‘I know they’re our blood,’ she said, forcing herself to speak in a reasonable tone. ‘But they ain’t really been part of our family for five years. They’re not babies no more, and are big enough to know what they want.’

‘They’re still kids,’ muttered Stanley. ‘And as such should leave it to grown-ups to decide what’s best fer ’em.’

‘And what if the grown-ups are wrong?’ she countered. ‘Them kids are ’appy and settled here and see the Johnsons as their family now.’

She sat back, regarded the two silent, frowning men who had yet to be convinced and decided that only straight talking would do. ‘Look around, why don’t yer? This is what they’re used to. This is where they call home. Do you really want to rip them away from it and ’ave them squashed into a poky flat at the arse end of bleedin’ Walthamstow?’

The brothers remained silent as they took in the large, well-equipped kitchen and long back garden with its swing and summerhouse. ‘Peggy Reilly did warn us this might happen,’ said Mick. ‘But I still think we should talk to the kids and explain why they need to be back where they belong.’

Ivy exhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘You ain’t been listenin’ to a bleedin’ word I’ve said,’ she snapped. ‘But fair enough. You wanna see ’em, now’s yer chance, ’cos I can ’ear them comin’ back from their posh private schools. Perhaps then you’ll see what I’ve been on about.’

They made to rise from the table, but Ivy stopped them with a glare. ‘You’ll frighten ’em half to death looking like that, so best you see ’em in ’ere once I’ve prepared ’em,’ she said flatly, eyeing their bulging tattooed biceps and the way the fabric of their T-shirts was stretched over their muscled chests and washboard midriffs. ‘Ain’t you got jackets or somethin’ to cover up them tattoos?’

‘We left ’em back at the boarding house in Salisbury,’ rumbled Stanley. ‘Didn’t see no point in them as we’re on leave and it’s a fine day.’

Ivy rolled her eyes and pushed back from the table. ‘It’s teatime and the kids will be ’ungry, so the sooner you get this over and done with and on yer way, the better.’

‘We ain’t going nowhere until we’re good and ready,’ said Mick stubbornly.

‘That’s right,’ said Stanley with a mulish expression as he folded his meaty arms over his chest. ‘They’re our blood, and we got a right to find out what’s goin’ on ’ere.’

Ivy realised it was the best thing possible to let them talk to the children and see for themselves how they’d never fit in to a life with her in Walthamstow. ‘I’ll go and get ’em then,’ she said. ‘And don’t touch nothing while I’m away.’