They’d met when she was sixteen, on a dreary afternoon in Maidstone, middle of the week. She’d been on lunch break, smoking round the back of E. H. Lacey’s store, and he’d been sitting in a Daimler parked up in the alley, blocking the goods entrance with his bonnet. Her first thought had been: Fancy motor. Must be rich, this fella. She hadn’t given much consideration to the way he looked, all slouched and rumple-shirted, messing with the dial on the radio. There’d been muffled squeals as he’d gone searching for the frequency he wanted; then a crackly commentator’s voice had risen from the fuzz and he’d turned up the volume. The tail end of a horse race had played out. She’d watched his growing pleasure as the commentary got louder and more frantic, and eventually he’d drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and whooped, pumping his fists. Their eyes had hooked together for a moment, through the glass.

No boy had ever ogled her the way Mal did, as though he’d noticed some rare object on a rag-and-bone man’s cart and wanted to possess it. At school, they’d called her names like Lumberjack and Elephant. But there he’d been, this grown man in his Daimler, giving her the up-and-down. She’d felt a hum go through her, like that time she’d touched the frayed wire of her aunty’s hairdryer. Maybe if she hadn’t smiled back at him, he would’ve left her well alone. Instead, he’d leaned across to scroll the window down. ‘Oi there, listen – what’s your name?’ he’d called. ‘You fancy going for a ride somewhere? I just got ten quid richer and I want to spend it all before the sun goes down. You interested?’

‘Sorry, can’t,’ she’d said. ‘My shift’s not done till six.’

‘You can always find another place to work. There’s plenty more shops in the sea.’ He’d scratched his beard. ‘Or, better yet, give up the working life for ever. It does wonders for the soul, believe me.’

‘Nah,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve rent to pay. Thanks for the offer, though.’

‘Well, maybe next time? Seems I know your place of work, so I can come and find you when I’m in the mood.’

‘You can try.’ She’d given him a nervous laugh.

‘I will.’ He’d rolled the window up again and leaned away.

By the time they’d finished talking, there was ash all down the front of her best blouse. Her sandwiches were still inside her bag. A little disappointment had begun to stab at her. Four more hours of drudgery indoors were her reward for being good. Was this how it was going to be for ever? Wrapping things for customers in womenswear, no conversation. Polishing the counters so her face reflected in the brass and sweeping floors at closing time until the boss said she could leave. How much worse off would she be if she went driving with a stranger for a while? It didn’t seem that she’d be losing anything.