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her or not. It could be seen in their eyes, in their movements, in their laughter – too quick to laugh or too slow to laugh, both were danger signs. But this man, here…he seemed okay. She felt safe. Her prostitute's sixth sense was telling her so. There was a certain hardness in him, she didn't doubt that, and she pitied whoever it was he was hunting, but she could sense no menace towards herself in this man. He just wanted to play Connect 4. And drink tea.
    So they played on, game after game. She was very good at it and whenever she won, as Cakes's counters would clatter to the floor, she'd clap the soles of her feet together in an innocent, girlish way. Cakes liked her doing that so he started losing on purpose. She was good company and he didn't want her to go.
    Round about midnight he got tired. It had been a long day, and driving long distances always exhausted him. The adrenalin rush of putting the brick through the pub window had long since left him drained and weary. He told the woman he wanted to go to bed and asked her how much he owed her. She closed her eyes and moved her lips as she made a calculation in her head and then she gave Cakes a figure.
    'Okay,’ he said. 'Just let me get my wallet.'
    He stood. She remained seated, on the floor. He stood still for a moment, thinking.
    'What's up, my lover?' she said, looking up at him.
    He looked down at her. 'How much for a blowjob?'
    She gave him a price. Cakes unbuttoned his fly. She laughed to herself and thought: Too good to be true. It always is.

Chapter Seven
    When Lewis was a little boy, about ten years old, the Old Man – who wasn't so old then, of course – taught him a hard lesson. He stood Lewis upright in the centre of the garage office; he stood behind him and told the boy to fall backwards. Just relax and let yourself go, he said. Just let yourself fall backwards. I'll catch you. Trust me, boy.
    And so little Lewis did exactly that; he imagined he was a tree in the forest and toppled backwards, knowing that the Old Man would catch him and lower him gently to the floor or softly steer him back upright with his strong and reliable hands.
    Except the Old Man didn't catch him. He just stood aside and watched as Lewis thumped against the floor, the air being jolted out of his chest with a yelp. And as little-boy-Lewis lay there sobbing, winded and shocked, trying to get his breath back with whooping gulps of air, the Old Man leaned over him with his eyes hard and his mouth unsmiling in the beard which was then just beginning to grow white and wild and he said:
    'That's your lesson, son. Never trust anybody. Remember this day for the rest of your life. Trust no-one.'
    It had been a cruel lesson, and Lewis remembered it clearly as he walked down into the village from the churchyard on the hill. He remembered the shock, the humiliation, and the huge disappointment. Had it been an important lesson? Had it been valuable for life? Lewis wasn't sure. All he knew was that, sometimes, he hadn't been betrayed by those he loved most – his brothers, say, or Manon – but that he had betrayed them . Or he'd betrayed Manon, anyway. Betrayed her terribly. So, really, Lewis reflected as he went into the garage and stowed the rucksack safely in the locker again, the lesson should've been: never trust yourself. If an opportunity arises for you to act like a coward and betray your own heart, you'll take it. Never trust yourself.
    Cakes –he'd also betrayed Cakes. Not the same as betraying Manon of course but, well…Cakes had trusted him. How foolish of the man.
    Lewis's expression was sad as he left the garage and went over the road to the Miner's Arms. It was half-full of people having an after-work drink or two and Robat and Marc, still in their oil-stained blue overalls, were at the fruit machine. Lewis bought them a pint each and then took his own drink into the corner, where the Old Man was sitting over a large Scotch and reading the