He smiled slyly. ‘Nay, lass, I couldn’t do that. I like to be able to come and go.’ He took a step forward and put his hand on the wall so that she was caged in the corner by the sitting-room door. ‘We could get along just fine, you and me. Why not be sensible? A lass like you’s got better things to be doing than trying to run a firm like this. Keeping truckies in their place is man’s work.’

He tried to kiss her and she twisted her head to one side. ‘I’m going to give you five seconds to get out of here. If you don’t, I’ll send for the police and lay a complaint for assault.’

He jumped back as if he had been stung. ‘You rotten little bitch,’ he said, his face red and angry. ‘You won’t listen to reason, will you? Well, just remember this – I’m shop steward here. All I have to do is say the word and every man in the place walks out through that gate with me – they’ll have no option. I could make things very awkward for you.’

She opened the door without a word. He stood there glowering at her, then moved out. ‘All right, miss,’ he said viciously. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She closed the door and turned, shaking with rage. ‘I’ll kill him. I’ll kill the bastard,’ she said and then broke down and sobbed, all the worry and frustration of the weeks since her father’s death welling up to the surface.

Strong arms pulled her close and a hand stroked her hair. ‘Now then, darlin’, never say die.’ She looked up and the Gunner grinned down at her. ‘Only one way to handle a situation like this. Put the kettle on, there’s a good girl. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

He kissed her full on the mouth and before she could say anything, opened the door and went out into the night.

Joe Ogden paused on the corner, swaying slightly for he was still about three-parts drunk. So she wanted it the hard way did she? Right – then that was the way she could have it. He’d show the bitch – by God he would. By the time he was finished she’d come crawling, begging him to sort things out for her and then he’d call the tune all right.

He crossed the street and turned into a narrow lane, head down against the driving rain, completely absorbed by a series of sexual fantasies in which Jenny Crowther was doing exactly as she was told. The lane was badly lit by a number of old-fashioned gas lamps, long stretches of darkness in between and the pavement was in a bad state of repair, the flags lifting dangerously.

The Gunner descended on him like a thunderbolt in the middle of one of the darker stretches and proceeded to take him apart savagely and brutally in a manner that was as exact as any science.