He had sat glued to the window for the next two or three hours until the bakery closed, and shortly after this a woman had left the premises with the other bairns he had seen with Rose and walked away. After that there had been no activity, and a while later he had gone downstairs and had another meal and a few pints before going to bed, but not to sleep. He had lain awake for hours, tossing and turning and planning his next move. If she had this major toff in her pocket then he had to tread a mite carefully. He knew full well that money was power, and by all accounts the Bembridge family was rolling in it. It was one thing tackling someone of his own kind but the gentry were another matter. But he’d work something out. One thing was for sure, she’d get what was coming to her. She’d ruined his life and she didn’t give a damn. But she would. Oh aye, she would.

Over the next days he had watched and waited. He’d seen no sign of her bloke but from the number of customers in and out of the shop it seemed like it was a nice little business she’d got herself. And Consett wasn’t a bad town. He could see himself settling here.

Myra had made it plain she was up for a bit of slap and tickle and he had invited her to his room, but for once the easing of his body hadn’t brought its normal relief. Not with Rose just a few hundred yards away. He’d had a hard job to be civil to Myra afterwards and had all but kicked her out. He wanted to really hurt someone, that was the thing. No, not someone. Rose. But although the feeling he had for her now was a long way from the love he’d once felt, it was still born of the need to possess her, mind and body. He wanted her to acknowledge that it was him who owned her. Not Davey, not any of the blokes who’d had her since then and definitely not this damn major type she’d got twisted round her little finger. But then he didn’t know her, did he, the major. He was just another poor sap she’d made a fool of.