Macca saw Vinny out, ran up the stairs and picked up the phone. ‘Auntie, I’ve found us a great new recruit. You’re gonna love him. So will our punters.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

‘Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear Vinny

Happy birthday to you.’

Vinny excitedly ripped open his gift. He might have the body of a man, but was still a big kid when it came to presents. ‘Oh wow! It’s ace, Mum! I bloody love it. Thank you.’

‘Don’t he look smart, Albie?’ Queenie crowed. It had taken her months to save for the jacket. She’d put a few bob in her savings tin every week.

‘Very suave, son,’ Albie replied.

The bomber jacket was a replica of the one James Dean had worn in Rebel Without a Cause. Vinny was a James Dean fan, had watched his films numerous times at the cinema and had been gutted when Dean had got killed in a car crash in 1955.

‘You’ll have to grow your hair now, have it waxed back with a bit of a quiff,’ Roy joked.

Vinny ran his right hand through his hair. He hadn’t had it cut for a while. ‘Can I use your Brylcreem, Dad?’

‘Yes, boy. Help yourself. It’s in the bathroom cupboard.’

When Vinny returned a few minutes later with his hair greased back, both Roy and Michael rolled around laughing. ‘You look like an iron,’ Roy shrieked.

‘Vinny is a poofer, Vinny is a poofter,’ Michael chuckled.

‘Stop it now. Don’t be so nasty to your brother on his birthday. He looks nice,’ said Queenie.

Vinny studied himself in the bathroom mirror. This was a similar style to Macca’s. What did his brothers know? They were only kids. Macca wasn’t. He was twenty-six, a proper man.

Albie Butler smiled as Brenda got on the sofa, stood on his knees and put her arms around his neck. His sons rarely showed him any affection. Vinny was a proper Mummy’s boy and Roy wasn’t far behind him. Michael was affectionate to both parents, and showed Albie more respect than the other two. But Brenda was his little favourite, the baby of the family. ‘Daddy’s going to get some seafood. Do you want anything?’ Albie grinned, knowing full well what the answer would be.

‘Winkles, winkles, winkles!’ Brenda clapped her hands excitedly.

Chuckling, Albie lifted his daughter up in the air. If Brenda could live on winkle sandwiches and baked beans, she would. The fussy little thing turned her nose up at most of Queenie’s dinners, which Albie found quite amusing as it annoyed his wife immensely.

‘Why don’t you take her down the Lane with you? I’ve got lots of food to prepare and could do without her under my feet,’ Queenie said.

‘I can’t, love. I’ve got a bit of work to do before I pick up the seafood. Sorry.’

Queenie rolled her eyes. Albie’s latest venture was flogging fresh meat and poultry in pubs. He gave her money every week, a pittance really. It didn’t even cover the rent. If it wasn’t for her cleaning jobs and Vinny and Roy chipping in with the bills, they’d freeze and starve. ‘Be back ’ere by half two then and don’t come home pissed,’ Queenie snapped.