‘You don’t have to. He’s not meant to be your pal.’

‘I shouldn’t give him such a hard time, though.’

‘I didn’t know you did.’

She rolled on to her other side. ‘Do you like him?’

‘Not much.’

‘He’s all right if you get the stick out of his arse.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘It’s always men like Hollis who I give the hardest time,’ she said. ‘Why is that?’

‘You mean Kimball.’

‘What did I say?’

‘Hollis.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s the whisky kicking in.’

‘You shouldn’t take the blame for that, you know,’ he said. ‘The old man would’ve jumped without you nudging him. He didn’t care for me much neither. Angry at the whole wide world, if you ask me. I’m sort of glad he’s gone.’

His sister didn’t seem to recognize that he was trying to reassure her. She answered in her gently mocking voice, ‘Too sweet by half, miss, that’s your problem.’

‘Piss off, Joy.’

‘And you’re a charmer.’

‘Hurry up and sleep that whisky off before they get back home.’

‘Pipe down,’ she slurred. ‘I’m trying to listen …’

When the record finished, he reset the needle to the start. She was snoring piggishly next time he checked, her mouth gone slack and drooling. So he carried out the White Horse bottle to the kitchen and refilled it at the tap. He drank the dregs left in the tumbler, washed and dried it to a gleam. And then he took them back into the parlour, wondering if he should leave his sister there. The Mayhoods would be out till after midnight. She would keep for a few hours yet.

Upstairs, in his room, he searched his ashtray for a worthy dog-end, but none of them had anything to give. He patted down each pocket hanging in his wardrobe, just in case there was a stray that he’d forgotten. Nothing there. Instead, the feeling of the fabric in the dark made him remember Florence’s pyjamas, and those knickers with the frilly trim. He could go and fetch them, hold them to his face again – nobody would know or try to stop him – but the guilt still weighed too heavily inside his chest. So he fell back on his bed and buttoned down his fly. He put one arm across his eyes, so he could see her better. In the floodlights of the garage. Underneath the tractor. On her back. Knees bent, apart. The gather of the overalls between her legs, just for a moment. Now he had a picture of what she wore beneath. His lips had been there and his tongue had licked the cotton …

Every time, his pleasure was short-lived and it was weakening the more he did it. He wiped his stomach with his vest, disgusted at himself. He couldn’t help imagining her disappointment in him. Things had been much easier in borstal: every boy was at it. After lights out, there’d be bedsprings squealing in the dormitory, fleshy noises from the other cubicles. It was practically expected. But even then, without the shame attached, his mind was like a clock that ticked too loudly. He could never get enough relief. His body was tensed up with urges. And the only way to ease it was to smoke, a habit which had left him feather-mouthed and yellow-fingered by the age of seventeen.