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what contact she had with him.
    As her eyes closed, she was certain that, even though she had no idea what she was going to do when she left this house, once she was far away from the dragging dullness and the quiet desperation of these surroundings, she would miraculously know what to do with her life next.
    She wondered if the man with the black car and the scar on his cheek would be there again tomorrow when she went for the bus. She hoped so. He excited her more than the pimply boys she worked alongside, or the clerks that gave her the once-over in the grubby factory offices when she picked up her pay packet.
    This man somehow denoted a glamorous danger that, until now, she had only experienced on rare occasions in the lonely darkness of the movie theatre. She was, as the women she worked with would say, an accident waiting to happen.
     
     
    Pat Brodie had been watching the girl for a while. She was young and that bothered him; he had always gone for brassy blondes with more mileage than an army truck and more carnal knowledge than was good for them. Talented, was how he described them to himself. Those kind of women knew exactly what to expect from him, and they didn't harbour any illusions, had no foolish dreams of marriage, children or, God help him, love. They took what he was willing to give, the three Fs; a fuck, a fiver and some guaranteed fun. Until now, that was all he had wanted, needed.
    Now, this young girl who worked in the Black Cat factory where he picked up cigarettes to sell in pubs and clubs for a fraction of their retail price, had got under his skin.
    He was a lot older than her and she was far too young for him, but even knowing that, he still thought about her constantly and it was her obvious innocence that attracted him. Her scruffy clothes and defeated look only seemed to enhance her appeal. It was about more than looks, and this was what worried him the most. This young girl had somehow got under his skin. He had never even spoken to her, he did not know her name and he had no reason in the world to feel like he did.
    Now, as he watched her walk to the bus stop once more, he saw the lean lines of her body under the shapeless coat, and appreciated the beauty of a face devoid of make-up and knew that the thing he had always dreaded had finally happened. He wanted her in more ways than just the biblical sense.
    Getting out of his car, he followed her to the bus stop with a heavy heart and the hope that once she opened her mouth the illusion she created would disappear, that her allure would fade away because of her cockney accent and ignorant choice of vocabulary.
    But under the weak light of the street lamp he found himself lost for words. She turned on hearing him approach, her eyes looked into his, and he saw mirrored there the same feelings and emotions as his own. Except her fear was real, he frightened her and this saddened him because he wanted to make her smile, to make her happy. That was his biggest fear: if he wanted to make her happy, he knew he needed her.
    They stared at each other for long moments and he saw her physically relax as if he had told her she had nothing to be scared of, as if they had both agreed to become friends.
    Her fear disappeared but his own seemed to increase along with his nervousness.
    'Well?' Her voice was low, deep in fact, almost a whisper, and he heard the tremor of excitement the fear inside her caused. He knew then that she had been expecting him, that she welcomed his interest, understood somehow that he meant her no harm.
    When she arched one well-plucked eyebrow in enquiry, he also knew then and there that he would never rest until she was his.
    She suddenly had all the power and they both knew that, but he didn't care, he was just happy to be near her.
     
     
    Mick Diamond looked at his stepdaughter in unconcealed disbelief and his wife Annie, he knew, was staring at him in exactly the same way.
    'What did you say?' Lily's voice was as always low and