‘I think that you need colonic irrigation,’ she said. ‘Those yellow flecks I saw are probably related to the colon.’

Martin said nothing.

‘Colonic irrigation is the answer,’ Dee pronounced. ‘We all need it, but very few people take it up.’

Martin swallowed. ‘You have to . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Dee. ‘It’s not a very savoury subject, but it’s no use running away from it. The transit time for food through the system should ideally be less than twenty-four hours. The average time for British men - of which you, Martin, are an example - is over sixty hours. Sixty hours!’

Martin swallowed again. ‘And it involves . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Dee. ‘It does. But we don’t need to go into that. One doesn’t have to look.’

She stared at Martin. She liked this young man. There was something innocent about him; something fresh. And yet when she had looked into his irises . . .

She smiled at him. ‘Don’t be too concerned. It’s not as bad as you think it is. I’ve had colonic irrigation. I went to Thailand and had a special course of it on Ko Samui. But you don’t have to go that far.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. Not at all.’ She reached out and patted him on the shoulder. ‘How old are you again, Martin?’

‘Nineteen. Twenty next month.’

‘Twenty years of impurity,’ mused Dee. ‘Look, why don’t you let me do it for you? It’s not difficult, you know.’

Martin looked down at the floor. He was not sure what to say. It was such a generous offer.

5. Unmarried Girls

Dee might have had a low opinion of her flatmate Caroline’s work, but for all that it was about as removed as was at all possible from the factory floor - in so far as any factory floors remained - still it required a measure of talent, and considerable application.