Track 7: Work All Week by Mekons

The train carriage north smelled of snowy air and empty sky.

Gavin fingered the cufflinks.

Back on the rig, he'd hide them with the other things Samantha bought him: aftershave smelling of leather flowers, silk boxer shorts, sharp shirts that made his nipples erect. In darkness, throwing off heavy clothes, he'd hide his waxed back, sack and crack that made fingers across him feel like icy breath, furtively scratch his nails on steel panels and rivets to scuff the manicure, shave dry to redden his face.

'Mistress Amanda' earned more than him now.

"I'll look after you, she said.

Two weeks on, two weeks off: each homecoming made their flat less familiar, brought clothes that aroused him to embarrassment, more gifts.

The first time Gavin saw the transformation, the wig, the boots, the makeup, he was tongue-tied: A half naked stranger spoke with Samantha's voice.

Watching 'Mistress Amanda' on stage, eyes blacked by harsh light, he tried to catch her eye, aroused and powerless.

On the rig, locked away from salt wind, he almost convinced the others he was lucky, distributing photographs like Christmas cards.

"I'm working for us, she said. "Don't worry.

That was what he used to say.