The Trap

CHAPTER TWO

Albie Butler lit up a Salem cigarette and sighed blissfully as the nicotine hit the back of his throat. There was nothing more pleasurable than a fag after getting your end away, unless you counted the first drag of the morning.

Judy Preston was a twenty-five-year-old mother of one. Her son Mark had just turned three and instead of marrying her like any decent man would have, Mark’s father had dumped Judy on learning she was pregnant.

Judy knew she was gossiped about and frowned upon in the street where she lived. Her neighbours were all older than she was and Judy knew they thought it disgusting that she had given birth out of wedlock. Judy didn’t care about their narrow-mindedness. Her mum helped her bring up Mark and nobody would dare say anything to her face for fear of retribution from her brother, Johnny.

Having an older sibling who just happened to be a face certainly had its benefits, and when her relationship with Albie did become common knowledge, Judy knew she would get little grief from his family thanks to who her brother was.

When Judy made another grab for his already over-worked pecker, Albie Butler leapt out of the bed. Judy Preston was by far the prettiest of the half a dozen or so lassies he’d had flings with since marrying Queenie, but the look on Vinny and Roy’s faces yesterday evening when he had popped in the snooker club told Albie that they knew he was at it again. If they told Queenie she would chop his bollocks off and feed them to next door’s dog and that wasn’t a chance Albie was willing to take.

‘I’m really sorry, Judy, but I think we’re gonna have to call it a day. My boys are onto us and I can’t risk her indoors finding out. I love you, you know that, but all good things must come to an end,’ Albie said regretfully.

Judy stared at Albie with her mouth wide open. Did he honestly think he could come round for one last bunk-up and then casually dump her like a bag of old rubbish? Because if he did, he had another bloody think coming. Thankful that she had kept the news she had known for the past six weeks to herself, Judy grinned. ‘I’m afraid walking away from me isn’t an option, Albie. I’m pregnant and it’s yours!’

Vinny poured himself a Scotch on the rocks and sat down in his office. Roy had begged him not to rough up their dad and in the end Vinny had reluctantly agreed. Tomorrow, he was taking his family out for lunch and that was when he planned to expose his father’s infidelity. His mother was no shrinking violet and Vinny was sure that once she knew what his arsehole of a father had been up to, she would batter him to Bow and back herself.

Smiling at the thought of his mother smashing her frying pan around his father’s head, Vinny stared at the picture of her that sat proudly on his desk. She and Vivian were side by side on a sofa holding Brenda. It had been taken over a decade ago when his sister was just a baby. His mother and Viv looked more like twins than sisters, and Vinny couldn’t help but notice how much they had aged since. Both still dressed smartly and had beautiful smiles, but the wrinkles they now sported told a story of the hardship they’d endured throughout their lives.

Vinny had been a mummy’s boy for as long as he could remember. His dad had been, and still was, a two-bob con merchant and had never really been there for him and his siblings. He earned his beer money by selling cheap imported booze and fags and had never had a proper job in his life. Vinny’s mum had. She had two cleaning jobs for years just to put food in her children’s mouths and had only given up work last year when Vinny had insisted that he was now wealthy enough to support her.

Remembering how elated his mother had been when she had told both of the petulant rich women she worked for to shove their jobs up their arses, Vinny grinned and stared at the photo of himself standing in the middle of his two brothers. All three of them had inherited their father’s jet-black hair and green eyes, and when stood together, they made a striking-looking trio.

At six foot two, Vinny was taller than Roy and Michael, but only by an inch or so. Both he and Roy wore their hair slicked back with Brylcreem and they often got mistaken for Italians. Vinny found that a big compliment, as he knew that in their expensive suits, accompanied with their swagger, he and Roy could pass for members of the Mafia. Michael wouldn’t though. He was a Mod and the only suit he ever wore was a tonic one. Tomorrow was Michael’s sixteenth birthday and Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy him the moped he had been harping on about for months. His brother had no idea of the surprise coming his way and Vinny couldn’t wait to see his face when he got it. Shame his birthday would be spoilt by learning his father was an untrustworthy piece of shit, Vinny thought sadly. It couldn’t be helped though. Harbouring the truth from his mother had left Vinny with a guilty taste in his mouth.

