Macca ran down the stairs, opened the front door and instead of his aunt, was confronted by a shortish woman with blonde hair and a face like thunder, and a man in a crumpled suit. ‘Hello, love. How can I help you?’

‘Erm, hello,’ Albie stammered. ‘We’re looking for—’

‘Shut up, you.’ Queenie punched her husband on the arm and forced a smile. ‘I’m an old friend of Marnie’s. You’re her nephew, I’ve been told. Could you pass on a message for me, please?’

‘Erm, yeah. OK. Oi! What the fuck d’ya think you’re doing?’ Macca shouted, as the woman ducked under his arm and ran up the stairs. Unfortunately for Macca, he then stubbed his toe and stumbled.

‘Queenie, wait for me,’ shouted Albie.

‘Mum!’ Vinny shrieked, raising his knees to his chest, while pulling Macca’s posh black silky bedspread under his chin. ‘Dad.’

‘Get up, boy. Now! You’re coming home with me.’ The bed was a double. Queenie was horrified, but relieved Vinny still had his pants on as he scrambled around, his face as white as a sheet, hunting for his clothes.

Albie turned his head. ‘Jesus wept!’

Having a penchant for younger lads, Macca had been in a similar position to this in the past. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were Vinny’s mum and dad. I would never have sworn if I had.’ Macca smiled and held out his right hand. ‘Vinny’s told me lots about you, but I don’t know your actual names?’ he lied.

Queenie glared at Macca with hatred. He had black hair, a dishevelled quiff and was far older than her Vinny. ‘Often have young boys sleep in your bed, d’ya? You dirty, disgusting, fucking pervert.’

‘You got the wrong end of the stick, Mum. I was drunk last night, that’s why I slept in Macca’s bed. He looked after me,’ Vinny panicked.

‘Vinny’s telling the truth, ma’am. We worked late last night and Vinny was slightly worse for wear. I thought it was best to bring him home here. I put him to bed and I slept on the floor.’

‘Shut your bastard cakehole, you,’ Queenie spat.

‘It’s true, Mum,’ Vinny said, struggling to tie up his shoelaces. His hands were shaking like never before.

‘You go downstairs, Vinny. There’s a good boy,’ Queenie seethed.

When she heard her son’s footsteps run hell for leather down the stairs, Queenie pulled the meat knife out of her sleeve and pointed it at Macca, who backed away from her. ‘Fourteen, he is. Fucking fourteen! If you or your disgusting whore of an aunt ever go near him again, I shall kill the fucking pair of ya meself. Under-fucking-stand?’

Wanting to get rid of this mad knife-wielding mother sharpish, Macca nodded his head. ‘Yep. Understood. Fully.’

‘Right, give him a bleedin’ clump, Albie.’

‘Erm, I think he’s already got the message love.’

Queenie glanced at her useless husband in despair, before picking up a lamp and walloping the onyx base around Macca’s head.