Joyce stood in Harry Mitchell’s front garden. The flowers and tributes that kept arriving completely took her breath away. A keen gardener, she had never seen so many flowers. Hundreds and hundreds there were, and she had just seen another enormous arrangement arrive that spelled out the word LEGEND. Aware of a photographer standing over the road, Joyce patted her hair into place. Ever since she had got her picture on page seven of the Sun newspaper, she had felt like a local celebrity. People were still stopping her in the street now and the article had appeared six weeks beforehand.

As more and more people arrived to pay their respects, Stanley became increasingly uncomfortable. Most of them were obviously well-known villains and he felt like a spare prick at a wedding. Noticing Roy Shaw, the notorious prize-fighting champion, looking his way, Stanley quickly averted his eyes. He didn’t feel at ease around these people and he couldn’t wait to get home to his pigeons.

As the horse-drawn hearse arrived carrying Harry’s body, all the neighbours came out of their houses. The street was heaving with mourners and it was more like a carnival than a funeral.

Eddie got into the first car. He was joined by Paulie, Ronny, Reg, Albert, Auntie Joan, Auntie Vi and his dad’s distraught long-term lady-friend, Sylvie. Gary and Ricky got into the second car with Jessica, the twins, Raymond, Joyce and Stanley. The other cars were filled with more distant relations.

The funeral was to take place at East London Cemetery in nearby Plaistow. Harry had purchased his own plot years before, insisting he wanted to be laid to rest next to his beautiful wife.

Frankie nudged Joey as the procession made its way through the crowded streets. Hundreds of people had made the effort. Some were waving banners and flags, but most were bowing their heads as a mark of respect. Jessica pointed a flag out to the twins. ‘Look at that. “Harry Mitchell, simply the best”, it says. Your grandad was very popular, wasn’t he?’

‘Shame we never saw him,’ Joey whispered to Frankie.

Stanley felt his face redden as the TV crews pointed a camera in his direction. He could just imagine all his old pals down the bus depot watching the news tonight and seeing him on there. Thank God I took early retirement, Stanley thought. He was embarrassed to be a part of such a family.

‘Will you stop fucking waving,’ Stanley shouted at Joyce, who was milking it. Her outfit looked awful. She had a massive black-netted hat on her head and Stanley thought she looked like a fucking witch. The only thing she was lacking was a broomstick.

Due to the horrific circumstances surrounding Harry’s death, the service itself was a very solemn affair. The vicar who presided over the proceedings was an old pal of the Mitchells. He had married Harry and his wife many moons ago.