‘No, I didn’t. I’m just saying it probably won’t be long. That’s what they do, isn’t it? You read about it – they send pictures of each other, and before you know it your best friend turns out to be your worst enemy. Too late – she’s sent the whole lot to everyone else. Every day, you hear about it. Then they’re changing their gender.’

Michael nodded.

‘Boys become girls,’ said the old man. ‘They put on a skirt, and then they swap back again. They end up not knowing what they are, and I blame the pornography – I do.’

‘When did you first see pornography?’ said Michael.

‘What?’

The man thought he had misheard, and was putting his ear closer to Michael, so his head was on one side. There was a station announcement, but the words were inaudible.

‘When did I what?’ said the man.

Michael tried to speak clearly. He knew he smelled of whisky, but he wasn’t going to search for a mint now.

‘I was asking you,’ he said. ‘When did you first see a… you know, a pornographic magazine or film?’

The man looked baffled. ‘Why are you asking me that?’ he said.

Michael so nearly said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He so nearly diffused it again, but for some reason he decided that the topic had to be examined, properly.

‘You’re saying your great-grandson sees images,’ he said patiently. ‘Or will see images, at the age of eleven – that’s what you’re saying. And you’re telling me that, as if it’s unusual or… I don’t know – a new thing. Part of the danger of technology, and the age we’re living in. But it seems to me that boys have always found ways of looking at pornography.’

‘Not at the touch of a button.’

‘Perhaps not, but—’

‘There’s so much of it.’

‘Does that make such a difference? Didn’t you borrow or buy magazines? That’s what I’m asking.’

‘I didn’t know where to get them. No, I didn’t.’

‘You never looked at pornography?’

‘What?’

Michael’s astonishment must have been clear in his voice, for the man was looking at him with just a trace of fear.

‘No,’ he said, as if the idea was offensive to him.

‘You must have, though,’ said Michael.

‘Why?’

‘Because everyone does. Mayfair. Penthouse. There was a boy at my school who got them from somewhere, and hired them out. Fifty pence, I think, for a weekend. What about the Sun, for goodness’ sake? When does a boy first see a copy of page three?’

‘That’s a very different thing.’

‘But it’s not.’

‘Not what?’

‘It’s not different. It’s the same—’

‘It’s totally different.’

‘How?’

‘Well, for one thing—’

‘You think the pictures are more tasteful? More… artistic, or what? Less naked?’