‘A drink, duckie.’

The woman kept her money in an old Oxo tin which she was now banging up and down on the table. The pub had only been open since half five but there were already four sticky dead glasses crowded in front of her next to the half-finished Evening News crossword and the tin ashtray was full. The Edwardian drawl had become loud and shrill, rising above the chinking hum of the bar.

‘Drink. Deah.’

Jane stood up to go, lifting her carrier clear of the glasses as she sidled out from behind the table, her knees hobbled by the heavy little stools and snagging her already laddered stockings. The old woman lurched out of her seat and grabbed Jane by the sleeve of her sweater.

‘The least you can do is buy me a Drink.’

She turned to address the room but the room kept its head down, afraid she might start on them. She rubbed Jane’s sleeve between her twisted yellow fingers.

‘Crocodile and cash-meah but she can’t find the price of a gin. Mean little Bitch.’

Tony had been waiting for Jane by the entrance but the tide of fresh drinkers washing into the bar had forced him outside. His puzzled face appeared round the door.

‘I’m sorry. My friend’s waiting.’

Jane inched towards the exit, carrier bag on one arm, coat on the other. Men made a show of making room – ‘Let the little lady through’, ‘Not going are you, girlie?’ – but actually edged even closer, brushing against her body as she passed. She felt helping hands at her waist, on the small of her back, the inevitable pat on the backside.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were right behind me. Meet someone you knew?’