‘Me neither. I thought we might call her Brenda. It’s quite a trendy name and I think it rather suits her. What do you think?’ Queenie had toyed with calling the child Mary after her dear friend, but thought it might prove too upsetting for her. Mary’s death was still too raw.

‘Perfect!’ Albie kissed his daughter on the forehead. ‘Welcome to the world, Brenda Butler. Your daddy loves you very much.’

Queenie’s eyes also welled up. It had been a strange day, full of emotion and she felt so sore and tired now. ‘You’re a big softie you are, Albie Butler.’

Albie squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘I know I’m not perfect, but I do love you, Queenie. Thank you for our beautiful daughter.’

Queenie tenderly rubbed Albie’s arm. ‘You ain’t so bad yourself. That’s why I married ya.’

An unusual tender moment between them, Albie felt the guilt surge through his veins. He wasn’t a bad man, just lonely at times. He would end his relationship with Cilla. He must do the right thing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Brenda Butler wasn’t an easy baby. Unlike the boys who had all been fairly good sleepers, Brenda cried all night, then slept all day. She wouldn’t breastfeed either, would only take milk from the bottle.

Queenie was shattered and, without Albie’s help, she had no idea how she would have coped, getting up numerous times during the night. Even the boys were irritable.

Aware that her sons were huddled around the coal fire, whispering, Queenie eyed them with suspicion. They looked like butter wouldn’t melt in their three-quarter strides, smart white shirts, thick woollen knee-length socks, grey tank tops and matching floppy hats, but she wasn’t born yesterday. ‘What you three looking so shifty about?’

‘Nuffink, Mum,’ all three protested with a look of fake innocence.

‘Your porridge is ready. Get it down your neck and get yourself off to school.’

‘What time we gotta be back for the fireworks tonight, Mum?’ enquired Vinny.

‘Why? Where you going?’

‘My mate Paul is having his fireworks early ’cause it’s his birthday and he’s invited us round to watch ’em. Can we go, Mum, please?’ Roy pleaded.

‘I wanna see ’em too, Mum,’ Michael added.

‘You better not be lying to me because I will find out and you know how much I hate bloody liars,’ Queenie warned.

‘We’re not, Mum. Honest,’ Roy lied.

‘OK then. But don’t stuff your faces too much round Paul’s, because I’m cooking jacket potatoes and Bill’s bringing faggots and sausages for your tea.’

‘We won’t and I promise we’ll be back by half seven,’ vowed Vinny.

All three boys bolted down their porridge as fast as they could. They had a plan and couldn’t wait to put it into action.

Having had a little flutter on a dog tip and won, Albie Butler whistled away happily as he strolled towards Stepney to collect his booze and baccy money. He’d won a fair bit since One-Eyed Harry had started giving him a bit of inside info. He daren’t tell Queenie that, mind. She didn’t like him gambling, said it was a mug’s game.