‘She used a knitting needle …’ his mother gasped. ‘And every time she pushed it up, Jenny screamed out, but I thought … you know, it was just the way of these things. And she kept sticking her and sticking her, saying she had to make sure.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘I sent her packing after that. A week of Jenny’s wages she cost me! But Jenny, she just kept crying and moaning, and dear God, the blood!’

‘Did you not get the doctor to her?’

‘I couldn’t have called a doctor, Jack – are you mad? He’d have known straight away what’s what and got the police, and then where would we have all been, eh?’

‘Jenny’s dead, Mam!’ Jack’s voice cut through the room. His chest heaved as he stared at his mother, struggling to conceive how she could have seen her own daughter dying before her and not lifted a finger to help. ‘Jesus Christ, did you not think to get her help? Did you just stand there and watch her die! Look what you’ve done!’

The silence that followed was ghastly. His mother’s shoulders sagged, yet her eyes did not stray towards the bed. It was a wonder to Jack that in such a small room she managed to avoid it. Her lips pinched together.

‘I couldn’t do nothing,’ she said at last, her voice quiet.

‘Who did this to her?’

His mother shrugged. The action, he realised, was not callous, but resigned. ‘Just some backstreet biddy I was put in the way of. It makes no difference.’

‘And who knocked her up? Eh? You tell me that.’ His voice rose as he warmed to the subject. ‘What bastard had his way and then left her to pick up the pieces?’

‘You don’t know?’ His mother’s mouth had a cruel twist to it. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know who she was stepping out with?’

‘I didn’t even know she was stepping out!’

She snorted, but the dark amusement that momentarily lifted her features departed as she caught sight of the bloody towel in her hands. Her breath shuddered. A tear ran down her cheek.

‘Your pal Mickey Jones.’ She skewered Jack with her loathing. ‘He wouldn’t leave her alone. Round here all the time, he was, while you were at work. Always cosying up to her, giving her gifts, whispering sweet nothings in her ear until her head was turned.’

‘Mickey? No.’

‘Aye. You brought him here. You introduced them.’ Her voice hardened to flint. With a sharp cry, she threw the towel to the floor. She drew forward, her eyes fiery now, shock giving way to furious grief. She thrust a finger in the direction of the bed as she stood toe to toe with her son, her chin thrust up. ‘Look what you’ve done, Jack Ellison.’