Toddy. She must find Toddy. If he knew about Martin’s vile behaviour, creeping about after them, taking photographs in the dark, then he could be here, with Peter, helping him through this pain. If he didn’t know, then he ought to. She kissed Peter on top of his bowed, beloved head, told him she wouldn’t be long, and left the house. She was still in the clothes she’d worn last night, the clothes she woke up in at Daniel’s, but she didn’t think about this. She didn’t think about the gig at the Mayflower Club either; it hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Dave Todd lived a few streets away from the Connors, practically in the shadow of Brown Bayley’s. The streets around here were partially demolished, and in the blasted-out interiors of former homes, Alison passed cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers, and their tag-along siblings, toddlers who squatted unsupervised among the loose bricks, poking about in the dust. Alison knew which street was Toddy’s, but had no idea which house number, so she hammered on a few doors, hysteria rising in her chest, until a woman answered, showing only her cautious, tight-lipped face through a narrow gap in the doorway, as if this house might be the next to go and she expected to see a wrecking ball. When she saw only Alison she opened the door properly, and listened with kindly patience to her ragged, breathless explanation. Toddy. Dave Todd. David Todd. Did the Todds live down this street?

‘Yes, love,’ the woman said. ‘Yes, they do, they’re over at forty-five. But I saw him leave early doors. Try the works.’ She smiled at Alison, who felt reassured at this ordinary, pleasant transaction of words, and then an ice-cream van in a parallel street played a tinny, allegro rendition of ‘Greensleeves’, and this, too, was comforting. She breathed a little more easily, noticed that this was a lovely day, a cloudless sky, the sun warm on her legs and her bare arms. But still, she trembled a little as she jogged towards the hulking buildings that made up Brown Bayley’s, although she had no idea where, in that vast cauldron of industry, she might find Toddy. But she only got as far as the main gates before she was stopped by a big fellow in a donkey jacket and a high-visibility waistcoat.

‘Ey,’ he said. ‘You can’t come in ’ere, lass.’

His meaty palms were held out before her. Men were coming and going across the yard in hard hats, and some of them stared at the girl in denim shorts and a thin cotton T-shirt.

‘I need to see Dave Todd,’ Alison said to the man in front of her.

‘Oh aye?’ he said. ‘And who shall I say wants him?’

‘Alison Connor.’

‘Oh aye?’ he said again. ‘You Pete Connor’s sister?’