them. And you have to tell them. Imagine if he’d been told – what it would have been. It’s a kindness. Do you get what I’m saying? Even if he doesn’t like you back, you’ll have given him something that he’ll carry with him through his whole life. That someone saw him, and they wanted him. That’s so precious. And you’ve got the power to do that. Do you see what I mean? You’ve got that power, and you don’t even know it. Look at you – God! And you don’t even have to be beautiful – you just have to be what you are, and he’ll thank you for it.’ He hoisted himself back up on one elbow, leaning towards me, slopping his drink, and said, with fierce urgency, ‘Promise me.’

I said, ‘I promise.’

That seemed to calm him. He sank back down on the bed again. His glass was tipped at an angle on top of the water bottle. I waited for him to right it, but he didn’t, so I nipped forward to straighten it for him before it spilled completely.

‘That’s a love,’ he said. His eyes were closing. His grip was loose. I was scared to take the glass away from him, but I didn’t trust him to keep hold of it by himself. We both touched it for a moment. Then I eased it away and set it back on the nightstand.

‘That’s a love,’ he said again. He mumbled something I didn’t catch. His eyes were completely closed now, and I could study his face, the soft pink warty growth beside his nose, the grease of his hair where it swept back at his temples. Then his eyes flared open, and I coughed in fright.

‘In the bathroom,’ he said. ‘There’s a bottle of perfume. On the shelf. Would you bring it here? I’ve kept you too long, I know …’