‘Come on, ladies, I’ve got a smashing suit and tie ’ere. It’d smarten up your old man a treat,’ George Neerly called out to the passing shoppers milling around in the market. He’d been working on the second-hand clothes stall for as far back as he could remember, at first with his father, but after his dad was killed when a doodlebug had dropped on their house, George had taken over the business.

‘How about this lovely little number for you bootiful ladies, guaranteed to make him indoors sit up and take notice of you,’ George shouted as he held up a green and yellow flower-patterned dress. When there were no takers George looked over to Roger, who ran the fruit and vegetable stall next to his, and said, ‘Slow today, mate, ain’t it?’

‘Yeah, if it carries on like this, I might pack up early,’ Roger replied.

Unlike him, Roger was tall and slim, with a chiselled jaw, black hair and striking ice-blue eyes. His good looks always seemed to attract the housewives, which George thought was a blessing as it would inevitably bring business to his stall as well. After all, it wasn’t as if he could rely on his own looks, not with a heavily scarred face. However, it seemed Roger’s appeal was letting them both down today, and George sighed heavily as he thought back to the bomb that had killed his father and left himself almost unrecognisable. He still had flashbacks, mostly when he was sleeping, and would often wake in a cold sweat, remembering the smell of his own flesh burning and the searing pain as flames licked his once handsome face.

This won’t do, George thought to himself, and shook his head. The bomb had dropped eight years ago when he’d been thirteen years old, and though the memory was vivid, he tried not to dwell on the past. He walked around to the front of his stall and began tidying some of the clothes that had been left strewn around when a woman had been rummaging earlier. As he folded a pair of striped pyjamas, he caught sight of a young woman sitting on the kerb at the edge of the market. He thought she looked very pretty with her long, dark hair and slim legs which she had pulled up in front of her. He could see she was holding something out to the few passers-by. It looked like gold, maybe jewellery, and he wondered what she was playing at. He knew PC Plod would be passing on his beat any time now, and if the young woman was trying to sell knock-off bits of gold, she’d soon find herself having her collar felt. By the looks of it, she had a young lad with her. George felt compelled to go and warn her.

‘’Ere, Roger, keep an eye on my stall, I’ll be back in a tick,’ he said.