The public house settles into a hum of conversation and laughter as the party continues. Someone starts playing the piano, a crazy tune, a regular old favourite, and several men start to sing along with loud, tuneless voices. There are many who will have sore heads on Sunday morning at the rate they’re drinking.

Clara Hibbert, Billy Walsh’s sister, winds her way through the group and wipes a cloth over the table that is now dripping with her brother’s beer. She pauses when she returns to the bar and touches a finger to the picture that hangs on the wall, mouthing a prayer for reassurance. It is a photograph of Tommy Hibbert, her husband, looking proud of himself in his uniform. He used to be the king of the Crown: handsome, fearless and always laughing. The stories of his courage, and the medals he won, are no comfort to Clara. There are three smaller pictures next to Tommy: two other Walsh brothers and Tommy’s little sister, Ada, who ran away one day and never came back.

Annie Richmond catches hold of Billy’s arm. He turns away from his conversation with another man and bends his head to her, almost bowing as she speaks to him. He looks over towards the table as he listens, nodding, a wolfish smile growing slowly at the words spoken into his ear.

Ruby takes a breath when she sees it, but it is Edith who sighs.

Leaving Billy, Annie elbows her way to the Forties’ table, shadowed by two men. None of this family is blessed with fine features or delicate bones. Annie is tall, taller than Maggs, and broad across the shoulders, terrifying in her manner and majestic in her full-length fur coat. Albert and Ronald are several inches taller and wider. Ronald’s eyes flick about the room, as if he’s searching for trouble even among friends and associates. Albert has a thin scar on his face that runs from his left eyebrow to his chin. He never smiles. Rarely speaks since he came home from France. When he walks down the street, the coppers touch their hats and stand back in respect. Or fear. Like he’s a bomb that might explode at any moment.

The boys have returned from the war with an impressive set of medals between them, and stories of mud and death. The youngest brother, Stanley, never so lucky, was caught by a German bullet and lies buried in France, his absence noted in the black ribbons that are still pinned to their coat sleeves. But even without Stanley, the Richmonds carry authority in the Borough – Annie most of all.

She puts down her glass and plants both her hands on the table, fingers spread wide. Rings adorn every digit, many of them set with jewels. Diamond Annie, the coppers call her, although she goes by several other names whenever she’s appearing in court.