‘Please, Queenie, no. If you see her and Micky again, just ignore ’em. That’s what I shall do.’

Queenie pursed her lips. ‘We shall see about that.’

‘Right, you wait ’ere with Michael and the bikes, Roy,’ ordered Vinny.

‘What you gonna do, Vinny?’ asked Michael.

‘You’ll see,’ grinned Vinny. He knew his mum would kick his arse if he robbed off one of their own. But they didn’t know many people in Canning Town so that’s why they’d ridden here.

Vinny knocked at the first half a dozen doors and when they were answered, lied he was visiting his Auntie Mary and couldn’t remember her new address. ‘There’s a Mary lives down the other end of the road, son. Number sixty-four. Is her surname Walton?’

‘No. That ain’t Auntie Mary. But thanks anyway, mister. I think I might have the wrong street.’

Spotting an elderly couple leaving a house further down, Vinny waited until they’d turned the corner before crossing the road. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. Checking nobody was watching him; Vinny put his hand through the letterbox. Bingo. He was sure he could smell cooking and the key was there.

Usually, men went to pubs of a lunchtime on their own, Vinny knew that, as his dad always did. But at Christmas, some of the women were allowed to go too. He remembered his mum and Auntie Viv going to the pub with his dad a couple of years ago, before his mum was pregnant with Brenda. His mum had left the turkey cooking and he’d looked after his brothers. They’d all come home a bit tiddly, even his nan.

Vinny expertly lifted the string off the hook and opened the front door. He was in and out within twelve seconds, with a partially cooked turkey under his arm.

Vinny felt elated as he charged down the road towards his brothers. His mum had brought them the best presents ever and now it was time to pay her back.

‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Queenie asked, as she answered the door to Vivian, who was sobbing like a child.

‘Bill has finished with me and it’s all my fault. I accused him of seeing other women and he was ever so upset. He said if I don’t trust him we should call it a day.’

Albie was sitting in his threadbare armchair listening to the radio. Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ was playing, a song Albie had recently learned the words to so he could sing it himself. Queenie ushered her sister into the kitchen. ‘Did you tell the bastard you might be pregnant?’ she whispered.

‘No. I got my period late last night. I wish I was pregnant now. I love him so much, Queen. I’ll never find another man I love so much, I know I won’t.’

‘Yes. You will. Thank God you’re not pregnant by him, that’s all I can say. I know you’re upset at the moment, Viv. But believe me; you’ve had a very lucky escape. One day, you’ll meet the man of your dreams. Trust me. You will.’