Michael’s lip began trembling. ‘Can we go home now?’ he asked, tugging Vinny’s arm.

As curtains began to twitch and neighbours started to appear, Vinny acted quickly. He ran into Mrs Beard’s garden and cut the string from both sides of the fence with his penknife, then hid it in his pockets.

‘Oi! What you doing?’ shouted a neighbour.

Always a quick thinker, Vinny held up one of Mrs Beard’s pets. ‘Just checking the cat was all right, mister. I thought Mrs Beard had squashed it.’

As people began surrounding Mrs Beard, Vinny ran over to his brothers, who were standing there like two stuffed dummies. He put an arm round their shoulders. ‘Let’s go home. We say nothing, OK?’

Both in shock, Roy and Michael nodded silently. ‘Is she dead?’ Roy asked, his eyes welling up.

‘I don’t know – and don’t be bloody well crying,’ Vinny hissed. ‘Not our fault she didn’t fly, is it?’

Albie was snoozing in his favourite armchair, as he often did after a Saturday session down the boozer, when he was awoken by a barrage of knocking on his front door.

Bleary-eyed, Albie shuffled to the door, thinking it would be either Queenie or his sons. Both were late home and he was starving, hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was neither his wife nor sons, it was Micky One Ear. ‘You OK to talk?’ Micky asked.

‘Yeah. Just waiting for Queenie to come home. Why? What’s wrong?’

‘I had to warn you. Don’t go near West Ham, Canning Town, Upton Park or East Ham next week, Alb. A little firm, or big firm should I say, turned up a bit heavy-handed in the pubs you supply last night. Rumour has it, it’s the Turners out of Poplar, and you don’t wanna mess with them. They’re not gentlemen you can reason with like Harry Mitchell and his mob. The Turners are fucking feral. Anyway, they’re taking over your patch, mate. No one has been in my boozer yet, so let’s just hope they stick to their own. They’re offering pub protection as well as the spirits in a joint venture, and apparently the spirits ain’t too bad. On sort of a par with yours. The Turners are Irish, so might even be getting the goods from your pal Paddy, like you do.’

Albie’s face turned ashen. He wasn’t sure who he was more scared of. The Turners, or Queenie when she found out there’d be no more decent money coming in.

Being teatime, the pie and mash shop was heaving. ‘I got something important to tell you an’ all,’ Queenie added.

‘Ooh, what?’ asked Viv.

‘Tell you on the way home. Too many eyes and ears in ’ere,’ Queenie replied.

‘Well? What news you got?’ Viv asked, the moment they stepped out of Kelly’s.

‘Don’t have a go at me for not telling you sooner. I didn’t want to tempt fate this time.’

‘You’re pregnant again!’

Queenie smiled broadly. ‘Yep! About four an’ ’alf months, I reckon. Albie don’t know yet, nor the boys. I wanted to leave it as long as I could, just in case. I ain’t even told Mum. I’m beginning to show now though, I wanted you to be the first to know.’