‘I want to keep it.’ It was all she had – all she would ever have, she knew that – of her first big love affair.

‘You what?’

‘I want to keep it.’

‘But . . . you’re not married. Look, we’ve all done silly things in the heat of the moment, our Dor. But be sensible. A single woman, on her own with a kid? Don’t be daft.’

‘I’ll say I’m a widow. Or that his dad’s abroad.’

‘You can’t!’

‘I bloody can,’ Dora insisted. Her aching guts churned with apprehension, though. Mean judgemental God-fearing Aunt Min with her pinched cat’s-bum mouth. God, what a prospect.

Lil was shaking her head. ‘Well, I suppose you know what’s best,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Yeah,’ said Dora, wishing she did.

‘You heard what happened about the Maguire boy?’ asked Lil.

‘No. What?’

‘Hung hisself out the back garden.’

‘Oh, you . . . what?’ Dora froze in shock.

‘Couldn’t cope with being in a wheelchair, they reckon. So he topped himself.’

‘God, that’s awful,’ said Dora. Into her mind sprang an image of William as he used to be. Freckled, laughing. Yes, always mooning around after her. A bit of a joke, really. But how could he be dead?

‘Yeah, it is. So maybe it’s a good thing you’re going away,’ said Lil.

‘What d’you mean?’ William was dead? She could barely take it in.

‘His brother knows Dickie Cole was involved in what happened to him. He knows it all happened because of you.’ Lil grimaced. ‘So if I were you, Dor, I’d stay well away for a good long while. Donny Maguire’s gunning for you. And knowing that cold bastard? That’s not good news.’

32

Frank got back to the flat next morning feeling calmer. He’d always been like that, right from when he was a boy. Calm as you like, then something would set him off and he really didn’t know what he was doing. They called it the red rage and Frank thought that was about right. You couldn’t see past it or through it; it possessed you for a few minutes, just a few, and then you came back to yourself and you’d killed someone who got right up your nose, or maybe beaten Dora half to death.

Not meaning to, of course, in Dora’s case.

His old mum had always seen the best in him, forgiving that odd, weird kink in his nature. He’d killed a couple of pets. Regretted it, after. Of course he did, he wasn’t inhuman. But his puppy, a Christmas present when he was seven, had bitten him so of course he was going to wring the little bugger’s neck. And the rabbit. The rabbit had been running away from him, always running away, and he didn’t like that, not after Mum went, she ran away and then the bloody rabbit, so the rabbit had to go.

His dad had said he was psycho. Rotten old bastard. When he’d got old enough, Frank had given him a going-over too, and that was when he’d left home for good, made his own way in the world. Become a businessman. Started earning some respect.