Catching his reflection in the cafe window, Albie straightened his tie. His suits weren’t made of the finest cloth and his shirts were off the market, but he still managed to look smart. Even his shoes were gleaming. His mum had always drummed the importance of polishing his shoes regularly into him.

Seeing Cilla Watkins’ mum inside the cafe with another lady, Albie continued his journey thinking about Cilla. She’d been surprisingly calm when he’d ended their relationship, had even agreed it was for the best.

Albie sighed. He knew he’d done the right thing, but he did miss the intimacy. Cilla used to love to put his Hampton in her mouth and give it a good old suck. Queenie would have a fit at the thought of such a thing. His wife didn’t even like relieving him with her hand and on the odd occasion she had, she’d turned her head away while manhandling his John Thomas as though she was changing gear in a car. It had bloody well hurt, which was why Albie chose to relieve himself in the bathroom these days.

Other than being sex-starved, things were pretty good at home. Brenda’s arrival seemed to have brought himself and Queenie closer together. He had no problem getting up in the middle of the night to tend to his daughter’s needs. Most men would run a mile at the thought of changing a shitty nappy, but he enjoyed feeling useful.

Albie bowled into the Horn of Plenty with a spring in his step. Every Friday he would meet Ernie in here and lay him on fifty pouches of tobacco and pick up the dosh from the previous week.

‘The usual, Albie?’ asked the barman.

‘Yes please, Del,’ Albie glanced around and felt as though he’d had a catapult hit him in the stomach. Surely not? It couldn’t be, could it?

Realizing it was, the spring left Albie’s step instantly, so much so, he couldn’t move, was temporarily paralysed. ‘What the—’ he mumbled. He knew she’d been working for Micky; he’d got her the job. But what about poor Sheila? Canoodling like a pair of horny teenagers in public. Albie was sickened by the sight.

Cilla was the first to spot Albie. She nudged Micky, who quickly swung around on his barstool. ‘Oh, shit!’

As Micky approached him, Albie wanted to run from the pub, but his legs still would not move. Cilla Watkins and Micky One Ear. How? Why? When did that happen?

His face ashen and etched with guilt, Micky tried to explain. ‘It ain’t what you think, Albie. Honest. Me and Sheila had a massive barney, she’s sodded off to her mother’s. I’m just letting me hair down with Cilla. You know how it is. Me and her are just pals, mate.’

‘Albie, I’m over ’ere. Everything all right?’ shouted Ernie.

Albie waved and nodded. ‘Be over in a minute, Ern.’ He had to pull himself together; otherwise the whole of the East End would know. Gossip travelled faster than the speed of light around his neck of the woods, especially if it was juicy.