The blue Mark II Zodiac was there. And standing beside it, lounging beside it in his camel-hair coat, was Frank. Short, squat, his thin hair slicked back with Brylcreem. She was scared of him – scared to death – but at the same time, she was almost glad to see him there. And no monster with him tonight. No Bruno. Thank God.

Walking over to the memorial, her pace had quickened as the nerves set in. Suppose he wasn’t there? What would she do then? He had said he’d take care of Dickie inside, and he’d said he would take care of her, too. But would he? Would he even show up? So spotting him standing there was both a relief, and a worry.

What, exactly, was she getting into here?

Frank’s eyes were on the suitcase as she walked up. She put the case on the ground. She was shivering, it was getting really cold. She could see her breath like smoke, in front of her face.

‘What’s this then?’ He touched the case with one highly polished shoe. Then he licked his lips and once again she thought of a reptile, catching flies.

‘Fell out with my folks,’ she said, shrugging, making light of it, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

‘What, over Dickie?’

She was standing here talking to a murderer. She couldn’t believe it. She nodded, because suddenly she couldn’t speak. She had longed for adventure, for something more than home and work. Now, here it was. And now she would give anything to go back to the old life, the safe boring life she’d known before.

‘Never mind,’ said Frank, and picked up the case. ‘I’ll have a talk with them.’

Dora tried to imagine her dad ‘talking’ to Frank. All right, Dad might have lost his rag with her, but she didn’t think that it was safe for him to get into any sort of conversation with Frank. She’d seen what Frank could do.

‘There’s no need,’ she said, as he slung the case in the boot of the car.

Frank went to the front passenger side and opened the door for her. ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘First, let’s get you warmed up, yeah?’

20

Frank took her up West to the Savoy. Dora had never been inside a hotel before – rare family holidays had always been in rain-sodden fields in pissy little caravans. They were dismal affairs, damp and depressing, with Dad moaning about the kids running around his bloody feet and the rain hammering on the caravan roof like Japanese water torture.

This was something else entirely. People parked Frank’s car for him, and everyone smiled as they walked in, and the place! It was like a palace. Dora’s eyes were out on stalks as she drank in the sight of all the chandeliers, the lush furnishings, the glittering silverware, the huge floral displays . . . it was another world.

‘This is fantastic,’ she said as they sat in the dining hall. They’d had fillet steak, she’d never had that before. Neck end of lamb was all they got at home, the cheapest and toughest cut, and that was for a treat on Sundays. They never even had anything like a leg, that would be too extravagant. Everything the family ate was cut-price and tough as old army boots.