‘That’s right. They’ve had it coming for a while.’

The Elephant Boys and the Clerkenwell gang have been edging towards another big fight for months. The honour roll was an excuse.

Ruby sits on the floor and hugs her knees. ‘How did we do? What happened?’

‘We were doing fine when Moss and I arrived. A few bumps’ – he gestures to his head – ‘but nothing bad. There were guns, but I didn’t hear any go off, and then the coppers arrived.’

‘Many of them?’

‘Plenty. Too many. And they’d come ready to fight. They brought coshes, so someone had told them we would be there. One of the MacCarthys, probably. MacKenzie was with them.’

‘I’ve never liked him,’ Solly says. ‘He came sniffing around here the other day, after you and Ruby had brought back the pretties from South Ken –’

‘He was sniffing around the Crown, too.’ Ruby interrupts, keen to hear more. ‘What happened, though? Did they arrest people or knock them out with the coshes?’

‘Both. I ran before they could do either to me.’ Billy grins, and then winces at the pain in his eye.

Solly rinses the cloth again and pours the bloodied water away. Billy and Ruby sit in silence as they watch him.

‘Why are you here, Billy?’ Solly asks as he wipes his hands on a dry towel. He hands the towel to Billy. ‘Why aren’t you at the Crown? You’ll bring the coppers here.’

‘Nah. They’ll go to the Crown first, if they saw me at Parsons’. I didn’t want to take trouble to Clara. She doesn’t need that.’

Solly grunts. ‘So, you’re staying the night, then?’

Billy rubs his chin with the towel and catches Ruby’s eye.

‘If that’s alright by you, Solly. I’ll be gone first thing.’

Solly removes the damp jacket from his table and lays it over the back of the wobbly chair, smoothing the shoulders. ‘Make sure you are,’ is all he says as he leaves the kitchen. ‘Clara’s not the only one who doesn’t need trouble.’

They are silent for a moment, listening to Solly grumble to himself as he goes back to his bedroom and shuts the door.

Billy knocks back the remainder of the whisky.

‘You’ll need somewhere to sleep, then,’ says Ruby, climbing up from the floor. ‘You can’t sleep on that stool.’

He catches her hand and pulls her close, drawing her head down to his and kissing her. His own hands are still dirty and red, his fingernails black, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reeks of scotch, sweat, smoke and the metallic scent of blood. She can taste the fight on his tongue. It excites her so much she can barely stand.