All of this, she’d done while she and Mal were still attached; and now that she thought back on it, she’d carried out these jobs because she liked the home she’d fashioned for herself, the little one-bed flat with its neat kitchenette and the magnolia in the neighbour’s garden she could gaze at all day from her window if she cared to; and, above all else, the easiness of waking in the morning at no given hour, to wear no uniform, appease no customers, hold no panic as to what the boss would think of her attempts to please or how the other women at the counter felt about her manner with the men returning items for their wives. She’d had a certain kind of life that fitted her, and Mal had made it possible – for this, she’d felt an obligation to the man, which she’d confused with tenderness. Until, one afternoon, he’d phoned to say that he was changing their arrangement. ‘Look, it’s best you hear this now: I’m tired of living in each other’s pockets like we’re doing. I’ve sorted out another place to live and that’s where I’ll be staying from this point on.’ In fact, it must’ve been approaching evening, as Mrs Dale’s Diary was on the Light Programme and she’d not long got out of the bath. She could remember how his words had failed to register at first, as though it was somebody else’s conversation she’d tuned into, passing by a doorway. ‘You can stay put where you are,’ he’d said. ‘The rent’s no bother, and it’s handy knowing where to reach you. Hope you understand. It’s nothing personal. Just think we’ve had our run.’

‘You’re ditching me. By telephone,’ she’d said. ‘I never pegged you for a coward.’

‘Leave it out. Nobody’s ditching you. I’m changing our arrangement, that’s all.’

‘You don’t want to sleep here any more. That it?’

‘I reckon that’s about the gist of it.’ He’d coughed. ‘I only want to make things simpler for the two of us. More work, less play.’

‘Simpler for you, you mean.’ She’d had to sit down on the carpet for a moment with the phone receiver hanging from the wall. Heaving herself up again, she’d said, ‘All right, then. Who’s going after me? I hope she likes it on her front.’

‘Come on, Joy. Don’t be that way.’

‘You’re welcome to each other. Honest. I don’t care.’

He’d said, ‘You want to keep the flat or don’t you?’

‘Piss off, Mal,’ she’d barked at him. ‘You know I do. Where else am I supposed to go?’

‘Well, I can see you’re not in the best state to talk. I’ll give you a few days to get yourself in order.’

‘I suppose she doesn’t know you’re phoning me. Poor girl.’

He’d let this pass and fade. ‘OK, then. A few weeks, if you need. I’ll be in touch.’

For some time afterwards, she couldn’t reconcile the hurt with the relief. She’d felt slighted and rejected, and she couldn’t stand it, even though what Mal had given her was what she wanted – a reprieve. It hadn’t mattered who the other woman was. Whether he was teaching army boxing combinations to some silly-headed girl like her, if she was prettier or more amenable. Whether it was someone older, a dim tart with lipstick on her teeth who’d open up her legs to keep him satisfied in trade for company, a few bob for the meter. What had devilled her the most was being abandoned. After all the effort she’d put in, the months and months of sufferance. To be ditched the same way he’d once left that Daimler in the alley, with its battery drained, made useless – that type of agony was too familiar, and it hurt her double.