On the train home, all Queenie could think about was Vinny. He’d got himself expelled from school last week by smacking his teacher around the head, then the following day had miraculously found himself this so-called wonderful job which he was yet to get paid for.

Clumping Mr Edwards, his form teacher, had actually done Vinny’s reputation the world of good. A thin, medium-height man with a massive bald patch and oversized moustache, Mr Edwards was a bully to the lads he taught; he got off on clouting the boys and caning them. Queenie had received lots of congratulations from other mothers, praising her Vinny for giving him a taste of his own medicine. The police hadn’t been called, thankfully. But Vinny had been expelled on the spot and had walked out of the school to a round of applause from his classmates.

Queenie got off the train at Whitechapel and trundled down the road. Viv no longer worked. For all Bill Harris’s faults, he managed to financially support his wife and child. Viv looked after Brenda while Queenie was at work. Queenie would drop her daughter round Viv’s on the way and she would spend the day playing and watching TV with Lenny. Both were addicted to Pinky and Perky.

‘Queenie!’

Recognizing the voice, Queenie spun around. She hadn’t seen him for a few months and it seemed unusual to see him out of uniform. ‘Hello, Freddie. How are ya?’

‘Not bad. I saw Mrs O’Leary’s sons yesterday.’

Queenie felt her heartbeat quicken. ‘Round ’ere?’

‘No. Up town. They’re doing well for themselves. They’ve bought a club. Fancy a coffee? I could do with your advice actually.’

Wanting to hear more about Daniel, Queenie smiled. ‘Yeah. Why not.’

Marnie’s club was in Soho. A dingy gaff in a basement. The inside was better than the outside. The bar was quite plush, the sofas leather, the background music jazz.

‘A gentlemen’s club with a difference’, that’s what Marnie called it. Membership only, it was full of rich men with one thing in common. They all liked young men. Vinny had been stunned at first, hadn’t known places like this existed. Some of the men were married with kids and most had high-profile jobs. Vinny had spent yesterday evening in the company of a judge.

Vinny’s job was to entertain the men and get them to spend big money. He didn’t use his real name, he called himself Terry. The drinks were expensive and he was told, when offered a drink, to ask for champagne. The men would usually then order a bottle of the finest which lined Marnie’s pockets.

‘Excuse me, young Terry. One needs to use the bathroom.’

Vinny grimaced as the ugly old bastard stroked his face before struggling to get off the sofa. His name was Cecil; he had a mop of wild grey hair and lots of the same growing out of his nose. He looked like a mad scientist.

Seeing Vinny’s perturbed expression, Macca walked over to him and sat by his side. ‘Everything OK? You’re doing really well, you know. My aunt’s pleased. The punters love you.’