‘Well, goodnight then!’ he said as he watched her walk up the steps to the front door.

She turned to him, her voice quieter now. ‘Judith’s staying the night at Maisie’s. We won’t be disturbed.’

‘Oh.’

Half an hour later she was sat astride him on the sofa, her crepe dress hoisted up over her stocking tops and the suspenders that held them in place. He was out of his depth, falling, unable to resist and common sense failing to prevail.

‘I have no … I have nothing with me for …’

‘Don’t worry, Georgie,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Everything’s taken care of.’

The sensation of her breath on his skin made him shudder. She was clearly more experienced than him, grabbing his hands and running them along her fleshy thighs. ‘You like?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘I like,’ he whispered back, concentrating hard, willing himself not to surrender. This was only the third time he’d ever had sex in his life and her prowess made him feel even more unworldly. She undid the buttons at the front of her dress, releasing her fulsome breasts, barely contained by her well-upholstered bra. Leaning forward, she put her hand beneath his chin and kissed him fully on the mouth. It was all too much for him and he gave in, shivering, and cursing himself in Greek. He couldn’t look at her. Felt ashamed. For what he’d done and for what he’d failed to do.

Patricia smiled at him, leant over and took a cigarette from the packet. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, lighting up. ‘We’ll have a little ciggy break and go in for round two!’

It wasn’t a love affair. He was mesmerized by her, drawn to her, but he didn’t love her. Even though in the throes of their regular sex she’d say, ‘Do you love me, Georgie?’ and he’d always reply, ‘Yes,’ which only added to his guilt. The image of Cleo would creep into his mind and he’d shut his eyes in shame. What was he doing?

Now that the status of their relationship had changed, the dynamic between them in public was also different. Whereas Patricia had previously been jolly and friendly to him, treating him like all the other contractors in the breakfast room, she’d recently taken to mocking him, or blatantly ignoring him, leaving him wondering what he’d done to annoy her. It could be the smallest thing, like failing to tell her she’d looked nice the night before, or yawning in her company. It was exhausting. And soul-destroying. George was on rocky, uncertain ground and continually stumbling.

She took it for granted that he’d spend Christmas Day with them at the flat. After lunch he played Mousetrap with Judith, before settling down to watch the Queen’s speech, Patricia curled up next to him on the sofa. To all intents and purposes, the three of them looked like the perfect family unit. But she was steadily getting more drunk on whisky, and by the time Billy Smart’s Circus started she was a little worse for wear. A chance remark he’d made about the Queen and British rule in Cyprus seemed to have riled her. ‘You don’t like our head of state, Sonny Jim, sod off home!’