Vinny sighed. He had always been under the impression that there was no love lost between his parents. They rarely slept in the same bed. His drunken father usually crashed on the sofa. However, his mum was still bound to feel aggrieved, which was why Vinny had decided to wait until after Michael’s birthday lunch to tell her the sordid truth. Michael would still have a top day, whatever happened. At least his moped would soften the blow.

Hearing the doorbell sound, Vinny took the envelope out of the drawer and went downstairs. It cost him eighty quid a month to keep the Old Bill off his back, but it was worth every penny. ‘There you go, George,’ he said, handing the envelope to the Chief Inspector.

‘Any chance of a brandy to warm the cockles? Bleedin’ taters it is,’ George said.

Vinny led him inside and poured him a drink.

‘So, how’s it going?’ George asked, before knocking it back in one and holding out his glass for an immediate refill.

‘So-so. It’s like any other business, George. Some weeks are busy, some quiet. It’s been dead the past couple, but I suppose it would be with Christmas creeping up on us. People have no spare pennies this time of year, do they?’ Vinny said, in his most sincere voice. He wasn’t going to inform George that ever since he had started having strippers on at the weekend, the club had been packed to the rafters and he had been raking it in. George Geary loved a pound note and would most certainly want an increase on his bung if he knew that.

George eyed the furniture and décor. There were four snooker tables at the back, which wasn’t many considering the joint was meant to be a snooker club. The rest of the place was kitted out with glass tables, burgundy leather chairs and sofas to match. There was a stage, with spotlights above it and big speakers. And in the centre of the club, an expensive-looking chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling. The bar was shiny aluminium and there was every optic known to mankind behind it.

Holding out his glass for yet another refill, George smirked. He knew Vinny was lying. A colleague of his had watched the comings and goings at the club last weekend and had reported back that it was jam-packed.

Nothing escaped George’s attention, he had been biding his time like a viper waiting to strike and knew now was as good a time as any. ‘We have a big problem, Vinny. The powers above know that you’ve been illegally serving liquor in here and they now expect me to do something about it.’

Vinny felt the colour drain from his cheeks. If he couldn’t continue serving alcohol, he had no business left. ‘But I thought you said I’d be fine. What have I been fucking paying you for if you can’t square it for me?’ he demanded.

‘Hold your horses. I’ve already had a word in a couple of people’s shell-likes. It will cost you, but I can definitely get you a liquor licence.’

‘How much?’ Vinny asked.

‘Fifteen hundred quid and a drink on top for me,’ George said, even though he had already put five hundred on top of the grand he had been quoted.

‘How much! That’s fucking extortion, George. I haven’t got money like that lying around. I’ve spent virtually every penny I’ve earned so far on doing the place up.’

‘I tried to knock the price down for you, Vinny, but my contact wasn’t having none of it, I’m afraid. Surely it’s better in the long run for you to go legal? And I will drop my fee to fifty pounds a month, rather than eighty.’

‘Why have I still got to pay you if I’m properly licensed?’ Vinny asked.

‘Because you are illegal in other areas, Vinny. I know you have strippers in here and I know that people gamble. You haven’t got an entertainment or gambling licence, have you?’

Vinny leant his elbows on the bar and put his head in his hands. George had him by the short and curlies and Vinny knew it. Trouble was, there was nothing he could do about it, except cough up. ‘Come back next week and I’ll have the dough for ya.’

Albie Butler was sitting in the Blind Beggar, staring at his pint, in a stupefied trance. He was in shit, deep shit, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

‘You all right, Albie?’ shouted out Sid, who was perched on his regular barstool.

