Queenie paced up and down the lounge, explaining in detail the conversation she’d had with Aunt Liz. ‘I’m furious, Mary,’ she ranted. ‘What type of man have I married? A coward, that’s what.’

Mary patted the bed. ‘Calm down, sweetheart. Come sit next to me.’

Queenie sighed deeply as she did so. ‘Say my sons turn out like him?’

Mary rubbed Queenie’s hand. ‘They won’t. Trust me. My Paddy was a coward also. That’s why I raised my boys. I didn’t allow Paddy any say in their upbringing. You gotta do the same. I’ll help you. A son will always look up to his mother. All men are liars, Queenie. Well, most I’ve met are. I did meet one nice lad before I met Paddy, mind.’

‘What happened?’

‘He was too normal for me, Queenie. I liked a bit of excitement back then. Had I married him, I’d have been loved, but bored rigid. He ended up joining the Garda an’ all.’

‘The Garda?’

‘The Irish police. Now, you listen to me and you listen carefully—’

The conversation was cut short by someone hammering their fist against the front door. ‘Queenie! Queenie, you in there?’

Recognizing Freddie Angel’s voice, Queenie flung open the door. ‘What’s up?’

‘Come quickly. It’s your dad. He’s inside with your mum and sister and it’s all kicking off. I clocked him dragging Vivvy in by her hair.’

As Queenie weaved her way in between masses of her inebriated neighbours and friends, she spotted Albie dancing with Aunt Liz. She put her hand through the letterbox and reached for the key that hung on a piece of string. She could hear her sister screaming.

‘I’m coming in with ya. I’ll nick him,’ said Freddie.

‘No. You stay ’ere. Whenever you nick him, all you do is let him go,’ Queenie snapped, as she slammed the front door in Freddie’s face. ‘Viv, Mum,’ she bellowed.

‘Queenie, help us,’ shrieked Viv.

Queenie ran up the stairs. Her mum was lying in the doorway of her bedroom, in obvious pain, clutching her stomach. Her father was leaning against the wall, a bottle of Scotch in one hand and holding her little sister’s hair in the other. His face was covered in blood, so were his clothes. ‘You bastard! Let her go,’ screamed Queenie.

Eric laughed loudly, blood dripping from his mouth, thanks to the teeth that’d been kicked out. ’Ere she is, the other wrong un. You think I’m frightened of those O’Leary lads, d’ya? Fought through a fucking war me, saw all sorts. I ain’t frightened of no bastard. Neither did I beat your mother up last night. But I have today, and I’ll clump her again if I don’t find out who the snitch is.’

Queenie was perplexed. ‘What the hell you going on about?’ Her father had his elbow around Viv’s neck now. Not tight, but she could see how frightened her little sister was.

Molly managed to sit up. Eric had booted her so hard, she was sure her ribs were broken. She might have put up with the odd slap over the years and Eric’s demands for sex on tap, but never had he threatened the girls in such a terrifying way. Queenie was right. She had to sling him out. ‘The O’Leary brothers beat up your dad and he’s blaming us. Daniel accused him of beating me up last night and he didn’t, Queenie. I swear I fell down the stairs.’