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and the woman in the stained blue overalls swept into the lounge again. She looked round the room with a contemptuous sniff and then made for the corner where Rosemary and Dorothy sat talking. When she reached the centre of the room, however, she stopped and sniffed the air again, more deliberately this time. Then she turned round slowly, inspecting the residents, each of whom looked away as the beam of scrutiny passed. Eventually it came to rest on the pair still bent over their jigsaw puzzle. The woman hitched up the straps of her overalls. A feral grin convulsed her features.
    ‘Symes!’
    Charles Symes quivered slightly but did not look up. The woman walked slowly towards him, swaying her hips in a slow sinuous rhythm.
    ‘To let the punishment fit the crime,’ she crooned softly.
    She stood over Charles Symes and Grace Lebon, sniffing loudly. With a violent movement of one hand she swept the completed section of the jigsaw off the edge of the table. It broke up and fell to the floor in pieces.
    ‘Look at me, Symes!’ she howled.
    Slowly, painfully, the man turned his head.
    ‘My nostrils suggest that you’ve beshat yourself,’ the woman remarked conversationally.
    Charles Symes stared up at her without moving.
    ‘Do they deceive me?’ she inquired.
    There was no sound in the room. The woman bent closer.
    ‘Well, Symes?’ she demanded in a stage whisper. ‘Which of us is at fault, my nose or your bum?’
    She straightened up abruptly.
    ‘On your feet and let’s have a gander.’
    A high-pitched keening made itself heard in the room. Swivelling on her heels, the woman slapped Grace Lebon hard with the back of her hand. The sound abruptly ceased. The woman sniffed her fingers briefly, then crooked one at Symes.
    ‘Make yourself erect, man!’
    Symes rose from his chair, his face a mask.
    ‘Drop ’em!’ commanded his tormentor.
    With trembling fingers, Charles Symes struggled to undo the buttons of his trousers. The last one wouldn’t come free of the hole. After watching him fiddle with it in vain for some time, the woman reached across and tore the fastening loose. The trousers fell heavily to the man’s ankles, revealing the wrinkled, sheeny expanse of his buttocks smeared with a brown glutinous mess.
    ‘Oh my Christ!’ the woman exclaimed.
    She gazed at the spectacle in disgust for some time, wiping her hands on the front of her overalls.
    ‘What I ought to do,’ she remarked at length, ‘is make you lick it up and then cauterize your arse with a red-hot poker. But seeing as my hands are full with Channing I’ll settle for a cold shower and Dettol rub followed by a night locked naked in the outside loo to remind you what that facility is for. Now fuck off out of here before I puke, you filthy old bastard.’
    Holding his trousers loosely round his hips, Symes hobbled towards the door. The woman turned expressionlessly to the others. She walked over to Belinda Scott and plucked the paper poppy from her dress.
    ‘Remembrance Day’s long past, Lindy. Not that you have anyone to remember, do you? Or anyone to remember you.’
    She tore the flower apart, petal by petal, and let the pieces fall to the floor.
    ‘Do you?’ she insisted.
    ‘No, Miss Davis. Sorry, Miss Davis.’
    The woman nodded.
    ‘Still, look on the bright side, eh? At least you might still be in the land of the living come next Poppy Day, unlike some people I could mention.’
    She shot out a finger at Dorothy, who got to her feet. Rosemary also stood up. Miss Davis raised her eyebrows at her.
    ‘No one rang for you, Travis.’
    Rosemary squeezed her friend’s hand.
    ‘I’ll wait for you here, Dot. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.’
    Miss Davis sauntered over to them. She leaned very close to Dorothy, searching her face.
    ‘Yes, it’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘Just as long as you keep your trap shut, don’t fidget, shoulders back, tummy in and knickers clean. Otherwise you know what’ll happen, don’t