Across the bed, the door opened and Donner came in. He was laughing but there was also something else in his face and when his mouth opened no sound seemed to come out. He moved round the end of the bed and Garvald tried to haul himself up, but it was too late. A boot swung into his side and the girl’s cry was the last thing he heard as he plunged into the dark.

13

Nick lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the table and watched her. After a while, Wilma emptied her glass with a shudder. She looked up at him, eyes wide and staring, the mascara smudged by her tears.

‘I must look like hell. Could I have another?’

‘It’s your gin.’

He reached for the bottle and half filled her glass. ‘Things must be pretty bad when you try to go out like that.’

She took the gin down in one quick swallow, made a face and reached for the bottle again. ‘I thought you were my husband.’

‘You must think the world of him.’

‘I wouldn’t cut him down if he was hanging.’ She laughed harshly. ‘I’ll tell you about my husband, mister. I’ll tell you all there is to know about Sammy Rosco. He’s from under a stone. When he picked me off a Hamburg street in 1945 and married me, I thought it was a miracle. In those days I still prayed. I was only fifteen, but I lied about my age.’

‘What happened?’

‘We came home when he got demobbed. Home to this place.’ She looked around her, an expression of loathing on her face.

‘The honeymoon lasted for as long as it took him to run through his gratuity, then he brought the first man home.’

‘And he’s lived off you ever since?’

‘Something like that. Come one, come all, drunk or sober, black or white, I was never known to refuse. Sammy saw to that. The first time I tried, he knocked me senseless. Roses all the way.’

‘Ever tried moving out?’

‘You could say that.’ She emptied her glass and ran a hand over her eyes. ‘Look, I’ve got a train to catch. I don’t know who gave you my address, but I’m not playing those kind of games any more.’

‘I didn’t come for that.’

She hadn’t eaten since lunch and the gin had gone straight to her head so that when she looked up at him, she had to concentrate hard, a frown on her face.

‘Who are you?’ And then in alarm, ‘You aren’t a friend of Sammy’s, are you?’

‘Not from the sound of him,’ Nick said and took a chance. ‘Nick Miller’s the name. I’m a pal of Ben Garvald’s.’