‘Touch me,’ she said and even her voice was different – it was throaty, hoarse with longing.

Dickie came in close. She felt his hand clasp one breast.

‘No, not there,’ she whispered against his mouth, and guided his hand down, down.

She felt his hand slide up her outer thigh, over her suspenders to where her naked flesh was cool to the touch, then in, in, between her legs, pushing aside the damp fabric of her underwear and slipping deeper, deeper.

‘Oh, you’re wet,’ he breathed against her throat.

‘Take them off,’ said Dora, and Dickie pulled down her underpants and she stepped out of them. ‘Now . . . touch me.’

Dickie did as she asked. His hand was on her most private place and it took a matter of mere seconds before she arched her back and let out a low, almost anguished groan. Fireworks of pleasure exploded all through her body. Her knees trembled and she leaned in against him, weak, drained, replete.

‘Good?’ he asked. He kissed her throat and led her over to the couch.

Dora lay there and watched as he knelt between her legs and unzipped his trousers. It sprang out, shocking her with its hugeness, a towering almost purple column of flesh, and she thought suddenly of Lil and the baby, but it didn’t matter, they were going to be married anyway, and then he was pulling her legs up around his waist and pushing that thing into the place where he’d already cleared a path.

‘Sweet little virgin,’ said Dickie, easing himself into her.

Dora bridled at that. What, did he think she was still a kid or something? Dora pushed her hips up to meet him, taking him deep inside her.

Oh Christ, such a feeling!

He started to move in her, and it was like nothing she had ever known before. It was fabulous, he was riding her faster and faster and she couldn’t even think, it was so good. She could understand Lil loving this. Sourpuss June would never understand, she was a frigid mare, but Lil and Dora knew. This was grown-up stuff. This was marvellous.

It didn’t last long enough, though. That was her only regret. She was a little sore when Dickie finished and drew out of

her. But she felt triumphant. She was a woman now. A woman!

He walked her back to the memorial in the summer sun and as he left her there they kissed – tongues and everything. Today, she’d entered the grown-up world. She strolled back to the house, reliving every moment in her mind.

William Maguire was parked outside her gate.

In a fucking wheelchair.

‘Christ alive! William?’

Thank God he had long trousers on. She glanced at his legs and then looked away, her happiness evaporating. If there was one thing she didn’t need right now, it was this.

William looked different. His face was set and white. Lines of strain were etched into his skin like tattoos. He didn’t look like a jokey kid any more. Even his freckles were bleached out.