‘Hello, treacle. Let me get these drinks,’ said a dark-haired man in a smart suit. He had a big scar across his cheek and looked a bit of a villain. ‘I want you to introduce me to your blonde mate. What’s her name?’

‘Doreen. Doreen Laine. Four gin and tonics then, please, and can you make one a double?’

The man winked. ‘My pleasure. I’m Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Foster. She single, is she, your mate Doreen?’

Queenie forced a smile. She’d seen the way men’s heads turned when Doreen entered the pub and she was desperate for Albie not to look at her in that way. ‘Yes. Doreen’s single. Help me carry the drinks over and I’ll introduce you.’

Queenie handed Doreen the double. ‘Doreen, meet Jimmy,’ she grinned.

The rest of the evening was a success. Doreen was tipsy and seemed to be rather taken by the charming Jimmy Foster. Albie did look at Doreen a few times, but she was too engrossed with Jimmy to notice.

Queenie politely declined the offer of a lift home. Terry had finally asked Aggie on a date and Queenie wasn’t going to be the only girl left on the shelf. Even Eliza was courting now. She was sweet on a Jewish lad called Alan.

Queenie waved goodbye to Eliza and Doreen and watched intently as Albie sang his last song of the evening: ‘For Me and My Gal’. She’d drunk more gin than usual, was feeling brave. If Albie wasn’t interested in her, it was best she knew so she could move on and find another man with the right credentials. Life at home wasn’t getting any easier.

‘Where you going?’ asked Aggie.

‘To speak to Albie. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Albie was talking to a man, but Queenie marched over and tapped him on the shoulder nevertheless. It was shit or bust time. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, but could I have a quick word alone with you, Albie?’

‘Of course, lovey. It’s Queenie, isn’t it? I always remember your name as my dear departed nan was a Queenie too,’ Albie smiled, leading her over to a quiet corner of the pub.

Queenie took a deep breath and looked up into the dazzling green eyes of the man who towered over her. ‘I’m not going to beat around the bush, Albie. I like you. You seem a nice man and I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the dance that’s being held in the church hall in Stepney next Saturday evening?’

For once in his life, Albie Butler was at a loss for words. He’d been aware that Queenie was sweet on him, like many other women were. But never had one been so bullish as to march up to him and ask him on a date before. That took guts. It was always the gentleman’s duty to ask the lady.

Albie studied Queenie. Her blonde mate was far more his usual type. But there was something endearing about Queenie and he could hardly say no to her face, could he? ‘It would be my pleasure to accompany you to the dance next Saturday.’