Bernadette and Marcus lived two doors down from Briony in Manor Park. The road they lived in was tree-lined and contained fifteen houses, all large and rambling, all with half an acre of gardens, and all looking very well kept. Bernadette’s still had the leaded lights from the original windows and the house was gabled. She lived there with Marcus and their two young daughters, Rebecca and Delia. The names were hated by the rest of the family, but as far as Bernie was concerned, they were classy. Bernie, as the years went on, had become obsessed with being classy. She opened the door to the boys herself and grinned at them widely.

‘Hello, me ducks. In you come. The bathroom’s free!’

Boysie grinned back at her. She was a bit of all right was Auntie Bernie. Both boys went up for a quick wash and brush up and came downstairs to a large mug of tea.

Becky and Delia sat on the floor in front of the fire and gazed up longingly at the two big men in their front room.

Every time Bernie clapped eyes on her nephews, she felt an overwhelming feeling of love and pride. They were so handsome, and so huge! Both stood tall at six foot, both were well built. They had the same blue eyes, the same thick eyebrows, and the same brown-red hair. Boysie had a thinner face than Daniel though it was only noticeable to people who knew them exceptionally well.

In turn the two boys loved their aunts to distraction. Briony was referred to as ‘The Aunt’, though they called her Mum when they were with her. Bernie was next best; living so near and doting on them, it was inevitable. Then came Auntie Kerry, the singer, the famous one of the family who lived in Knightsbridge with their cousin Liselle. Then there was Auntie Rosie, or ‘poor Auntie Rosie’ as she was known, whom the boys had always adored uncritically. Their granny, Granny Moll, also worshipped them. In short, they felt quite at home in a family of women.

Nothing they did could ever faze ‘The Aunt’; everything just washed over her. Even when they’d set fire to the house in Barking by accident, she’d eventually laughed it off as a boyish prank. When the house had been bombed in the Blitz she’d laughed about that too, moving them all to Manor Park without any fuss. The boys had missed being called up by months, their Auntie Briony keeping them from going with a mixture of backhanders and chats with influential friends. Now they were just reaching manhood, voting age, the time to strike out on their own, and were still inexorably tied to ‘The Aunt’, though neither realised this fact.