If ever William was in trouble, Donny was always close by, ready to put things right. That was sort of nice. If only Dora’s sisters were as protective, as caring of her as the Maguire clan were of William. But she knew her sisters thought her a spoiled little madam and hated her for it. And she knew damned well that Dad did, too, and that killed her. She craved his affection, but he never ever gave it to her. To others, yes – but never to her.

‘Nothing’s up,’ William said awkwardly to his brother, his face red. He stalked off, embarrassed.

Donny Maguire stood there for a beat longer, his eyes narrowed on Dickie’s face. Dickie returned his stare.

‘You want to watch yourself, mate,’ said Donny. Then he slowly turned and walked away.

Dora looked up at Dickie. ‘That was a bit cheeky of you,’ she said. ‘I might have wanted to dance with William.’

Dickie stopped scowling after the older Maguire brother and half-smiled at her.

‘Did you?’ he asked.

‘No. Actually I didn’t.’

‘Saved you some hassle then,’ said Dickie, holding out a hand. ‘Dance?’

As if in a dream Dora stood up, took his hand. His was hot, dry, his grip strong.

Oh he’s gorgeous . . .

She concentrated on getting her steps right. It would be just awful if she stepped on his feet, she’d die of embarrassment. But she found it hard to concentrate. He was holding her tight against him, actually leading her in the dance, something she’d never experienced before, his thighs nudging hers, and it was almost effortless, it was like magic, like Cinderella and her prince in the Disney film they’d seen down the local fleapit, it was wonderful.

‘Did you see the film?’ he was asking.

His breath was tickling her face. He was so close.

‘What film?’

‘Three Coins.’

‘No, I . . .’ Truth was, the family could rarely afford the luxury of the pictures.

‘I’ll take you. It’s on at the Roxy. You’ll love it. You’ll fall in love with Rossano Brazzi, all the girls do.’

Dora didn’t think there was any danger of her falling in love with Rossano Brazzi. She was already falling in love with Dickie Cole. Christ, he must be used to sophisticated women, women who could discuss the arts and stuff like that. Whereas she . . . well, what did she know? Fuck all. Her family never read books or went to the theatre, although she would love to be up there

on the stage, acting, singing, being admired. There was never anything like that in her life. Even education had been something that was done in between chores, and never given much thought to. You just got through school, one way or another, through the humdrum boredom of lessons, and then you started work. Then if you were a girl you got married, you didn’t have to work outside the home any more – if you were very lucky – and you could spend your time looking after your husband and children. That was all Dora had to aim for. It was like the only possible reward at the end of a lot of boring, endless shit. The prize on the plinth. The silver cup. Marriage.