Eddie dropped the twins off at school and headed straight towards Whitechapel. He had arranged to meet his dad’s solicitor at two o’clock, so had plenty of time to take Joan shopping beforehand.

‘Eddie! Come in, boy. I’ve made you a nice bread pudding, your favourite.’

Eddie kissed her. Joan was looking ever so old and frail these days. Making a mental note to visit her more often, he followed his aunt into the kitchen. ‘So how’s tricks? What you been up to?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot, love. Don’t get out much now, to be honest. So many muggings and stuff round here now. Old Maisy Miller got followed into the post office and had her pension snatched last week. Three blacks it was. Wicked bastards they are. We should never have let ’em into the country, you know.’

Realising she was about to get on to the famous Enoch Powell speech, Eddie cleverly changed the subject. ‘How’s that mate of yours doing now, Auntie? Molly something or other. You know, the one whose son was giving her grief?’

‘Molly Jenkins, you mean. Yeah, she’s fine. Keeps well away from her now, her Michael. Had an unfortunate accident, he did. Rumour has it, he got beaten up and lost his thumb in the process. Makes you wonder if someone knew what he was doing to his poor old mum, doesn’t it?’ Joan said, with a twinkle in her eye. She wasn’t stupid. She had known when she told Eddie about Molly that Michael would soon experience a nasty little accident of some kind.

As the kettle on the stove began to whistle, Eddie smiled. ‘When I take you shopping, I’ll buy you a new kettle, Auntie, something a bit more modern.’

‘No, you won’t. Nothing wrong with this one. The tea don’t taste the same when the water’s boiled by them bleeding electric things. Tastes like fucking rat’s piss, it does.’

Eddie chuckled. Joan might be looking old and frail, but she certainly hadn’t lost her spirit.

* * *

Frankie and Joey sat at a corner table in the Albion. ‘So, is that it? Didn’t she say anything else?’ Frankie asked, amazed.

Joey shook his head. He had just been telling his sister about the chat he’d had with his mum the previous day. ‘She just said that Dom must never come to the house again and not to meet him in Rainham any more. She said I’d be better seeing him in Islington.’

Frankie smiled. ‘Well at least you ain’t gotta worry about Mum finding out any more. One down, one to go, eh? When you gonna tell Dad?’

‘Don’t take the piss, Frankie, it’s not a bloody joke,’ Joey said, annoyed.

Frankie went up to the bar to get some more drinks. As she returned, Joey turned the tables.