‘What does Janet think, you living here with a man in your flat?’

‘Marion, I’m not living here with a man. I have a large flat and I let a room in it. He was the first person who came to see the room and wanted it. There’s a tiny room upstairs with no one in it. Please let me put you to bed.’

‘But I hate going to bed. Once it was the happiest time of my life. When we were first married. That’s why I envy you. No man’s ever going to want me again. That’s all finished. Sometimes Richard sleeps with me, but he has to make himself. Men are stupid, aren’t they, they think we don’t know. Anna, have you ever slept with a man when you know he’s making himself?’

‘It was like that when I was married.’

‘Yes, but you left him. Good for you. Did you know a man fell in love with me - he wanted to marry me and he said he’d have the children too. Richard pretended to love me again. All he wanted was to keep me as a nursemaid for the children. That’s all. I wish I had gone away when I knew that’s all he wanted. Did you know, Richard took me for a holiday this summer? It was like that all the time. We went to bed and then he made himself perform. I knew he was thinking all the time about that little tart he’s got in his office.’ She thrust the glass at Anna, and said peremptorily: ‘Fill it.’ Anna went next door, made the same mixture of tea and whisky, and came back with it. Marion drank and her voice rolled upwards in a wail of self-pity: ‘What would you feel, Anna, if you knew you’d never have a man loving you again? When we went on holiday I thought it would be different. I don’t know why I did. On the first night we went to the hotel restaurant and there was an Italian girl at the next table. Richard kept looking at her, I suppose he thought I didn’t notice. Then he said I should go up to bed early. He wanted to get the Italian girl. But I wouldn’t go to bed early.’ She let out a high sobbing screech of satisfaction. ‘Oh no, I said, You’ve come on a holiday with me, not to pick up tarts.’ Now her eyes were reddened with vindictive tears, and rough wet red patches appeared on her full cheeks. ‘He says to me, You’ve got the children, haven’t you? But why should I care about the children if you don’t care about me - that’s what I say to him. But he doesn’t understand that. Why should you care about a man’s children if he doesn’t love you? Isn’t that true, Anna? Well isn’t it true? Go on, say something, it’s true, isn’t it? When he said he wanted to marry me, he said he loved me, he didn’t say I’m going to give you three children and then I’m going off to the little tarts leaving you with the children. Well, say something, Anna. And it’s all very well for you, you live with just one child, and you can do exactly as you like. It’s easy for you to be attractive for Richard, when he just pops in for a quick one now and again.’

The telephone rang once and then stopped.