Prologue

      Summer 1939: Park Road Pool, Hornsey

      ‘Leave her alone, Vic, fer Gawd’s sake. You make her blub again and we’ll all get chucked out. Lifeguard’s got his eye on us.’ Christopher Wild jerked his head towards a tanned, brawny fellow, garbed in swimming trunks. From his vantage point, seated at the top of an A-frame ladder, the lifeguard had a clear view over the lido and at present had his stern expression fixed on them.

      Vic shrugged off the warning, intent on swaggering over to the group of schoolgirls to continue teasing them. Christopher grabbed his pal’s arm and yanked him back. The youngest girl was crying, and being comforted by her bathing-costumed friends. At intervals the group was throwing dirty looks at the party of youths.

      ‘Only having a bit of a lark with her, bleedin’ cry baby she is.’

      ‘Ain’t a lark if she’s hurt, is it?’ Christopher pointed out and shoved Vic Wilson down onto the grass next to some of their pals. He’d just prevented him again trying to creep up behind Grace Coleman to nudge her into the deep end of the pool. The first time he’d done it Vic had given the lame excuse that he was teaching her to swim. Christopher thought Vic a good pal on the whole, but knew he could be spiteful, and stupid too.

      Christopher sat down next to Vic. Most of the members of their little gang were lying back, basking in the July sun’s warmth. Christopher remained seated on the parched grass with his arms clasped around his raised knees. He subtly watched the group of girls and, in particular, Grace who was knuckling her bloodshot eyes and pushing rats’ tails of drenched hair back from her forehead. She’d managed to hang onto the side of the pool after Vic had given her a hefty bump, sending her off balance and into the water. Although she’d disappeared beneath the surface, her friends had hauled her out almost immediately.

      Grace Coleman was a skinny little thing with long fair hair. She was usually quite loud and confident and was popular too. In other respects, she was quite sporty, and could outrun all the boys in kiss chase. But she couldn’t swim.

      The Colemans lived in the next street to Christopher in Islington and their families knew each other well. For a reason he couldn’t fathom, he’d always quite liked her. At ten years old she was two years younger than he was, and in Christopher’s opinion Vic Wilson was a prat for tormenting her so he could show off.

      Noticing the direction of his friend’s gaze Vic said, ‘Dunno why she comes here if she don’t like getting wet.’

      ‘She don’t mind getting wet, it’s drowning she ain’t keen on.’

      ‘I’m getting a drink.’ Bill Bright, one of Christopher’s other friends, got up and strolled off in his swimming trunks in the direction of the cafeteria.

      ‘Get us one ’n’ all,’ Vic called after him.

      ‘Give us the money then,’ Bill sent back over a shoulder.

      ‘Give