‘No you ain’t. You been over Brixton. You been seeing Dickie Cole.’

How did he know that?

Dora dithered over whether to confess, or press on with the shopping lie. One look in Frank’s eyes convinced her that at this point honesty was the best policy.

‘All right. I did go over to see him. He sent me a VO through my sister June.’

‘If he sends you any more, you ignore them and you give them to me.’

‘I wanted to see how he was, that’s all.’ He must have had her followed. Or . . . gawd, maybe Dickie was right, maybe Frank did have people in prison who did his bidding. There had been up to twenty other visitors in the room, and the same number of cons. And the prison officers, the warders – were they straight? Someone could have been watching and listening when she spoke to Dickie.

Frank’s eyes, blank as glass, were staring into hers in the mirror.

‘You’re happy, aintcha, doll? Don’t I do enough for you?’

Yeah, you buy me presents and you poke me with your gherkin-sized cock, she thought. But then, Frank had done something else for her as well. He had got her a place on stage, singing; he had brought her the realization of a childhood dream.

‘They loved you at the Café Royale,’ said Frank. ‘Want to book you again for next week.’

‘Really?’ Dora couldn’t believe it. But after seeing Dickie today, a broken man, even this news couldn’t cheer her. Dickie had tried to keep her out of it, away from Kim’s party, away from Frank, but she’d been stupid, curious – and now she was in it, right up to her neck.

‘Really. You know what I’m gonna do? Gonna get you a nice little flat set up. Hotels are fine, but they ain’t homely, are they?’

It was true; she was getting a bit tired of living in the hotel, grand though it was. And now he was talking about setting her up in a proper place. She thought of Dickie’s wretched face. Thought of Dad, kicking her out of the family home. Thought of her missing periods, her sore breasts, her steadily expanding waistline. Now she felt frightened. All she had was Frank. She was stuck; trapped.

‘You’ve seen things,’ said Frank. ‘But you’ve been good, you’ve kept shtum. And that deserves a reward.’ Frank turned her chin toward him. His grip hurt. She wondered if he realized that. Or if he even cared. ‘But no more VOs to go see Dickie. He’s off limits now, babe. It’s no good looking back. We go forward. Together.’

Somehow, that didn’t fill Dora with joy. The flat sounded good, and the gifts, but it was such a damned pity that Frank was part of the deal. And somehow she was going to have to tell him that she thought she was carrying a baby. Dickie’s baby, because no way could it be Frank’s.