‘Guess where we’re going on Friday to celebrate Eliza’s birthday?’ Doreen grinned.

‘No idea,’ Queenie replied.

‘The Beehive! Eliza said her dad will drop us off home again. I’m gonna treat myself to a new outfit and a new hairstyle. I’m determined to make a good impression on Albie Butler this time.’

Queenie had that feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The thought of Doreen impressing Albie was bad enough, but say someone put their foot in it and asked where Aggie was? How the hell was she meant to explain that one?’

‘What’s the matter? You don’t look too happy. I thought you’d be pleased we were going back there. It was Eliza’s idea actually, not mine. But I’m determined to get my man this time. It’s weeks since Albie saw me pissed and time is a healer, so they say,’ Doreen chuckled.

‘I am happy. It’s just I promised my friend Aggie I’d go out with her this weekend and I don’t want to let her down. We only made up recently.’

‘Bring Aggie with you, Queenie,’ Eliza smiled. ‘There’s plenty of room in Dad’s car. The more the merrier.’

The evening before her dreaded night out, Queenie sat in front of the fire with her mum.

‘What’s up, love? You’re not yourself tonight,’ Molly remarked.

Needing to unburden herself, Queenie blurted everything out. ‘I just feel like I’m wasting my time, Mum. I can’t compete with the likes of Doreen. You should see her new hairstyle and outfit. She’s even bought one of those posh cigarette holders, and she’s painted a black line in pen down the back of her stockings. She looks like a bloody film star.’

Molly put her knitting down. ‘Now, now, I’m not having any more of this defeatist talk. You’re a beautiful young woman, Queenie, with your whole life ahead of you, and if Albie Butler is too blind to see it, then that’s his bleedin’ loss. As for your mate Doreen, beauty’s only skin deep. She has a mouth like a sewer and drinks like your father, by the sounds of it. If Albie chooses her, then he was never the man for you in the first place.’

Queenie was about to reply when her father staggered through the door and collapsed in a heap on the threadbare armchair. ‘Where’s my dinner, woman?’ he slurred.

When her mum dashed into the kitchen like a skivvy, Queenie took herself upstairs.

An hour later, Queenie and Viv lay in silence as they listened to the horrid noises coming from their parents’ bedroom. Their father was grunting like the pig he was.

Viv propped herself up on her elbow. ‘I’m not sure I want to get married, Queenie.’

Queenie stroked her sister’s face. ‘I know what you mean, but when we get married it’ll be different. We’ll choose good men, not a bad one like Mum did.’

‘But we’ll still be forced to have sex with them, won’t we? I don’t think I’m going to like sex. It sounds awful.’