‘This is our bedroom now, Queenie. Remember how tatty it was when you last saw it? Terry wallpapered this himself an’ all,’ Aggie gushed.

The wallpaper was green with yellow flowers on it and there were green curtains at the window to match. ‘It looks beautiful, Aggie. Ever so posh,’ Queenie said, genuinely bowled over.

‘Thank you. Right, let’s have a cuppa and some cake now. Come on, Little Terry, downstairs we go,’ Aggie said, in a silly childlike voice.

‘Getting big, ain’t he? And look how handsome he is now,’ Queenie lied, playfully pinching Little Terry’s cheek. That was the one area she had the upper hand on. Terry Marney might be a grafter and good at decorating, but by God did he produce ugly kids. Aggie was currently pregnant again and Queenie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her if it popped out looking like the last one. Ginger, with a wonky eye, Little Terry looked a poor little ha’porth in his glasses with a patch over one eye. He was the same age as Vinny, but was tiny in comparison.

Aggie put the kettle on and cut up the Lazy Daisy cake her mum had brought round the previous day.

‘Bored, Mum,’ Little Vinny complained.

‘Eat your cake, then you can ask Auntie Aggie if you can play in her garden.’ Queenie had brought her sons up to address their elders the way she’d been raised. Close neighbours and friends were to be called aunt and uncle, other adults were addressed as mister or missus.

‘Cake,’ Roy giggled, pointing at the plate.

‘Getting big now, ain’t he, Queen. Gonna be tall like Vinny I reckon,’ Aggie said.

‘Yeah. He is. I want Vinny to wear him out before we leave. He’s too big to be in that pram now, but he’s heavy for me to carry all the way ’ere. He wants to walk wherever we go lately, but it takes for ever and he tires quickly.’

‘Finish. Can I play in the garden, Aunt Aggie?’ Vinny asked.

‘Please! You forgot to say please,’ Queenie corrected her son.

‘Please, Aunt Aggie.’

‘Of course you can.’

‘Little Terry, come,’ Vinny said, pointing at the boy who wouldn’t make eye contact with him.

Little Terry shook his head and clung to his mum like a limpet. Last time he’d played in the garden with Vinny, he’d been force-fed a live worm which had made him sick.

‘Take Roy with you, Vinny. Little Terry’s not been well, so he’ll stay in the warm with me,’ lied Aggie. Vinny was a boisterous child and she knew her son was scared of him. She also knew Vinny had made him eat a worm, had been fuming at the time and was ready to march around Queenie’s the following day to tell her what a nasty, spiteful bastard her eldest son was. It had been Terry who’d advised her not to. ‘Boys will be boys, love. I remember me and my pals daring one another to put worms in our mouths. You can’t be over-protective with Little Tel. Once he starts school, he’s gonna have to learn how to stick up for himself,’ Terry had insisted.