Dora might be sad as fuck over Dickie – twenty sodding years! – but the Frank arrangement had been working out pretty well. Well, ish. The major problem in her life right now was that she was ever-so-slightly in the family way. Dickie and his rampant dick had put her up the duff. Frank was always so careful, but Dickie never had been and she should have insisted he take care, she knew she should, but she’d loved him.

Or anyway she thought she had. She’d been dazzled by him, that was the truth. She’d been naive and stupid. Too young and inexperienced to understand the implications of what she was getting into. Should have refused him, she thought dismally, throwing up in the early mornings, wondering where the hell her periods had got to. She was too late for it to be an accident now. She rubbed her slightly swollen belly and thought of the tiny butterbean-sized kid in there, taking shape. Her baby, hers and Dickie’s. It gave her a warm glow. Made the mess of her life seem somehow more bearable.

But she was stuck with Frank. And she was going to have to tell him the news sooner or later.

It was no good trying to pass the baby off as his, although she did consider trying. But the dates wouldn’t add up and anyway Frank never forgot his bloody condoms. The kid thing was a nuisance, because despite her sort-of heartbreak over Dickie, everything had been shaping up OK. She had lots of singing gigs lined up, and Frank showed her around town like she was a duchess, taking her to all the best nightspots, indulging her, flaunting her prettiness next to his toad-like ugliness. She really was Dora the Adored.

And Dickie – poor Dickie – was as good as forgotten.

Except, he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Because now she was carrying his child.

She thought about it long and hard. She could leave Frank, leave the life she was getting used to, the life she really loved, go home and be rebuffed for certain. Mum would plead and cry to Dad and maybe he might even let her stay – but she doubted it. More likely he’d send her off to one of the aunts to hush the birth up.

But there were too many maybes to that plan. First: would Frank let her go? And second: would Dad slam the door in her face? She had some money now – not that much, but enough that she could manage for a while unsupported. With a kid on the way, though? Landlords wouldn’t want that, she’d have to hide her pregnancy, and if it was discovered, she’d be out on the streets again, alone, in the shit.

There was another way, of course. She could front it out with Frank and wait for the storm to pass. Finally she decided the best thing would be to tell Frank and see what happened. They went to dinner one night at one of the swishest nightclubs in town. Judy Garland was sitting at the next table, chatting to the Kray twins, Ron and Reg. They greeted Frank warmly, and Reg kissed Dora’s hand. As the evening wore on, Frank was looking as mellow as Frank ever looked, so Dora decided to dive in.