Albie didn’t even bother answering. He was anything but bloody all right. Cursing the day he had ever set eyes on Judy Preston, he sank his drink and called over to the barmaid to pour him another. Why hadn’t he used a rubber even though that lying cow had sworn she was taking that new contraceptive pill?

Taking his empty glass back to the bar, Albie returned with a full one. After Judy had informed him she was up the spout, he had spent ages begging her to get rid of it. He had even offered her a nice lump of cash which he had planned to borrow off Vinny or Roy, but the selfish bitch was intent on ruining his life.

Keeping a bit on the side secret was one thing. Keeping a fucking baby who belonged to you secret was another. Vowing to think with his brain in future rather than his pecker, Albie tried to fathom a way out of the difficult situation. Judy’s brother was a handy bastard and at his age, Albie was no match for an up-and-coming wide-boy like Johnny Preston. Vinny and Roy were though. They could more than hold their own against anybody.

Albie sighed worriedly. Judy needed the frighteners put on her to force her to get rid of the child and if admitting his sins to his two eldest sons was the only way to make that happen, then admit his sins he would. They weren’t going to be best pleased, especially Vinny, who had threatened him over his wandering eye in the past. But what choice did Albie have? None.

Finishing his pint, he stood up and nervously made his way towards the snooker club. His boys would have to help him in his hour of need, wouldn’t they? He might have fucked up big time, but he was still their bloody father.

Queenie Butler took the birthday cake out of the oven and grinned at her sister. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Ah, it’s beautiful, Queenie. Best cake I’ve seen in years,’ Vivian replied, truthfully.

‘Can I have some?’ little Brenda asked.

‘No, sweetheart. We can’t cut it up until tomorrow, otherwise Michael won’t see the beauty of it,’ Queenie replied.

‘Awww,’ Brenda whined.

Queenie stared at her offspring. Brenda was eleven now and could be an obstinate little mare at times. Unlike the boys who favoured their father with their black hair and chiselled features, Brenda looked more like her side of the family. Her hair was mousy brown, the same as Queenie’s and Viv’s natural colour, and she was a skinny little thing even though she had the appetite of a horse.

‘Please, Mum?’ Brenda tried again.

Vivian laughed. ‘You help me carry the cake to my house so our Michael don’t see it and I’ll give you a nice iced bun. Deal?’

Queenie smiled when Vivian and Brenda left the house. Family was the most important thing in the world and she loved hers with a passion. Albie was a tosspot, she knew that, but he had given her four beautiful children, for which she would always be grateful to him. She didn’t love or respect him any more. What woman could love and respect a bone-idle drunk? But he never pestered her for sex these days and even if he did, she would never leave him. He was the father of her children and for that reason alone, she would always see it as her duty to suffer him.

‘Oh, I do love being two doors away now, Queenie. It feels like we live together, don’t it?’ Vivian said, letting herself back in with her own key.

Queenie laughed. It was her Vinny who had secured Vivian the council house next door but one. It had become available a few months back when old Ada had passed away and Vinny had offered the man at the council a backhander to ensure it went to Viv. He had bragged when he had come home that the man was so petrified, he had refused to take the money, but had given Vinny the keys anyway. ‘My reputation precedes me once again, Mum,’ Vinny had chuckled.

‘Is that my little soldier I hear coming down them stairs?’ Vivian said, when she heard Lenny’s familiar flat-footed walk. He had been tired earlier, so had gone for a lie-down on Queenie’s bed.

‘Can I watch Mr Ed?’ Lenny asked excitedly. The programme featuring the talking horse was his current favourite. Before that, it had been Flipper.

‘Yep, course you can,’ Queenie replied. Both she and Vivian now had posh TVs. They had been Christmas presents last year from the boys.

‘I love Mr Ed too,’ Brenda said, following her cousin into the lounge.

Queenie locked eyes with her sister. ‘Ain’t we lucky with our little lot, eh? I know we’ve had hard times, but kids don’t come no better than ours, you know,’ Queenie said contentedly.

