‘Nothing happened.’ William looked embarrassed.

‘Something did. You were fighting over Dora O’Brien. What did he say to you, exactly?’

William shrugged gloomily. ‘I asked Dora to dance. And Dickie Cole told me to clear off out of it. “Piss off,” he said. Like I was muck he’d stepped in or something, the cocky bastard.’

The blanket over William’s knees was slipping. Donny leaned over and tucked it back in place to keep him warm.

‘You didn’t notice anything useful about the two who did it? Nothing at all?’

‘Nope. Nothing.’

Donny had asked Wills this before. It had been dark. One pale street light had been casting a dim glow, and Wills had seen maybe a small glint of metal when one of the men had moved. Nothing, really. He’d knocked his head when he fell, the doctors said he had a spot of concussion.

‘It’s all going to work out,’ said Donny. ‘You’ll see.’

Wills didn’t say a word to that.

Donny thought it was time he spoke again to Dickie Cole.

William said nothing.

8

Dickie Cole was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He had a good thing going on the edge of a gang run by Frank Pargeter, and he was easing himself in there, further and further, day by day. Frank had given him the cold eye at first, but Dickie had done a few jobs and now he could sense that the atmosphere was starting to thaw, and that was good.

He’d done well. Coming out of the war, the gangs seemed a natural progression; plus they were the only way a man could make a decent amount of wedge in the East End these days. On top of all that, he had Dora, who he fully intended to shag very soon. He’d been whispering in her ear about what a nice girl she was, and that they’d get married, so the time was looking ripe. Of course marriage wasn’t his intention. Fuck that. But for as long as she thought it was, he was in.

‘This is so . . .’ said Dickie, pulling Dora into his arms. Saturday had rolled around again. After Oklahoma, they went again to the prefab.

‘Wonderful?’ suggested Dora. She kissed him and then pushed him away. Her eyes were glued to his. ‘It’s for you, Dickie. It’s all for you. Let me . . .’

‘What are you doing?’ At long fucking last, he thought.

Dora was slipping off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse and let that drift down too. She’d made up her mind she was going to do this today.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Dickie. Only I’m going to go fucking blind if you don’t soon.

‘I want to.’

Dora reached back, unclasped her bra and pulled it off. She stood there and let him drink in the sight of her. The fever seemed to be raging through her now, something she had never experienced before. Sometimes she’d wake in the early morning, crying out, a hard pulse beating between her legs, wetness flooding her. She felt like that now, like she barely had the strength to stand; the impulses that surged through her were so strong.