‘I ain’t ’arf gonna miss ya.’

‘I’ll only be gone for a few days, Viv. Four at the most. Patrick’s got some business to attend to out there, so I’ll be looked after. I’ll be home before you know it.’

‘Will Daniel be out there?’

‘I don’t know if I’ll see him,’ lied Queenie, feeling that usual fluttering in her stomach. ‘He is living in Ireland, and apparently he’s got himself into a bit of bother. That’s why Patrick is going over there – to sort it out.’

‘I see you’re taking all your posh frocks just in case,’ chuckled Viv.

‘Bren, Lenny, answer that door,’ shouted Queenie. Roy and Michael were both out on dates.

‘It’s Vinny,’ shouted Lenny.

Queenie pursed her lips. ‘Wait there,’ she ordered Viv, slamming her bedroom door. ‘Get in the front room and shut the door,’ she told Brenda and Lenny.

‘But I wanna see Vinny,’ Lenny argued.

‘Do as I say. Now!’ bellowed Queenie.

Vinny had a massive bouquet in one hand, chocolates in the other and a sheepish look on his face. ‘Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

‘Save your fucking breath,’ spat Queenie, as she pushed him out the door. ‘And you can stick the flowers and chocolates up your arsehole. You hurt me, boy, more than you’ll ever know.’

Vinny had tears in his eyes. ‘But, Mum, please, let me explain.’

‘Nope. Fuck off! And don’t you ever darken my doorstep again. You’re no longer my son. You’re dead to me.’

Queenie totally dismissed Patrick’s suggestion they fly to Ireland. She had never been on a plane in her life and had no wish to. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and more recently Patsy Cline had all died in aircraft crashes. Their deaths had put the fear of God into Queenie, so she’d asked if they could go by boat instead. Patrick had sorted all the travel arrangements. They’d driven to Liverpool in the early hours of the morning and taken the ferry across.

Glad to be off the ferry, Queenie spent the rest of the journey gazing out of the window, taking in the scenery. Ireland was very green and pretty in comparison to the East End. Cows, sheep and horses grazed in fields. It was idyllic.

‘Here we are, Queenie. I’ll get your flowers out of the boot, show you Mum’s grave, then leave you to it.’

‘Thank you, Patrick. Not just for this, but for all the other things you’ve done for me. I really do appreciate your help and kindness.’

‘My pleasure, Queenie. You were my Mum’s rock. You cared for her like no other.’

Queenie arranged the bouquet in a vase next to Mary’s grave, then touched her dear friend’s headstone. It was beautiful, a massive piece of marble with a carving of Jesus. It really stood out among all the others nearby. ‘Hello, Mary. It’s me, Queenie. I finally got to visit you and I have lots to tell you, darling.’

Queenie spoke for ages about her life, Viv, her children, Lenny, then chuckled as she told the story of leaving the Huntingdon-Browns in style. ‘Pearl rung me up the Monday after the dinner party, threatening to have me arrested if I didn’t pay for the vase Viv had broken. I told her if she called the police, I would knock on every neighbour’s door down her road and tell them her daughter had got herself up the spout and they’d had the baby adopted. She soon changed her tune then, Mary. It was so funny. I know you would’ve done the same.’