When he arrived home, Blackie was relieved his aunt had gone to bed for a rest. She always did this on Saturday afternoons; she usually helped out at the bakery in the morning and was tired. He worried about Aunt Eileen a little less these days. She was somewhat given to catching colds, ever since the bad illness she’d suffered just before he came to live with her and his uncle, but over the past few years the bloom had returned to her cheeks.

Immediately, Blackie went upstairs to his room, took off his jacket and boots and lay down on the bed. His mind was racing; he was filled with mixed emotions. Angry with himself, ashamed and exceedingly embarrassed.

What a fool I am, he thought, focusing on the way he had questioned Moira. His Uncle Pat was right. He had been rude and over-inquisitive. No wonder Moira had been impatient with him. Worst of all, he had probably hurt her feelings. He knew Uncle Patrick was furious with him; he had made no bones about that. Finn and Jack were also irritated, and barely spoke to him when they walked down Town Street from Whingate Junction. Finn had not even mentioned going to the dance hall, as they usually did on Saturday nights.

Blackie let out a long sigh. He didn’t want to go dancing. He must find a way to apologize to Moira, but he would not seek her out. Anyway, it was more than likely he would run into her at Mrs Wilson’s in the next week or so.

His thoughts turned to the Bank, that foul slum; it was hard to know why the town council allowed it to exist still. There were inspectors being sent in, he knew, and talk of razing parts of it to the ground, but no one knew what the fate of the desperate men, women and children who lived there, often in one or two rooms with no running water, would be. Blackie sighed, glad to be back in his safe little room. The world could be an ugly place, hard and dangerous.

His thoughts ran on, and he suddenly thought of Gwen, who had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Was he correct to think someone must have grabbed her? He wasn’t quite sure, and yet what other explanation was there?

She had not come home, and the local police had not found her body in any of the local parks. A mystery, that indeed it was. It had really affected Alf, who was troubled and sad these days.

A cold chill trickled through him at the mere idea she could have been murdered or abducted. Not here. Not in Upper Armley. Uncle Patrick considered it one of the safest places in the entire world. But was any place really safe? He shuddered at the thought of danger hiding behind every corner.