‘I’m so sorry, Alf, like I say, I had no idea it would affect you like this, it was only because I was worried about you that I wrote them, but it never seemed like it was bothering you. You hid it well.’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault now?’

‘No, of course not. I just didn’t know you were so upset. I mean, I don’t know anything about this guy or why he’s in prison. The only thing you told me was you helped get him put away.’

Distraught, Alfie shook his head. ‘I ain’t a grass – it wasn’t like that.’

‘I’m not saying you are, I just know when you told me last year that he was being released, you seemed jumpy, and frankly, a bit scared …’

‘And you thought you’d take advantage of that by pretending the letters were from him, did you?’

Franny, shivering from the cold, stared up at Alfie. ‘I’m not proud of it.’

With a faraway look in his eye, Alfie said, ‘I really thought they were from him. I should be relieved that they’re not, but … but for some reason it don’t make me feel any better.’

Speaking just as quietly as Alfie, Franny asked, ‘Who is he, Alf? Tell me who he is.’

The spark of fury came back into Alfie. ‘So you can write another letter about it, play some more of your mind games?’

‘No, of course not.’

Alfie’s bellow caused the bird in the tree to flutter out the branch. ‘I don’t believe you!’

‘You’ve got to trust me, Alf. I’d never do anything to hurt you.’

Roughly, he grabbed her hair, pulling her head up inches away from his. He jammed the gun against her temple again. ‘Since when, Fran? Since when?’

‘Why don’t you just try me?’

Tears pricked in Alfie’s eyes. ‘Try you?’

‘Yeah.’

Bitterly, with pain encased in his words, Alfie said, ‘Okay, I’ll try you … You ready? You ready for this …? The guy I put away, twenty-odd years ago … he was a nonce.’

As Alfie moved from on top of Franny, to sit against one of the trees, she sat up and stared.

‘What?’

‘Yeah, a nonce.’

‘How did you know him?’

Alfie shook his head. ‘He was Charlie Eton’s dad. Barry Eton.’

Franny stared in horror at Alfie. ‘Charlie’s dad? I don’t understand. How did you get him put away?’

‘You ain’t getting it are you?’

Puzzled, Franny stretched out her arms wide. ‘Getting what?’

‘Me, Fran. He hurt me as well as Charlie, and it wasn’t just the once. I was thirteen years old and I was too scared to do anything about it … I couldn’t stop it. I tried to tell Charlie, but he was just a kid like me, so what could he do? And there was no one else to tell.’