‘Happy birthday for tomorrow, Auntie,’ Ed said, handing her a card and a separate envelope with five-hundred quid stuffed inside. Ed knew Joanie like the back of his hand and she was bound to argue with him for five minutes, telling him she didn’t want his money, but in the end she would take it. He’d already told Stuart the score on the journey to Whitechapel and Ed winked at him as Joanie opened the envelope.

‘I’m not taking that, Eddie. You can take it all back,’ she demanded, shoving the envelope back into his hands.

Stuart tried not to laugh as Ed argued with her. ‘They reckon we’re in for another cold spell next week. Get yourself a new winter coat,’ Ed urged her.

‘It’s nearly March. I’m no spring chicken you know, and the way this arthritis keeps playing me up, I’ll probably be bleedin’ housebound or even dead by next winter, so what do I want a new coat for?’

‘Do you always have to be so fucking cheerful?’ Ed asked her in a sarcastic tone. The thought of losing his favourite aunt just didn’t bear thinking about. He’d been a young boy when his mum had died of TB and Joanie had always been a mother and aunt rolled into one.

The argument over the money continued until Joanie finally gave in. ‘Oh, if you’re gonna drive me mad, give us the bleedin’ envelope back, then. I suppose I can help out some of me friends with their winter fuel bills or something.’

As Joanie walked out into the kitchen to hide it in her special tin, Eddie nudged Stuart. ‘That won’t go towards anyone’s fuel bills. She’ll spend the whole lot down the fucking bingo,’ he said, chuckling.

‘Oi, I heard that. I might have dodgy legs, but there’s sod-all wrong with me ears, you know,’ Joan shouted out.

Laughing, Eddie opened the door to Gary, Ricky and Raymond. ‘So, who’s late today, then?’ he asked sarcastically.

‘Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,’ Ricky replied, laughing.

‘Take these trays up with you. Me plates of meat are giving me gyp today and I can’t be doing with going up and down them bleedin’ stairs,’ Joanie shouted out.

Eddie smiled as he and Stuart took the trays of hot boiled-bacon sandwiches off the kitchen top.

‘Shall I make yous a brew?’ Joanie asked. She knew the boys sometimes preferred to have a little tipple when they were discussing business.

‘No, we’re gonna have something a wee bit stronger today, Auntie. We’ve got something to celebrate,’ Ed replied smirking.

As the apple of her eye walked out the room, Joan made a mental note to watch the main and local news later. She would guess which bulletin was down to her nephew and the boys; she always did.