Vinkle was sitting at the bottom of the garden, just staring at Queenie. He clocked the box, the one he hated being put inside. ‘Want some ham? There’s a good boy.’

Vinkle waited until Queenie bent down, snatched at the ham, scratched her hand, then bolted over the fence into next door’s garden. ‘Gertcha! Come back ’ere, you little bastard,’ Queenie shrieked.

Yvonne was already waiting at the station by the time Queenie arrived. ‘Where’s Sparkle?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t catch him. He’s not a nice cat anyway, he’s turned real vicious. Look at the state of me bleedin’ hands. Anyway, never mind Sparkle, you can buy a fucking cattery with the money you’re getting off me. More importantly, where is your case?’

‘Trev’s got it. He’s waiting for me on the platform. I told him I had to pop to the hairdresser’s to pick my wages up and hand my notice in and I wanted to do it alone. I’m not leaving without Sparkle though. We had a deal.’

‘You’ve got to leave, love. Albie told Vinny you’re back with Trevor last night and he went ballistic, smashed the house up,’ Queenie fibbed. ‘Vinny’s out looking for you and Trevor now. I tried to restrain him, but I’ve never seen him so angry.’

Yvonne looked scared. Very scared. ‘Give me the money then.’

Queenie handed her the envelope. ‘Remember the deal we had. You’re not to come back to the East End, OK?’

Yvonne nodded, snatched the envelope and bolted inside the station.

That was the last time Queenie ever saw Yvonne Summers. But more importantly, she had her boy back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Eight Months Later

Spring 1962

Albie Butler whistled as he walked towards home with a spring in his step. He’d earned a nice few bob today, selling some china that had fallen off the back of a lorry and he’d also got his leg over with the lovely Maureen, whom he’d been chatting up for a while.

Fishy Fanny didn’t do it for Albie any more. She never really had, if he were honest. But up until she’d let herself go and started living up to her nickname, she’d been a handy booty call. Meeting Maureen had been the tonic Albie needed. They’d met in the Black Boy in Mile End and there’d been an instant attraction. Fortunately, Maureen lived in Upton Park, so Albie would meet her down her neck of the woods to woo her. His wooing had obviously worked. Today, Maureen had dragged him back home while her twelve-year-old twins were at school, and had given him the best shag he’d had in donkey’s years.

‘You all right, Albie?’ shouted Big Stan.

‘I’m good thanks, mate. You and the missus, OK?’

‘Yep. We’re fine. A word of warning, Queenie was looking for you earlier, came in the Blind Beggar. She didn’t look happy. What you been up to?’ chuckled Stan.

Albie felt the elation drain out of him. Surely she couldn’t have found out about Maureen?