‘What d’ya mean, he’s a spiv?’

‘Well, he’s not exactly a spiv – most of them have money and Albie’s usually skint. He’s more what I’d call a ducker and diver. Never had a bleedin’ proper job in his life. Bert’s always been the grafter out the two. Albie’s the charmer.’

‘He’s going to have to change now we’ve got a child on the way,’ Queenie replied shirtily. ‘I’ve told him he’ll have to get a proper job.’

‘You’ll be bleedin’ lucky,’ Liz guffawed. ‘Albie’ll never be a grafter, love. He hid in my loft every time there was a knock on my door during the Blitz. You should’ve seen the look of panic on his face when he got his call-up papers. Round mine like a rocket he was, refused to leave. Probably the best thing for the other soldiers though. Last bloke you’d wanna be in the trenches with is Albie.’

‘Albie told me he couldn’t join up ’cause he had to care for his mum.’

Liz tilted her head back and roared with laughter. ‘Ida was living on her own in Whitechapel during the Blitz. Bert went off and did his national service while Albie hid at my drum.’

Queenie was bemused. ‘How did Ida manage on her own with one leg?’

‘She had two bleedin’ legs back then. Ida only lost her leg the Christmas before last. It went gangrene through diabetes.’

Queenie felt the colour drain from her face. Ida must have lost her leg only a matter of weeks before she’d first met Albie. As for a grown man climbing into his aunt’s loft to get out of fighting for his country, that made her blood boil.

‘You all right, love? Don’t be upset what I say about Albie. I’m allowed to rip the piss out of him ’cause I’m his aunt. He’s got a good soul ya know. You could’ve chosen a far worse husband.’

It took an effort to restrain herself from walking over to her husband, who was currently larging it in front of the neighbours, crooning song after song, and punch him in the side of his cowardly, lying head. Instead, Queenie somehow managed to compose herself. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks. I just need to pop in Mrs O’Leary’s to check on her. I won’t be long.’

Queenie was raging as she sipped her tea. Daniel was a liar. Albie was a liar. Her father was a liar. That monster who’d raped her was a liar. Were all men liars? she pondered, putting a protective hand on her bump.

‘Right, I’m gonna make a move now, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mum,’ said Patrick. He’d moved out since Dolores had moved into Daniel’s old room, had his own bachelor pad, a flat. Not for much longer though, as his wedding was all booked for August and his beautiful wife would then move in with him.

‘Bye, Patrick,’ Queenie said.

‘What’s up? I can tell by your face you ain’t happy,’ Mary said, as soon as the front door banged shut.