Queenie walked towards Albie and put her arms around his waist. ‘I think that’s a very honourable thing to do, Albie. You’re a good man deep down and I know I don’t say this often, but I do love you, ya know.’

As Queenie locked lips with her honourable husband, little did she know she’d soon be hearing a rather different version of events.

The following morning, Queenie counted out the money Albie had given her. ‘That’s not enough, Albie. Not to pick up all three bikes.’

Albie sighed. He’d told Queenie that three pairs of boxing gloves were more than enough for the boys’ main presents and they should be saving for a rainy day, but Queenie being Queenie had insisted they buy all three of their sons bicycles with his hard-earned dosh. ‘I ain’t got any more money, Queen. You’ve spent it all. You’ll have to wait until tonight and pick the bikes up tomorrow, love,’ Albie said, straightening his tie. His new job involved knocking on the doors of houses or poking his head in pubs to collect money for the man he only knew as ‘The Boss’. Albie had been told to dress smart to look the part, so that’s what he did. Any money he collected, Albie was given a 5 per cent cut of. Bill Harris was the man who he dealt with solely. Bill would divvy up what he was owed and pay him his cut at the end of the week. There were a few who couldn’t pay up and Albie just reported those back to Bill. It wasn’t particularly a dangerous job; he was only collecting money from hooky gear. But with Christmas a couple of days away, it had been busy. Too busy for Albie’s liking, as he was collecting more money than he’d ever seen before. ‘I’m off now, love. Got a busy day ahead. Christ knows how many buses I’ll have to hop on.’

‘You need to learn to drive, Albie. That’ll make your job so much easier. Lamb stew with dumplings, I’m cooking tonight. That’ll warm your cockles when you get home.’

Albie kissed his beloved on the forehead. ‘Bye, treacle, and I’ll have the rest of the money tonight so you can pick up those bikes and anything else you might need. I promise.’

‘Look! Over the road, Viv. That must be Micky’s fancy piece. Look! He has the cheek to ’ave his arm round her an’ all. Talk about flaunt it in public. My Albie ain’t a violent man. But I’m ever so proud of him for clumping Micky one, the dirty bastard.’

‘No spring chicken, is she? Poor Sheila. She’s a lovely woman.’

Queenie grabbed her sister’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go and give ’em a piece of our mind. Bleedin’ disgusting, if you ask me.’

Vivian allowed herself to be dragged across the other side of the Whitechapel Road and was the first to speak. She gestured her head towards Cilla. ‘Poor Sheila. We were stunned when Albie told us. Gone down in our estimation, you have.’