Maggs stiffens as she approaches. Annie hasn’t even bothered to stop and collect a stout on her way to their table.

‘I heard about Alice.’ Annie won’t worry about upsetting Maggs.

Maggs’s shoulders droop. ‘That bad hip was slowing her down. She was unlucky, though. Tripped over and dropped half her goods on the floor.’

‘Shame to lose a good hoister like Alice,’ Annie says, sitting down in the gap on the bench that Ruby and Edith have made for her. She sniffs and reaches into her handbag for her cigarettes. ‘She’s been solid for years. Loyal. Reliable.’ She moves small bundles of bank notes around to find the smokes. She is carrying a lot of cash in her bag, but no one will touch her so it’s all safe. ‘I said you should have rested her. You should have listened to me.’

The cigarettes are right at the bottom.

‘Where are the others?’ She looks around as she lays the packet on the table and rummages again for matches. ‘Daisy, Florrie? Don’t tell me you lost them as well, Maggs.’

Maggs bristles. ‘I can manage my cell, Annie,’ she says tersely. ‘You know that. Florrie’s home with her ma and Daisy’s home on her own, as far as I know.’

‘Alright. Alright. We’ll keep quiet for a day or two. I can’t afford to lose any more girls after Mabel, and now Alice.’

They are all quiet. No one says anything while Annie lights up.

Little Alfie, Clara’s boy, arrives at the table with her drink. He ducks away when she ruffles his hair and runs back to the bar.

Billy is standing at the counter, draining his pint and talking to his sister. As Alfie crashes into him, he cuffs the boy on the head and looks over to where the Forties are sitting. His face is expressionless, but Ruby takes this as enough of an excuse to leave the tense atmosphere of the table, her gin half-finished, and wanders over.

‘I hear there’s a boxing match at Frank Parsons’ tonight,’ she says, running her fingers down the lapels of Billy’s jacket. ‘You’ll take care of yourself, yeah?’ She slides her hands inside, trying to find whatever it is he is carrying. Her hand nudges the gun that’s strapped under his left armpit. ‘Yeah?’

He pulls away. ‘Course I will.’

There’s uncertainty in his voice. She squints at him and again wonders why he is wearing his best suit. He smells good, too. Something’s not right.

‘The other men have gone already. Where are you going? What’s going on?’

‘I’m going to Frank’s, like the others.’ He hands his beer glass to his sister.

‘You’re too smart for a fight. It’s not like you to ruin a good jacket.’