Frankie paused. She didn’t even want to think about Jed, let alone remember her romance with the evil bastard, but she had to carry on now and once she had told Babs, she would never tell anyone ever again. ‘It was Jed’s idea to go to Tilbury. His dad had a trailer there on an old scrapyard and Jed said my dad would never find us there, but he did.’

‘What did your dad do, Frankie?’

Reliving the memories as though it was yesterday, Frankie started to cry. Her mum had died that night and, looking back, she now realised it was all mainly her fault. When Frankie’s cries turned to painful sobs, Babs held her friend’s shaking body to her own. She soothed Frankie by stroking her long, dark hair.

‘Sssh, it’s OK, sweet child. You have a lie down and get some rest. If you wanna talk again later, we can, and if you don’t, then that’s fine by me.’

Joycie Smith was thoroughly enjoying the latest episode of her favourite soap. She always prerecorded EastEnders and watched it when Stanley wasn’t about, as his constant jibes and criticism of the programme often resulted in an argument.

‘Load of old bleedin’ codswallop. Ain’t nothing like the real East End. I should know, I was born within the sound of Bow bloody Bells,’ Stanley would constantly chirp.

Sipping a drop of sherry, Joyce put her glass down and clapped her hands in glee as her current fancy man appeared on the screen. Up until recently, Joycie’s only love interest had been that Eamonn Holmes off GMTV, but since that dishy David Wicks had appeared in EastEnders, Eamonn had taken a back seat in her affections.

Fantasising that David Wicks was snogging her instead of the actress playing his girlfriend, Joyce was annoyed as she heard Stanley’s car pull up outside. ‘Bleedin’ nuisance,’ she mumbled as she pressed pause.

‘What are you doing home? I thought you were going for a meal with Jock,’ Joyce shouted as she heard his key in the lock.

Stanley marched into the room, his face as black as thunder. He walked towards his wife and stared at her with a look of pure repugnance. ‘How could you, Joycie? How fucking could you?’

Joyce was stunned. What was she meant to have done? Surely Stanley didn’t think she was having an affair or something. ‘Whatever you on about? You silly old sod.’

Stanley had never hit a woman in his life, but he’d been made so furious by his wife’s betrayal that he could have quite easily knocked her from one side of the room to the other. Restraining himself, he instead pointed a finger in her face. ‘You have been fraternising with the enemy, Joycie. I know all about you meeting Eddie Mitchell in the Bull in Romford. How could you sit there laughing and joking with that bastard when he obliterated our daughter? You absolutely repulse me. In fact, I fucking hate your guts.’