East Street had once been a nice area. It had large imposing four-storey houses, with steps leading up to the front door. Years before these steps had been scrubbed every day; now the majority were filthy and chipped. Rubbish was strewn in the road - vegetable peelings, soiled rags and human waste where the children dropped their pants and defecated where they played. It smelt like the basements, only every now and then a billow of fresh air whipped through, giving the residents a welcome change. The breeze smelt of coal from the factories around and about. The houses were covered in soot. At eleven-fifteen in the morning the tally men were on the knockers, the children were out in force, and women were gossiping among themselves. Or rather the women who weren’t trying to avoid a tally man, or the rent collector.

Kerry was aware of hostile eyes watching her as she approached the house where Evander and his band had lodged. Outside number two was a young boy of about sixteen. He looked her up and down with a surly leer as she stopped beside him.

‘Would you like to earn a shilling?’

‘Doing what?’ His voice had a thick twang, affected and very unpleasant.

‘I want a message taken to a Mr Dorsey in there.’ She jerked her head towards the front door of the house.

‘Cost you a bit more than that, darling. Messages for blackies is double.’

Kerry swallowed down the retort that came to her lips and nodded.

‘All right then. Two bob. I want you to knock at his room and tell him that Miss Cavanagh is outside and wishes to speak with him.’

‘Gis the money then.’ He held out a dirty hand. Opening her bag, she took out a half crown.

‘That’s all I’ve got, I haven’t anything smaller.’

‘Well, I ain’t got any change, girl, so it looks like the price just went up again, don’t it?’

With that he disappeared up the step and into the house. Kerry stood uncertainly outside, wishing she had not worn such a striking coat. Wishing Evander would come out so they could get away from this place. Hoping against hope that he would tell her everything was all right and it was just another of Bernie’s nasty jokes.

A figure appeared at the top of the steps and Kerry’s heart sank.

‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, I must say, you trollop! Coming here for your bleeding black fancy man!’