Harry poured her a glass and then turned to Stanley. ‘And would you like a drop of the finest, Stanley?’

‘No, not for me,’ Stanley said, as he bolted to the toilet.

Frankie and Joey nudged one another as the strange man sat next to them.

‘This is your grandad, Harry. Say “hello, Grandad Harry,”’ Joyce said in a stupid, childlike voice.

Frankie giggled. She’d been in a naughty mood all day. ‘My brother has peed his pants,’ she said proudly.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Joey shouted.

‘Stop it, Frankie. She’s only joking,’ Joyce awkwardly informed Harry.

‘No, I’m not. Joey always wets himself.’

As Joey burst into tears, Joyce burst into false laughter. ‘Kids, eh? Say the funniest things don’t they, Harry?’

Not sure what planet Joyce or his grandchildren were on, Harry stood up. ‘Excuse me, Joycie. I have to answer a call of nature.’

‘Bye Harry, lovely to see you again,’ Joyce yelled, as he walked away.

Seeing Stanley hovering nervously by the doorway, Harry pretended not to notice him. He knew full well why Stanley was shit-scared of him. Harry never forgot the face of a victim or their friends, and he knew Stanley was the geezer who had been in the pub with Roger Dodds on the evening he’d unfortunately taken his eye out. Harry had recognised Stanley on the night of Eddie’s wedding. He’d had him checked out afterwards, just to confirm that his mind was as sharp as ever. Harry smiled. The look on Stanley’s face when he’d waved the champagne bottle towards him was a picture of pure fucking fear.

Auntie Joan and Auntie Vi were in their element. Harry had booked a duo, one singing and one on the piano, that were playing every war song that Joan and Vi had sung down the shelters.

Gee, it’s great after bein’ out late
Walkin’ my baby back home
Arm in arm over meadow and farm
Walkin’ my baby back home.

Eddie interrupted Joan and Vi’s sing-song by plonking himself in the middle of them. ‘How’s my two favourite aunties?’ he asked cheekily.

‘Oi, go and get your bleedin’ own,’Vi said, as he nicked a sausage roll off her plate.

Joan squeezed his hand. ‘It’s a wonderful evening, Eddie. Thoroughly enjoying ourselves, me and Vi are. Mustard this duo, ain’t they?’

‘Bit old hat for me. I prefer The Who or a bit of Rod Stewart meself,’ Ed joked.

‘Your mother loved all these songs, Eddie. There was no telly in them days, and we’d sit round your mum’s coal fire singing these songs. Kept us amused, they did, especially when the sirens went off and we were stuck down them bloody shelters for hours on end,’ Joan told him.

Eddie was overcome by emotion. ‘I wish I could remember more about me mum. I can picture her face, but that’s about it.’