Vivian studied her older sister. They used to look very much alike, everybody said so. Slim, petite, with the same mousy-brown hair, worn shoulder length. But Queenie had dyed her hair blonde now and she had breasts. She looked so pretty in her beautiful dress that had a tight bodice, Vivian could not help but feel a bit envious. ‘But what if Dad comes home drunk and starts on Mum? What am I meant to do if I’m alone and you’re out?’

Queenie squeezed her sister’s hand. Their father had fallen off the wagon in spectacular fashion over Christmas. ‘I’ll be home not long after midnight. Just sit with Mum, and if Dad gets home before me, come up here and put the radio on like we usually do.’

Vivian scowled as her sister hugged her goodbye. Once upon a time, she and Queenie were inseparable and spent all their spare time together. Now Queenie was all grown-up, had a new life and friends. Vivian didn’t like that, not one little bit.

Doreen was waiting at the station when Queenie arrived. ‘Oh Queenie, you look amazing in that frock, but why the pale lipstick? Here, put some of mine on. Bright red gets you noticed.’

Queenie allowed her friend to apply the lipstick. Doreen Laine was five foot six and with her high heels on, looked like a giant in comparison to herself. She had short blonde hair and an aura about her – until she opened her red lips and started swearing like a trooper. Men seemed to adore her though. Doreen turned the heads of males even when she was working.

When Joseph turned up in his posh car with Eliza in the front, Queenie felt very grown-up as her boss dropped them off at the Beehive. Joseph stuffed some money in Eliza’s hand, warned them all not to get drunk, but insisted the drinks were on him this evening.

On entering the pub, Queenie clocked a group of lads looking their way. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they were an odd-looking set of friends. Doreen was the stunner. She was the average one, and poor Eliza bordered on ugly with her squat, plump body topped by a mass of fuzzy hair.

The atmosphere in the pub was one of jubilance. The East End had been through so much since the war had begun, but all that bastard Hitler had achieved was to make an already tight-knit community even stronger. The war might not be won yet, but everybody believed that England would defeat the Germans at all costs.

‘What shall we have to drink?’ Eliza asked, waving a ten-shilling note in the air.

‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ Doreen shouted. The pub was ever so noisy.

‘I’ll have the same,’ Queenie smiled. She’d rarely drunk alcohol in the past, would actually prefer lemonade, but didn’t want to come across as immature in front of Doreen.

When a few American servicemen strutted over and began chatting to the girls, Queenie nervously sipped her drink. Two of them were extremely handsome, and tall, but Mrs O’Leary had warned her not to have anything to do with them. ‘Lily Turner’s eldest daughter and Clara Miller’s niece both got in the family way with American servicemen. You steer well clear, Queenie. They only want one thing, and most of them probably have girlfriends and wives back home,’ were Mary’s exact words. Queenie had reassured her friend there was no way she’d have anything to do with them after having been dragged into an alley by one.