Track 15: Bingo Master's Breakout by The Fall

Like thieves, Liz and Tommy clambered through the jemmied steel door.

Closed for years, the bingo hall was a cinema once, a Gaumont or Odeon; all white pillars and art deco flourishes.

Liz remembered Tommy’s deep, creamy voice announcing the numbers from the stage here to the long smoky room of concentrating women each night.

Her mum loved him. They all did.

At work, she’d recognized him in the day room of the hospice, old and frail, as if carrying the weight and size of his voice had exhausted his body.

Smoking a Rothmans, he said he was dying.

“It said in the paper they’ve been having them illegal raves at the old bingo,” she’d said, making conversation.

It shocked her when he whispered: “Take me.”

In the main hall, young people danced oblivious, music shaking plaster dust from the ceiling, pushing smells of fags and cheap perfume up from plush carpets.

Liz watched Tommy walk unsteadily up the steps to the dark stage.

Gazing across the room, raising both arms, he gave the remains of the bingo hall the two fingers, scattering ripped up bingo cards like confetti onto the crowd below.

Looking at Liz, Tommy smiled, finally free.