Camden, 1936

He's out your system, it took you a while. You got your family back and you got your smile and you promised your sister that you'd never go back again.

But friends keep telling you what he did last night, how many tales he told and how many were lies.

It was the deepest most guttural bad feeling, being without him, no matter how much you battered it into your brain how you were better off without him.

You'd almost forgotten how it felt to live under his gaze, his protection, his hold.

"That's it my little dove, you hide away with me yeah? Nobody'll touch you, always stay near me."

Now you're feeling like you miss him, speaking like you love him, you moved like you needed him. He was the one you ran to, the one to save you and hold you, keep you safe from Camden's sordid underbelly.

"This world, these filthy streets ain't for the likes of you my jewel, my dove, my darling, yeah? You can't be going out on your own, specially not without your man to protect you alright?"

The way he wore black almost exclusively, blending into the shadows, almost made you hope he was watching you from afar, watching you move on and be well without him, but that would be performative wouldn't it?

You'd fallen for a monster, attuned to his mood swings and violent temper, you'd questioned the amount of tears you'd shed for your apparent 'happiness.'

"Now little dove, what's all this upset for? Did I raise my voice? Did you see me hurt someone for you? Tell me, what's made them eyes of yours so red,"

He had a black heart, you'd wept to your father, daddy I've fallen for a monster, he was big and bad but you loved him, mama.

While you were with him, nobody wanted to be around you for fear of inviting one of Alfie's jealous rages. You were in a gilded cage, words of estranged friends and family hurting you more than Alfie's assertive weight thrown around to scare off anyone he saw as a threat.

Healing was an uphill battle, battle in the sense you had to fight your baser instincts not to go running straight down to the docks every time you felt the world was against you.

You could see it in your minds eye, he'd wear a patronising sneer like he'd just won every bet ever placed against him, arms spread wide.

"There you are my dove, home where you belong yeah? Come here to me treacle, back in my arms, you have fun on your little adventure? Decide the world wasn't for you?"

You'd caught yourself tracing a map of London, walking the route with your fingers between your home and where you knew Alfie ran his rum distillery, a sinking pit forming in your chest.

He'd be proud to know he still haunted you, even the letters of his name in any other order were still jarring to read or hear.

That was why, at market one evening in July, your skin went cold despite the balmy breeze kept stagnant by Camden's high brick-built streets.

It was all fine until that voice, honeyed and heavy with the south London accent rolled over your shoulders and into your ears from behind.

"Evenin' my dove."