Every now and again he would feign interest in his mother’s gossip and drop in Kitty’s name just in case it jogged her memory. It hadn’t done any good. As far as he could tell, Kitty was still working at that combined forces place in the city centre along with her brother. Yet again, he resented that Danny Callaghan, who he knew for a fact was no better than he was when it came to sticking to the right side of the law, was now some highfalutin boffin, safe and warm at his desk, while he, Alfie Delaney, worked all hours God sent labouring away and breaking his back. There was no justice in the world and his mind churned with hatred.

Alfie cursed to himself as he heard the door go downstairs and his mother cackling away to the ITMA theme. He took a small swig of whisky. When he was up and about again, he’d find a way of getting through to Kitty. She was going to be his and his alone. He knew that deep down it was what she wanted; she just hadn’t realised it yet. It was up to him to show her what she was missing.

‘So they’ve got you working here all day every day now, have they?’ Vera Delaney eyed Ruby with suspicion, her eyes narrowing into slits. She hoisted her wickerwork basket on her arm, like a weapon.

‘Y-yes.’ Ruby stepped back a little. She was much better these days with nearly all of the customers, but there were a handful who reduced her to the bag of nerves she’d been when she’d first arrived. Vera, being one of Winnie’s old pals, had been fed the tale that the girl was simple and could never be expected to amount to anything, and she behaved as if nothing had changed.

‘Well, that’s nice for Rita and Violet, knowing they’ve got someone they can rely on while they’re off having children,’ Vera went on.

Ruby looked puzzled. She often had trouble working out exactly what this woman wanted. She could tell the words should have been a compliment, and yet they didn’t sound like one, which confused her. ‘Yes,’ she said again.

Vera stood still, as if waiting for something more. Then she shook her head and tutted. ‘I’ll have some of those tins of soup for my Alfie,’ she said, pointing to the shelf above the till. ‘Chicken, if you’ve got it. That’s his favourite. He needs building up.’

Ruby reached down all the tins of chicken soup she could see.

‘Been took terribly bad with the flu, he has,’ Vera told her, as if this was the most important news in the world. ‘He can hardly move, the poor lamb. It’s breaking his heart to be off work so long.’