He wanted to tell him the truth. He leaned forward but couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t stay upright. He leaned against Jack’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Jack’s hands touched his back and Peter couldn’t bear the feel of them. The touch ran through him and he lifted his head and pressed his mouth against Jack’s blissful lips. And Jack kissed him back, he was sure of it. Then it was over and Jack pushed him gently away.

‘You’re blitzed, Pete. You don’t mean it.’

I do, he wanted to say. It’s the only thing I mean.

*

It was still daytime, though you wouldn’t have known it. It was a day that felt more like one long, raddled nightmare.

Starving and half-cut after drinking all morning and missing lunch, the three of them ordered eggs, toast and sweet buns in the station café. The steam from the tea urn mixed with the mists from the trains and obscured them from enquiring eyes. Arthur was waiting for something but he didn’t know what it was. When he’d returned to the brothel, Peter had been stumbling and leaning against Jack. His heart jumped in horror. How had Jack got poor Peter in such a state? He’d known this would happen – Jack’s competitive drinking, his egging Peter on. Poor, dear Peter would do anything for that bastard, he could see that now.

Jack drained his tea. ‘I have to run an errand.’

‘So I’m expected to babysit?’ Arthur indicated towards Peter who was slumped, piece of toast in hand, in a booth.

Jack shrugged and slapped him on the back. ‘Christmas shopping,’ he said.

Arthur watched Jack exit through the café door, and mentally followed him. His toast was dripping egg yolk onto his trousers and Peter’s head was nodding and in danger of falling into the tea cake Arthur had bought for him. He was sick of this. Jumping up, he rubbed his trousers and left a shilling on the table. He had to find out what Jack was doing. In front of the station, he saw the American’s distinctive figure with copper-coloured hair, disappearing into the fog down the Prince of Wales Road. He began to follow him.