‘Oh, I can’t remember. A couple of months or so, I think. How old is this Bill, would you say? And what does he look like?’

‘He’s got blond hair, but not too light, and I reckon he’s about five foot ten. He’s definitely older than me, about twenty-three I’d say,’ Vivian said, a vacant expression on her face.

Queenie plonked a plate of sprats, the vinegar bottle and a slice of bread in front of her little sister. ‘If he asks you out, make sure he picks you up from here. I want to meet him before you go gallivanting off into the night, OK?’

Albie dug into his pocket for the piece of paper Cilla had given him. He’d been an early starter when it came to women, had lusted after Cilla from around the age of ten. Her bedroom window faced his and he was sure when he reached his teenage years, she knew he was watching her as she got undressed.

It was a bitterly cold New Year’s Eve when Albie’s dreams had finally come true. Cilla had split up with her current boyfriend over Christmas and he knew she drank in the Carpenter’s Arms. So he dragged a pal there. He was fourteen at the time, but looked a lot older.

Cilla was tipsy, with a group of pals, and kept making eyes at him. It seemed only natural Albie would offer to walk her home, seeing as she lived opposite him. Albie remembered feeling all grown-up when Cilla held his arm as they walked down the High Road. Then she started telling him how handsome he was and how she wished she were nine years younger.

Albie made some joke about him being a man not a boy, and that’s when she kissed him. It wasn’t just a peck, Cilla stuck her tongue right down the back of his throat, so Albie did what any horny fourteen-year-old virgin would have done. He led her down the alleyway next to Macca’s hardware shop and shagged her up against the wall. A minute, he lasted inside her – if that.

Albie had hoped it would be the start of something wonderful, but it wasn’t to be. Cilla apologized for leading him astray a couple of days later and begged him not to tell anyone what had happened.

Albie’s reminiscing was ended by the sound of Vivvy leaving his house. Seeing Cilla earlier had reminded him of the person he once was. He marched down the stairs.

‘All right, grumpy? Want your stew now?’ asked Queenie.

‘No. We need to talk.’

‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I need to put the boys to bed and tell ’em a story.’

‘No. It bastard well can’t. I’m sick of feeling like a spare part round ’ere. I’ve even been kicked out me own bed by my three-year-old son. It ain’t bloody right. Vinny’s old enough now to sleep in my mum’s old room with Roy. I know you wanna move, Queen, but we’re not moving into your mum’s house. We get no alone time as it is. When was the last time you bothered to come and watch me sing? Or we went out on our own? I’m your bloody husband. Don’t you think I have needs too?’