I.
Nancy was the first person he felt safe with.
Nancy, with her shiny red hair and her pale cleavage that rose out of her bodice like freshly baked bread. Dodger can remember the first time he saw her.
II.
He had only been little. Naïve. Fagin had soon cured him of that. Fagin had taken him to his apartment and he'd seen Nancy, standing inside.
'Now who's this?' she had asked. Jack Dawkins, Dodger had said. Because that's who Dodger used to be. Jack Dawkins. But now he was the Dodger. The Artful Dodger, to be precise.
Nancy had smiled at him and at that moment he was hers.
Always hers.
III.
But Nancy belonged to Bill. Bill was everything that Nancy wasn't. And the first time Dodger had seen Bill put his arm around Nancy, he had felt a burning fire deep down in his stomach.
Dodger had always been a jealous boy.
One night Bill had stumbled in, his arm around Nancy, the smell of cheap beer coming off him in waves. Bill had slurred out for everyone to leave them alone. They'd stumbled into a bed that had a hanging cloth in front of it, screening people's views.
But cloth couldn't cover the noises that Nancy made. Dodger could hear her sighing, moaning, begging Bill not to stop. Dodger had felt hot and cold and jealous and a strange sensation that he had never experienced before. The other boys in the room had made crude comments about them and Dodger had shut them up. One of the older boys pointed at Dodger's trousers and laughed. He told Dodger not to pretend he didn't enjoy it too.
Dodger wouldn't talk to Nancy the next day.
IV.
After that night, Dodger had asked Fagin about what Nancy and Bill had been doing. Fagin had grinned at him, his crooked teeth glinting. He'd taken Dodger down by the docks and spoken to a girl whose lips were painted a startling red.
Fagin had handed the girl a pound and told her to teach the boy everything. Dodger assumed that the boy was him. Fagin left and the girl came over, smiling. Up close Dodger could see her pockmark scars peeking through her heavy makeup. The girl had taken him by the hand and led him to a deserted alley.
She leaned forward to unbutton his jacket and Dodger had flinched away. She cackled and told him not to worry. She also told him she'd never been with such an innocent. Dodger had been confused, because he was anything but innocent. He knew that he was a thief. He knew about murder and what went on in the back alleys of London.
The girl had unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his knees. That was the only time Dodger remembered feeling unsure. She told him to lie down and after he did, she placed his hand on his crotch.
She rubbed up and down and Dodger felt like he had when he had heard Nancy moaning. Than the girl lowered herself on top of his stiff member and everything became a blur. And she was so warm and hot and he thought about doing this with Nancy.
When he came back home, the other boys patted him on the back. Been made a man of, haven't you? Fagin croaked, leering at the Dodger.
Afterwards, Dodger found out that girls like her were called whores.
V.
The only time Dodger had ever felt he had a chance with Nancy was when they'd been playing cards and Nancy had been steadily knocking back glass after glass of gin.
Dodger won for the third time in a row and Nancy had smiled at him loosely, cheeks pink from the alcohol. 'You're such a clever boy Dodger. And so handsome too.' She giggled and leaned forward and kissed him. Nancy had tasted like apples and lemon and gin.
Dodger was not just going to sit there and do nothing about Nancy, the girl he loved kissing him for the first time. Dodger was not Jack Dawkins anymore. So of course he didn't do the gentlemanly thing, which would have been to gently push Nancy off and put her to bed.
He kissed her back. He knew what to do. He wasn't the innocent he used to be. He'd been with lots of other girls since the whore at the bridge. And he always said Nancy's name when he came.
When Dodger started to kiss back, Nancy pulled away. 'I shouldn't have done that.' She whispered, backing away. 'If Bill finds out..' Nancy turned around, looking for her shoes. Dodger felt sick.
He turned away, and heard the door click shut.
VI.
Something had changed between them after that night.
Dodger was no longer Nancy's favourite. Oliver was. If Dodger could turn back time, he wouldn't have brought Oliver back. Oliver. Oliver Twist. What the hell kind of name was that? When Nancy commented on Oliver's manners and Dodger's lack of manners, Dodger would have gladly throttled Oliver right there. How dare he come in and be everyone's favourite!
Fagin liked Oliver best now. Nancy did as well. Dodger had been there the longest and he'd been the most faithful, hadn't he? He had. He'd always stolen pretty necklaces and ribbons for Nancy. And just because Oliver had come in, with his big eyes, and the way he always looked like he was on the verge of tears, didn't mean Nancy could dismiss him like that. It wasn't fair.
Dodger supposes the only reason he agreed to dodge Nancy was to hurt her.
VII.
When Dodger had come back and told Fagin and Bill about Nancy he'd had no idea of what would happen next.
He hadn't thought that Bill would kill her. Maybe just rough her up.
But Bill had killed her. Beaten her to death.
And Dodger was to blame.
As Dodger sits in prison, he lets the events of what's happened flood his mind and for the first time since he was 6, he cries.
Because he isn't as tough as everyone thinks. He isn't the Artful Dodger.
He's Jack Dawkins.