Dora couldn’t believe it. She had spent her childhood staring at herself in the mirror and miming softly, softly while Ruby Murray crooned on their old record player. The player had needed a new needle Dad couldn’t afford, so the sound quality was dire. But this was her dream, to be an entertainer like Ruby. To be famous.

Of course, Frank was the fly in the ointment. He was detestable. Sticking his tongue down her throat, riding her in bed like she was a flipping rocking horse or something. She almost laughed sometimes; he was so inept, so flabby. But she was careful to hold it in. There was none of the pleasure she’d experienced with Dickie. But at least Frank was careful, always using a French letter when they did it. Dickie hadn’t been, and truthfully she had lived in dread of ending up in the family way, disgraced, a fallen woman. She was a bit worried about all the sex stuff right now actually, because her period was late. But then, her periods had never been all that regular, so probably it was nothing.

Frank might be ugly and detestable and downright creepy, but there were other compensations to being with him. The best of those compensations was his connections. He was as good as his word about the singing thing. She’d expected him to forget it, but he hadn’t. Soon, she would be singing at the Café Royale. Now it came closer to the crunch, she was terrified. School plays and concerts were her only real experience of anything even remotely showbiz.

But this was a step up; this was the big time. Despite the pep talks she was constantly giving herself, she was so nervous she could barely think straight. She had to be there at seven to rehearse for a while with the pianist, then she’d be on at nine. Frank had bought her a stunning ink-blue dress, clingy and studded with sequins, to wear for her first performance. She’d always known she was destined to be a star. Now, at last, she was going to be treated like one.

24

The big day came and she left the Savoy to get down the chemist’s and buy a new vibrant red lipstick to show up under the lights. Outside on the street, she walked slap bang into her sister June.

‘Christ,’ said June, looking her up and down. ‘It’s all true then.’

‘What?’ Dora had put home and family – even Mum – out of her mind so it was galling to suddenly see this unwanted remnant of the past show its scrawny face. With new eyes she looked at June’s clothes and her hair and her general hunched demeanour. It was a shock to realize that once she herself must have looked a bit like that too: dirt poor. It wasn’t a nice look. It was an unpleasant reminder of things she’d left behind. She stared at June in annoyance.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.