‘That’s her.’ Viv nudged her sister. Dyed blonde permed hair, tits like footballs, massive earrings, draped in jewellery and done up like a dog’s dinner with a skirt up her arse. It was no wonder Brassy Barbara was her nickname. It suited her perfectly. What hurt Viv the most was that Barbara had a son who was a similar age to Lenny, and Bill had been spotted playing happy families with his bit of fluff and the lad. Not once had Bill wanted to go anywhere with her and Lenny, and that cut deep.

‘I’ll do the talking,’ Queenie said, strutting up to the bar like she owned it. ‘You Barbara?’

‘Yes. That’s me. What would you like to drink, sweetheart?’

Queenie ordered a pint of Guinness and the second it was placed on the bar, she slung the lot straight at Barbara’s over-made-up face. She pointed at Viv. ‘This is my sister, whose husband you’ve been wrapping your legs around, by the way. Ya dirty no-good whore.’

Some of the blokes in the pub cheered, some laughed. Barbara didn’t look so glam with all her mascara running down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Oh don’t be. You’ve done me a big favour, actually. Bill’s a terrible husband and an even worse father.’ Viv lifted the first sack up and slung it at the slapper. Queenie followed suit with the others.

The last sack was particularly heavy, so Queenie and Viv lifted it between them, then slung it with force. ‘That’s all his clobber. He’s all yours now, darling. Good luck, ’cause believe me, you’re gonna fucking need it. Come on, Queen. Let’s go.’

As the two sisters walked out of the pub far more gracefully than they’d walked in, some of the men gave them a round of applause.

‘OK?’ Vinny asked. He’d offered to go inside the pub with his mum and aunt, but they’d insisted this was something they wanted to do alone.

‘Yep. All fine. I feel better now I’ve got that off me chest and all his crap outta my house.’

Vinny put an arm around his aunt’s shoulders. ‘Good for you. You don’t need that tosser in your life, Auntie Viv. I’m earning enough now to help you out financially.’

Vivian smiled at her smart, tall, handsome nephew. He had been in pieces for months after Yvonne Summers had left the East End, but seemed to have got his act together again now. ‘You’re a good lad, Vinny. Me and your mum love you dearly, don’t we, Queen?’

Queenie linked arms with the apple of her eye. He’d cried like a baby over that bitch Yvonne, had gone into his shell for weeks afterwards. But finally he was smiling again, happy in himself. ‘We sure do love him. He’s our very own hero.’

Vinny grinned. ‘Well, in that case, I will meet you two up the Roman tomorrow and take you out for a few drinks and a bit of grub. How’s that grab ya?’