Vivian grinned. ‘We’re blessed, Queenie. Truly blessed.’

After George had left earlier, Vinny had spent the rest of the afternoon shagging his prettiest stripper, Karen. Unlike his brothers, who were both girl-mad, birds didn’t bother Vinny as a rule, neither did sex.

Apart from his mother and aunt, Vinny was no big fan of women in general. He found girls his age silly and annoying, so why he had bothered ramming himself inside Karen again, who was already asking him questions such as ‘Am I your girlfriend now?’ He did not know.

Vinny got out of bed and quickly got dressed. He had only ever had one proper girlfriend in his life and the slag had broken his heart. Fifteen, Vinny had been when he’d first set eyes on Yvonne Summers. She was two years older than him, but the age gap hadn’t mattered as he was very mature for his age. To say he had treated Yvonne like a princess was putting it mildly. Even back then, he knew how to earn a bob or two and he was forever taking her to the pictures and buying her nice presents. Had she appreciated his adoration and kindness? No. The whore had two-timed him, then run off with a lad five years his senior. Rumour had it, she’d moved to Leeds.

Vinny had been distraught at the time and didn’t know how he would have got over it if it wasn’t for his mother. She had held his sobbing body, wiped away his tears and made him feel worthy once again.

‘So, am I your girlfriend now?’ Karen repeated, desperation in her voice.

The doorbell saved Vinny from insulting her. ‘Get dressed and go out the back way. I’ve got business to deal with,’ he said, coldly.

Wondering if George had come back to try to extract even more money, Vinny took the stairs two by two. He flung open the big metal door only to see his father standing there with a sheepish expression on his face. ‘What do you want?’ Vinny asked, unable to hide the bitterness. He didn’t want to let on to his dad he knew about Judy Preston before tomorrow. He wanted to watch him squirm when he announced his infidelity at the restaurant in front of his mother.

Unable to look his son in the eyes, Albie stared at his shoes. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem and I really need your help,’ he mumbled.

‘What do you want? Beer or Scotch?’ Vinny asked, leading him into the club.

‘Scotch please, son.’

Vinny poured two large Scotches on the rocks, then sat down at a nearby table. ‘Fire away then.’

With his hands clasped together, Albie twiddled his thumbs. There was no sign of Roy which was a shame as Roy had a lesser temper on him than Vinny. He also had a more understanding nature.

‘Where’s Roy?’ Albie asked.

‘Gone to collect Michael’s moped.’

Albie stared at his hands. There was no easy way of saying what he had to say, but he wanted to find the right words. ‘I’ve got meself in a bit of a pickle, boy. I know I promised you I would never stray again, but I had this bird come on to me. Only young, she is, and being a weak man, I was flattered if you know what I mean?’

‘Oh, I know what you mean all right. And I know who the tart is. You’ve been shafting Judy Preston, haven’t you? So, what’s happened? Has her brother Johnny found out and now wants to chop that diseased little cock of yours off? You make me sick, Dad, do you know that?’

‘I’m sorry. I know what I did is wrong, but your mum don’t want me in her bed no more. It was just too good an opportunity to turn down. I ain’t getting no younger, boy, and I was just flattered I suppose. I do love your mum though. You know that, don’t you, son?’

Unable to stop himself, Vinny sank the rest of his drink, then brought the glass down so hard against the table, it smashed into a thousand fragments. ‘Do not fucking sit there telling me you love my mum when you stick your cock in anything that moves, and do not ever call me your son again. You are nothing to me. I despise you,’ he snarled, standing up.

Albie looked back down at his feet. ‘How long you known for?’

‘A week or so. Was gonna confront you tomorrow in front of Mum at Michael’s birthday bash. I’m still telling her, so don’t think you’re fucking getting away with this one. I warned you before after I found out about that Maureen bird that if you did it again I would grass you up.’

‘You can’t tell her, boy. I’ll never do it again, I swear on the Bible, but please don’t tell your mother.’

