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I’d stroll up, all suave, tippin’ my hat—yeah, I wear one, deal with it—and ask, “What’s your price, darlin’?” Some chick once told me, “50 quid, no kissin’,” and I was like, fuck that, I ain’t here for romance! Pissed me off, though—hagglin’ like it’s a flea market. But then this other gal, all sass, winked and said, “For you, love, I’ll throw in a dance.” Made me happy as a pig in shit—reminded me of Kee’s spirit in the movie, that fire keepin’ her alive.

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So, I head back to work, and the afternoon’s a blur. We’re cranking out parts like there’s no tomorrow. I’m sweating like a pig, and my phone buzzes. It’s my missus. “Dinner’s at 7, don’t be late!” she texts. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

Man who died on Plympton railway line named at inquest