“Not really. They aren’t relevant to me. I mean, I know who they are, and it’s terrible what they got away with, but they had nothing to do with my life. They weren’t part of my childhood. I’m paying more attention to that Bill Cosby thing in the States.”

“They were part of my childhood,” said Banks. “Not a big part, maybe, except when Savile was a DJ on Radio Luxembourg, and I used to listen under the bedclothes, but a part, nonetheless. The Teen and Twenty Disc Club.”

“The what?”

“It’s what his radio program was called. You could even write in to become a member, get a card with a number and a charm bracelet with a disc on it. I wish I still had mine. They’re probably worth a fortune now on the creepy souvenirs market. I’ve still got my Radio Luxembourg books of record stars. You know, it’s funny the little things you remember, but it made you feel special that Elvis was a member, too. I even remember his number: one one three two one.”

“Elvis Costello?”

Banks laughed. “Elvis Presley. Believe it or not, Winsome, I was an Elvis fan back then. Still am.”

“But isn’t that when he was making those terrible films? We used to get them on television when I was little.”

“Just between you and me, I used to enjoy those terrible films. I still listen to the soundtracks now and then. Girl Happy, Fun in Acapulco, Viva Las Vegas. Mostly pretty bad songs, but a few gems, and say what you like about Elvis, he had a great voice.”

“We had a pastor who did terrible things to young girls the next village over,” said Winsome. “Not to me, but girls my age.”

“What happened to him?”

“The fathers ganged up and . . . well, it wasn’t very nice. They used a machete. He was lucky to be alive, or maybe not, but he wasn’t able to harm any more girls after that. My father was livid. There was nothing he could do to stop it, but he could hardly arrest them all, either.”

“It was a bit like that when I was a kid,” said Banks, standing for a moment to breathe in the fragrant summer air. It was late July, and the village gardens were in bloom. Banks could see why Minton had recently won a best-kept Dales village award. The inhabitants clearly took great pride in their gardens. “Maybe without the machete. But it was like everyone knew who you should stay away from. Word gets around not to go near that Mr. So-and-so at number eight, and we wouldn’t. Nobody ever said why.”

“But people in the community knew who the perverts were?”