And she didn't even know his name. After weeks of the closest intimacy she knew every inch of his body but had no idea who he was, what he did, where he came from. She could make some guesses, of course. Age about thirty-four, thirty-five. An office worker, perhaps living with his mother. A good son, devoted to Mother, deserting her only once a week on Sunday afternoons… "Just popping out for a while, Mother. Won't be long." "All right, son. Take care of yourself. Be good."

Every Sunday he was here, at precisely the same time- today being the exception; they'd messed about with his trains. Every Sunday. The well-rehearsed routine never varied. Polite conversation over a cup of tea, excessive good manners-he would not sit until she was sitting, always sprang forward to open the door for her. But in the bedroom, an animal, a savage animal… And afterward the coy, shy business of dressing and the face-saving "Don't know about next week" ritual.

The man opened his wallet and took out three PS10 notes which he held aloft briefly for her to see and check before folding them lengthwise and dropping them into the black and white Wedgewood vase on the mantelpiece. She receipted the payment with a nod of thanks.

He always saw himself out, hurrying from the house in his anxiety to hide his shame in the darkness outside. She sighed, expelling a stream of smoke in her relief at his departure. There was something about him that made her feel vaguely uneasy… made her feel frightened. But he'd gone. The dark shadow had passed from her day.

Stretching lazily, she rose from the bed, pausing to examine her beautiful naked body in the full-length wardrobe mirror, her face creasing into a frown at the bruise on her shoulder and the red marks where he'd bitten. In one place the skin was broken. Thirty pounds wasn't enough. She would tell him so next week.

But look at the time! She was never going to do it. 4:25. The kids came out of the Sunday school at 4:30. She'd never do it. There was nothing else for it. Tracey would have to come home on her own. It was just this once and it wasn't as if she had to come far-just from the end of the road.