‘I’m sorry, love. It was an accident. I tripped.’

‘Don’t lie! You were legless, you dirty, stinking old tramp.’ Beside herself with anger, Queenie picked up one of Albie’s slippers and began clouting him around the head with it.

Hearing shouting, Vinny and Roy ran downstairs. ‘What’s going on?’ asked Roy.

Vinny burst out laughing as he witnessed what his mother was doing.

Queenie gave her husband one last clump, then pointed to the mirror, then the carpet. ‘Look what he’s done, the pisshead. Broken my mirror and got blood on our lovely new carpet.’

‘Stop it! What you doing?’ Roy shrieked when Vinny grabbed his father around the throat.

Michael appeared and tried to grab hold of Vinny, then Brenda ran into the room and began screaming.

‘Do you know how hard I worked to buy that fucking carpet?’ Vinny hissed, shaking his father’s neck as though he were throttling a chicken. ‘Well, do you?’ he bellowed.

When Vinny swung around and pushed Michael away with such force he fell on his backside, Queenie stepped in. She could understand Vinny’s anger, but he was scaring her. She knew he had a temper on him, but never had she seen him like this before. His piercing green eyes looked manic. ‘Enough,’ Queenie yelled. ‘Stop it, now! You’re scaring the kids.’

Vinny punched the wall, sank to his knees, put his head in his hands and breathed deeply.

Albie held his throat. He was in shock, could barely breathe. His eldest son had actually tried to kill him.

Brenda put her little arms around her father’s ankles and clung to them. She was frightened.

Michael sat next to Albie. ‘You OK, Dad? Shall I get you some water or something?’

Roy said nothing. He just stared at his older brother. Vinny had changed since he’d left school and started work. They spent little time together these days. Vinny also said very little about this new mate of his he was hanging out with. He never spoke about his job much either, just got off on flashing the cash at the end of the week.

Queenie took charge of the situation. She looked at the dishevelled state of her husband and actually felt quite nauseous. Albie might not be a violent drunk like her father had been, but she couldn’t stand drunks nevertheless. ‘This is all your own doing, Albie. I think it’s best you go and stay round Bert’s for the weekend. Let Bert and Ivy put up with you dripping blood all over their carpets, ’cause we’ve had enough of it ’ere. Especially my Vinny, who paid for it. You need to apologize to that boy.’

Albie stared into the eyes of his so-called wife and, not for the first time, truly wished he’d never married her. She was a materialistic, frigid cow who was enough to drive a saint to drink. No wonder he found solace in alcohol and Fishy Fanny these days. As for Queenie’s parenting skills, she was doing a bloody good job of leading her own sons up the wrong path. Only God knew where Vinny was getting all that money from, but it certainly wasn’t your average bellboy’s wage. Far bloody from it.