People pulled furniture out of their houses so they could hold a street party. Queenie had made corned beef and tinned ham sandwiches and everyone was bringing out plates of something or another. The beer was flowing freely amongst the men and most of the women were sticking to gin, vodka or soft drinks.

Albie put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Chin up. Worrying ain’t gonna do the baby any good, treacle.’

Queenie patted her stomach. She’d started to show now, loved having a little person growing inside her. She smiled at Albie. ‘You’re right. Gotta look after our boy, haven’t I?’

‘I dunno what you’re gonna do if it’s a bleedin’ girl,’ Albie laughed.

‘It’s not. It’s definitely a boy. Bridget did the all-important ring test yesterday.’ Bridget was her new rough and ready next-door-neighbour. She had no teeth, five kids by different men and another on the way. She supported herself by selling her body of an evening, but Queenie didn’t judge her. Bridget had a heart of gold deep down.

‘What’s the ring test?’

‘A ring on a piece of string. I used my wedding ring and Bridget hung it over my naked belly. If it swings in a circular motion, that means you’re gonna have a girl. But if it swings side to side, that tells ya you’re having a boy. Three times we did the test and three times it swung side to side like a pendulum. Bridget said she could feel the power holding the string. Gonna be a right little bruiser, I reckon. She says the test is never wrong. She’s predicted all her own kids’ sexes.’

Albie rolled his eyes. ‘You women and your old wives’ tales.’

‘You won’t be saying that when I give birth to our son, Albie Butler. Speaking of which, now the war is over, I think you should get yourself a proper job. We’ll never get our own home otherwise and I don’t want our kids being raised in your mum’s street.’

Albie looked at his wife in dismay. He was a fly-by-night who’d always got by. A proper job did not appeal to him one bit. Why did she have to spoil his day? Today of all days.

Queenie was consoling Mabel Brown, who’d lost her only son during the war, when she heard a voice from behind her. ‘Queenie, where’s the Guinness? Mary wants one.’

Queenie swung around. It was Bridie, Daniel’s wife. ‘Hi, Bridie. How are you?’

‘Good thanks. Congratulations on your pregnancy. Mary’s ever so excited about it.’

‘Thanks. Where’s your little un?’

‘Daniel’s cleaning her up in Mary’s. She dropped a drink all down herself. She’ll be having a little brother or sister soon.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.’

‘I said I’m pregnant again.’

As Daniel appeared with his daughter in his arms, Queenie excused herself to get Mary’s drink. All that bullshit he’d fed her about not wanting more kids with Bridie and not loving her, when would she ever learn when it came to Daniel O’Leary?