But if Wills had steered clear of her, he’d never have been pulled into that alley, never had his legs busted up like they were. Rage burned in Donny’s chest every time he thought about it. Dickie was inside, but her? She was still swanning around the town, on the arm of an even bigger villain now, that bastard Frank Pargeter. She’d lost nothing when her boyfriend had been pulled in for the killing of Tony Dillon, and she’d gained an even more glamorous lifestyle.

It wasn’t bloody fair.

Not when his sweet-natured brother had suffered like he had – all because of a stupid schoolboy crush on her.

But at least things were starting to turn around. Even their dad, who’d been sunk deep in gloom ever since it happened, was cheerier now, asking around down the foundry to find something their lad could do.

‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ his wife told him, and finally James Maguire even started to believe her.

Donny’s own career was progressing in the police; he’d joined as a uniformed PC and quickly applied to go plain clothes with CID and that was where he was now. Detective work suited him. He was getting in with the right people, learning all the little tricks to getting on in the force, like taking a little from the villains around town to turn a blind eye, and moving in the right circles, acquiring a brand-new handshake that opened so many doors, got a person fast-tracked for any promotion that was going. Dad had a nice surprise, too, being elevated to foreman down the foundry when his old boss left.

All was coming good at last, after the rockiest of times.

Which made it all the more shocking when Susan got home from work one day and found William, her youngest boy, her baby, hanging from the apple tree in the yard, dead.

27

‘Where you been then, doll?’ asked Frank when Dora got back to the hotel.

‘Shopping. I told you,’ she said, taking off her coat, the vicuna in pale softest cream that he had bought for her. She could barely look him in the eye, thinking of that poor stupid patsy Dickie in prison and this killer out on the loose, dining on grouse and champagne, buying her expensive presents, availing himself nightly of her services.

She was dragging a brush through her hair when Frank came up behind her and caught her chin in his hand. Those cold shark eyes were glaring into hers in the mirror.

‘What, and you bought nothing? I said, where you been? Really.’

Dora felt her guts tighten in fear. She ought to have stopped by the shops on her way back, bought a thing or two to back up the story she’d told Frank in bed this morning. But she’d been devastated by her meeting with Dickie. It hadn’t even entered her mind to make up a more convincing lie. She kept her face blank. ‘Shopping,’ she said. ‘I told you. Nothing caught my eye, that’s all.’