‘You can go to hell, Dad. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word and tell her I shall. She’s bound to kick your sorry arse out, so what you gonna do then? Gonna set up home with your young bit of skirt, are ya?’

Absolutely petrified that his whole world was about to fall apart, Albie stood up and banged his fists against the glass table. ‘You can’t tell her, Vinny. I know I don’t deserve it, but you really need to side with me for once on this. I need your help, boy.’

Vinny chuckled. ‘Why? ’Cause Johnny Preston is gonna give you a good fawpenny one? Good! Saves me from fucking doing it.’

‘It ain’t Johnny. He knows about me and Judy and he’s OK about it.’

‘Well, what is it then?’ Vinny asked, his lip curling into another snarl.

‘Judy’s in the club and she’s keeping it. I accidently got her pregnant.’

Vinny leapt up, grabbed his father by the neck in disgust and rammed his body against the wall. ‘You fucking what?’

‘It weren’t my fault. She said she was taking that tablet thingamajig. She lied to me,’ Albie said, panicking.

Unable to stop himself, Vinny did what he had wanted to do for years. He beat his father senseless.

CHAPTER THREE

Bored with doing the washing up and spending their lives confined to the café, young Nancy and Christopher Walker begged their parents to allow them to go out to play.

‘You’re to go no further than a short walk away and you are to be back here by five at the latest,’ their father ordered them.

Missing her friends from Stoke Newington dreadfully, Nancy tagged along reluctantly behind her brother. All day, Christopher had been harping on about the rich men with the posh cars whom he had seen the previous day when he had taken a trip to the sweetshop, but Nancy wasn’t car-mad like her brother. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a Sunbeam Tiger and an Austin Healey.

‘This is it,’ Christopher said, plonking himself down on a doorstep opposite the snooker club.

‘But there ain’t no rich men here, nor is there many cars,’ Nancy complained.

‘Well, there was yesterday. That Jaguar Sedan is the car that I want when I’m grown-up.’ Christopher pointed to the shiny black car that belonged to Vinny Butler.

Nancy took a strawberry bonbon out of the paper bag and popped it into her mouth. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, Christopher? I think I would like to be a hairdresser and do famous people’s hair like Twiggy.’

Sucking on a Kola Kube, Christopher wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Twiggy would never have let his sister near her hair, but it was good Nancy had dreams, because he was determined to fulfil his. ‘I’m gonna be a policeman and catch people like Jack the Ripper. He killed loads of women round ’ere, you know.’

‘What’s that man doing, Christopher?’ Nancy asked, bemused.

Christopher had no idea who the Italian-looking man was, but when he punched a nearby wall and then glared at him and Nancy, the boy’s intuition told him it wasn’t safe to be there. He grabbed his sister’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the café.’

Michael Butler entered his mother’s house wearing his trademark green parka and a big grin on his face. ‘Urgh. What’s that smell?’

‘Lavender bags. Dotted them all over the house, including that stinking bedroom of yours,’ Queenie informed her son.

Michael screwed up his nose and plonked himself on the Dralon sofa. His mother was the most house-proud woman that he knew. Years ago, their lounge had looked like anybody else’s. But since Vinny had been earning good money, it had had a complete transformation. The new floral wallpaper now matched the mustard three-piece suite, and the rest of the room featured dark teak furniture, a posh rug and floor lamps, a modern round coffee table and, his mother’s pride and joy, a glass ornament cabinet which was now full to the brim with expensive pieces of china that Vinny was forever bringing home.

‘So, how was Carnaby Street?’ Vivian asked excitedly. She had never been there herself, but knew it was all the rage at the moment for the youngsters.

‘Yeah, hip. Met a nice bird, and Kev got himself a well ace pair of two-tone shoes. If my brothers give me money for my birthday, I wanna go back up there and get a pair too,’ Michael replied.

Knowing full well that Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy Michael his much-wanted moped, Queenie winked at her sister. ‘Don’t know what they are giving you, son, you’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.’

