Even in his befuddled state, he realised something wasn’t right. Kitty had curly hair, in a short bob. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much, her pretty dark hair. Had she changed it somehow? Had he made a mistake? Had he actually hurt her, when he hadn’t meant to do that at all? What sort of pickle had he got himself into now? Or was this an imposter? That might be even worse. Nothing was going to plan and it didn’t make any sense. Blind rage took over.

‘What have you done with Kitty, you bloody bitch?’ he shouted, lashing out.

Whoever it was made a gulping noise as if it was in pain and couldn’t scream any more. Angrily he shoved his victim back against the bed and aimed another punch at her to shut her up. Then he plunged back towards the corridor, ignoring the low moaning from behind him. A shaft of moonlight lit up the narrow hall as the door to the back bedroom swung open.

A small figure came out. ‘Aunty Sarah?’ It was a little boy. ‘Aunty Sarah, I woke up. There were strange noises and I didn’t like it. Can I have a drink?’

Alfie was nonplussed for a moment. Kitty didn’t have a kid. What was this boy doing here? Then he decided it didn’t matter. In his confused state, all he wanted was to punish her for not being here, for thwarting his intentions, which had all been for her own good. But she’d rejected him, by not being here. Whoever this kid was, he must be important to her and therefore she’d want him back. And he had to make the kid shut up, or else he might start kicking up a fuss and waking the neighbours. Whatever else happened, he didn’t want to alert Pop.

‘I’m not your bloody Aunty Sarah,’ he snarled. ‘But you’re coming with me. I’ll give you a drink all right.’ He swept forwards, grabbed the child, slamming his palm over his mouth, and raced down the stairs, out of the back door and through the yard, not thinking any further than getting the boy bundled into the car and far away from here. He’d work out the rest as he went. The child managed to squirm away from his hand and screamed piercingly into his ear, but he shut it out, concentrating on running, putting as much distance between himself and the house as he could before whoever it was who’d pretended to be Kitty woke up the entire street.

‘Kitty.’

It was barely there but she was certain it was her name. It had to be Frank. The rubble distorted the voice but it had to be him.

‘Frank, is that you?’ she shouted.

‘Kitty!’ It was him. She couldn’t tell how close he was. ‘Kitty, are you hurt?’