‘The boy’s the way he is because you knocked him about.’

George shrugged. ‘Weren’t my fault he tripped and cracked his skull . . .’ He looked over at Jane, who was behind the counter plating up some food. He snapped his fingers. ‘Bring us another coffee, luv.’

Jane tried hard to keep a pleasant smile on her face as she put a spoonful of coffee in a clean cup, then saw Carl walk into the cafe wearing a blue boiler suit. He looked exactly as Rachel had described him: in his late twenties, extremely handsome, with sea-blue eyes and long wavy blond hair.

‘You found a bird for the wedding yet after that tart gave you the boot?’ George asked as Carl joined them.

‘Not yet—’

‘Well, you better do ’cause I’ve got to fork out the dosh for two hundred meals and I ain’t having an empty seat in the marquee because of you.’

Jane put George’s coffee on the table.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked Carl.

‘A decent woman would be good,’ George said with a deep guttural laugh. ‘Come to think of it, gorgeous, what you doing this Saturday?’

Carl looked embarrassed.

Jane felt like telling him it was none of his business, but instead said, ‘I don’t know yet. Why?’

‘You fancy going to a wedding with him?’ George pointed his knife at Carl.

‘But we haven’t even met,’ Jane replied.

‘Another rejection, son. You’d probably get a yes from a poofter, though, with hair like yours.’

He smiled nastily, then lit a cigar with a gold Dunhill gas lighter with the initials GR on it.

Jane felt sorry for Carl, who looked hurt by George’s gibes. He sounded totally dejected as he ordered a coffee and sausage sandwich.

‘He’s got errands to run, so he ain’t got time for food,’ George said, taking a large wedge of cash out of his pocket and a piece of notepaper. ‘I want ya to go down the builder’s merchants and get some stuff for Smudge.’

He handed Carl the note and some cash. Carl pocketed them and then got up to go to the toilet.

Jane picked up the dirty plates from the table and took them to the sink behind the counter. Rachel came up to the counter to pay for her food and Jane handed her the bill. She had a folded five-pound note in her hand, which she passed to Jane, along with a few bits of notepaper, which Jane slipped into her pocket under the counter.

She was wiping down a table when Carl came out of the toilet and approached her.

‘I’m sorry about my stepfather – he likes to think he’s funny, but he isn’t.’

‘It’s all right, you’ve no need to apologise.’

‘I was wondering if you would do me a favour.’

‘And what would that be?’