‘Nope. These posh feckers think all us Irish are thieves or tinkers. Come on, sweetheart. The boys insisted I treat you to a posh lunch. They’re paying, of course. How d’ya fancy a nice juicy steak?’

‘Really! You sure? I don’t wanna take liberties.’

‘You’ll be doing nothing of the kind. The boys can afford it, trust me,’ Mary winked.

The restaurant was owned by a friend of Patrick and Daniel’s, and after Mary introduced herself as the lads’ mother, saying Patrick had recommended they eat there, Queenie was amazed when the owner swiftly appeared, took them to the best table, then insisted they order whatever they wanted as the food and drinks were on the house.

‘No, love. We’re not liberty-takers,’ said Mary.

The owner was a blond, good-looking man in his late thirties, Queenie reckoned. He was immaculately dressed and unlike her father, who always smelled of cigarette smoke, booze and sweat, the owner smelled gorgeous. He smiled at Mary. ‘Your sons have done me many favours, Mrs O’Leary. Two top men you’ve raised, so well done you. No arguing. This is my treat. I recommend the fillet of steak. Melts in your mouth,’ he smiled. ‘Take your time looking at the menu and call a waiter when you’re ready to order.’

Queenie studied the menu. The poshest place she’d ever eaten before was Alice’s Cafe in Mile End. She didn’t even understand what most of the food was. There were no eels, no pie and mash or faggots on the menu.

‘Speak of the devil and two will appear,’ chuckled Mary.

Queenie was gobsmacked as Daniel and Patrick sauntered towards them, immaculately dressed in expensive suits, shirts, ties and polished leather shoes.

‘How’s our two favourite girls doing?’ grinned Daniel.

Mary beamed with pride as the manager came dashing over, shaking her sons’ hands and making a big fuss of them. ‘You didn’t say you were having lunch with us,’ Mary said to Patrick.

‘We’re not. We’ve got a meeting in Soho in an hour. I was hoping I might catch you though. I’ve seen a beautiful piece of jewellery I want you to take a look at. The shop’s only a five-minute walk away. Have you ordered food yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, come with me now. Daniel and I will treat you if you like it.’

Mary squeezed Queenie’s hand. ‘See how good to me these sons of mine are? I won’t be long. Daniel will stay here with you.’

Daniel sat in his mother’s seat and picked up the menu. ‘The food’s lovely in here. What you having?’

‘I’m not sure,’ blushed Queenie. ‘I’ve never really eaten in a proper restaurant before.’

‘First time for everything,’ winked Daniel, before explaining to Queenie in plain Irish what each dish was.

‘I think I’ll have the steak, but not bloody.’

‘You need to ask for it to be well done. I’ll order it for you.’

‘Thanks. Can I ask you something, Daniel?’

‘Of course.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy, but the price of the food is so expensive in here. More than the weekly rent on our house. If you can afford all this, why would you choose to live in Whitechapel?’