‘I’d rather not. I like things the way they are.’

‘You’re in shock. Try it my way for a bit.’ She leered at me over the crusts of her breakfast. ‘Didn’t you enjoy a bit of home company last night? Those hands of yours got everywhere.’

Her own hands were wedging Effie between her jaws as though she feared the pig might still have the guts to make a break for it. She had fried the bacon herself then soaked the bread in the fat before shutting the sandwich. Her fingernails were not quite free of red polish and some of this had found its way on to the bread.

‘I love a bacon sandwich,’ she said. ‘The way you touched me. So light and nimble, do you play the piano?’

‘Yes,’ I said in an unnaturally high voice. ‘Excuse me please.’

I got to the toilet just ahead of my vomit. On your knees, seat up head down, stucco the bowl with porridge. I wiped my mouth and rinsed out with water, spitting away the burning in the back of my throat. If Louise had had chemotherapy she might be suffering this every morning. And I wasn’t with her. ‘Remember that’s the point, that’s the point,’ I said to myself in the mirror. ‘That’s the route she won’t have to take so long as she’s with Elgin.’

‘How do you know?’ said the piping doubting voice I had come so much to fear.

I crept back into the sitting room and took a swig of whisky from the bottle. Gail was doing her make-up in a pocket mirror. ‘Not a vice I hope?’ she said squinting under her eyeliner.

‘I’m not feeling well.’

‘You don’t get enough sleep, that’s your trouble. I heard you at six o’clock this morning. Where did you go?’

‘I had to telephone someone.’

Gail put down her wand of mascara. It said wand on the side of the tube but it looked more like a cowprod.

‘You’ve got to forget her.’

‘I may as well forget myself.’

‘What shall we do today?’

‘I’ve got to work.’

Gail considered me for a moment then bundled her tools in their vinyl bag. ‘You’re not interested in me honey are you?’

‘It’s not that I …’

‘I know, you think I’m a fat old slag who just wants a piece of something firm and juicy. Well you’re right. But I’d do my share of the work. I’d care for you and be a good friend to you and see you right. I’m not a sponger, I’m not a tart. I’m a good-time girl whose body has blown. Shall I tell you something honey? You don’t lose your lust at the rate you lose your looks. It’s a cruel fact of nature. You go on fancying it just the same. And that’s hard but I’ve got a few things left. I don’t come to the table empty handed.’

She got up and took her keys. ‘Think about it. You know where to find me.’