‘Sorry about that,’ Albie said to the vicar and his brother. Bert squeezed his fiancée’s hand and said nothing. He couldn’t abide Albie’s eldest boy. A spoiled little brat who in Bert’s eyes needed a good hiding. The lad had far too much to say for himself as well. Children should be seen and not heard.

Albie threw some mud on top of his mother’s coffin. She’d had no quality of life in the end, was housebound and doubly incontinent. ‘Rest in peace now, Mum,’ Albie wept as he walked away.

‘What happens when you die, Mum?’ Vinny enquired, as his father walked towards them.

‘Shush now, love. No more talk about Nanny Ida. Talk about Nanny Molly instead.’ Vinny had recently turned three and was an inquisitive little monkey. He was very bright for his age and Queenie patted herself on the back for that. She spoke to him as though he were an adult and he responded in a mature manner. She hated all that silly baby talk.

‘Don’t bring the boys to the pub, Queenie. Let one of the neighbours keep an eye on ’em if you wanna come. Roy’s tired, Vinny’s got the devil in him and I just wanna relax, have a few beers and raise a glass to my mum.’

‘The boys are coming to the pub with us, Albie. You know I don’t like the neighbours looking after ’em.’

Albie said no more. Instead he walked off with Bert.

Ida’s wake was held in the Hoop and Grapes. Micky One Ear laid on a selection of sandwiches and Bert and Albie put some money behind the bar.

Queenie sat down with her mum, Viv and the boys. Viv was nineteen now and worked in the local greengrocer’s for Sid Barnes, a family friend.

‘Want me to hold Roy? Your arms must be aching,’ Viv offered.

Queenie handed over her youngest. Roy was one and had also been a whopper as a baby. Eight pounds twelve ounces. His hair was black like Vinny’s and his eyes had recently turned green. Vinny’s eyes were a piercing green now, just like Albie’s, and Queenie hoped Roy’s would end up the same colour. They were striking-looking kids, her boys. Everybody said so.

‘Nice send-off, wasn’t it?’ Molly said to Queenie.

‘Yeah. Went as well as these things do. At least Ida’s at peace now. She wasn’t happy towards the end, found her incontinence humiliating. I’ll miss her, but I won’t miss clearing up her shit. It was the right time for her to go.’

‘You told Queen about Marjorie?’ Viv asked her mother.

‘Marjorie’s moving out, Queen. She’s going to live in Dagenham with her sister,’ Molly explained. Marjorie was the war widow who rented the upstairs of Molly’s house.

‘Oh no. What you gonna do?’

‘I’m going to see if I can get an extra cleaning job and Vivvy’s gonna get some bar work of an evening. Hopefully we’ll manage. If we don’t, we’ll have to rent the upstairs out to someone else.’