‘That’s because it doesn’t exist, sweetie. Seriously, if I had a shilling for every mother that had asked me a similar question round ’ere, I’d be stinking rich. Gotta dash. Got a client waiting.’

Queenie’s face turned white. ‘Come on, Viv. We’re going home.’

Albie wasn’t one to hold grudges, and as Micky spilled his guts, he couldn’t help feeling a tad sorry for the bloke who’d once had more than most and had now lost everything. To top it all, his mum had recently died.

‘Cilla knew my mum was a dying woman. How could she just fuck off like that, Albie? I truly loved her ya know. She didn’t even give me an inkling anything was wrong. We had sex a couple of days before she left. Not even a note. What type of woman does that to a man, eh? I had to hear through the grapevine she’d moved away with her new geezer to Ilford.’

Albie rolled his eyes. There was a lot he could tell Micky about Cilla Watkins, but it was pointless rubbing salt in the wounds now. Micky kept crying as well, that’s why they’d left the Blind Beggar and walked back to Micky’s latest abode, a horrid little bedsit in Stepney Green. Albie was actually glad he’d bumped into Micky, as at least he had somewhere to stay tonight.

Micky unsteadily poured another two large brandies. ‘I’m sorry, Albie, selfishly rambling on about meself and me own problems all day. How’s Queenie and the kids?’

‘If you want the truth, Micky, I should never have married Queenie. You were right all along when you said she weren’t my type. She’s as hard as bloody nails, the woman. Don’t get me wrong,’ Albie slurred, ‘I will always be grateful to her for looking after my mum, but she’s raising our boys wrong, Vinny especially. D’ya know he tried to strangle me today in my own home?’ Albie undid his shirt. ‘Can you see any hand marks? The boy ain’t the full shilling and it’s all Queenie’s fault, I’m telling ya.’

‘It might not be Queenie’s fault,’ Micky slurred. He was far more drunk than Albie, had been supping spirits since first thing this morning to ease his heartache. In fact, he hadn’t had a day off the booze for over a month. ‘Another reason I came to find you, I looked for you a few times, weren’t just to apologize, Albie. I wanted to warn you about Vinny’s new friends.’

‘What new friends? Queenie tells me sod all. I know Vinny’s working now, but I don’t believe that posh hotel bullshit.’

‘Vinny’s hanging out with Marnie McCartney’s nephew. He lives above that new launderette that’s opened near Old Jack’s cafe. The lad and Marnie are running all Big Macca’s brothels and nonce clubs in the West End. Big Macca got a twenty-year stretch. I know you hate me, but once I heard Vinny was hanging around with that mob, I had to warn ya, Albie. Their world is seriously seedy. Your Vinny is working in a poofter’s bar.’