‘I wish I was going to be sixteen tomorrow. I hate being eleven. It’s so boring,’ Brenda piped up.

‘I wish I could be eleven all over again, sweetheart, and know what I know now. I certainly wouldn’t make the same bleedin’ mistakes again,’ Vivian told her niece.

‘By saying mistakes, she means my dad,’ Lenny said casually.

Michael looked at his mum and aunt. Knowing that a truer statement had never been spoken, all three burst out laughing.

Roy was shocked to see Vinny sitting on the concrete steps of the club looking extremely dishevelled. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ he asked, staring at his brother’s ripped blood-splattered shirt.

Vinny took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the kerb. ‘I’ve given Dad a good hiding,’ he admitted bluntly.

‘What! You fucking promised me that you weren’t gonna touch him, Vin. I thought we’d agreed that we was gonna confront him together at the restaurant tomorrow?’

‘That’s before I knew he’d got his young bit of skirt up the spout,’ Vinny spat.

Gobsmacked, Roy sat on the step next to his brother. ‘For fuck’s sake. Mum’s gonna go off her rocker when she finds that out. Where is Dad now?’

‘Lying on the floor in the club. Mum can’t find out that it was me who done him over. We tell her nothing now, do you hear me?’

Roy nodded. ‘What about the bird he’s knocked up? I take it she is getting rid of it?’

Vinny stood up. ‘Me and you will have to pay her a little visit to help her make her mind up.’

Roy followed Vinny inside the club and bolted the door. ‘What about her brother, Johnny? He’s meant to be a bit handy, ain’t he?’

‘There’s two of us and one of him, but that’s another reason why everything that’s happened just stays between me and you now. You say nothing to no-one, not even Michael, because if Johnny Preston does start playing up, we might have to get rid of him.’

‘I’m in agony. I think I’m dying. I can’t breathe properly,’ Albie Butler cried out.

Roy gasped when he saw the state of his father. His face was covered in blood where his nose had caved in and Roy could tell immediately that his right leg was broken below the knee as the bone was poking through his skin. ‘Fucking hell, Vin. You shouldn’t have done that much damage to him.’

‘Help me, Roy. Please help me,’ Albie begged.

Ordering his brother to phone an ambulance, Vinny crouched down next to his father. ‘You got jumped by four lads outside the club who were after this, OK?’ Vinny said, taking the wallet out of his father’s pocket and putting it in his own.

In terrible pain, Albie started to cry. ‘I know I deserved a clump, but I can’t believe you broke my leg. How any lad could do that to his own flesh and blood is beyond me.’

‘You just wanna be grateful that I never broke your fucking neck. If the Old Bill question you, you say I heard a commotion, came outside, the boys had already legged it, and I dragged you in here, OK? Then in return, I’ll make sure Mum don’t find out your dirty little secret.’

‘You’re not a nice person, Vinny. You are one callous bastard,’ Albie spat.

‘And you are a dirty old pervert. Now, do we have a deal or not?’

Knowing that he had no option other than to agree with his violent offspring, Albie nodded his battered head.

Queenie was dishing up the sausages and bubble and squeak when Vinny and Roy let themselves into the house. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting her spatula on the worktop. Both of her sons looked ashen-faced and serious.

‘Look, don’t panic ’cause he is gonna be OK, but Dad got jumped outside the club by a gang of lads. They took off with his wallet,’ Vinny explained.

‘Well, I bet there weren’t much in that,’ Vivian mumbled, unfeelingly. She was no fan of Albie Butler and felt her sister could have done much better.

‘Is he OK? Where is he now?’ Queenie asked, her face etched with concern.

‘At the hospital. The ambulance man said they thought both his legs might be broken,’ Roy replied, feeling awkward.

‘Gordon Bennett! What is the world coming to if men like your dad are getting mugged? You better take me to him now,’ Queenie ordered.

‘Eat your dinner first, Mum, then Roy will take you up there,’ Vinny replied.

‘Ain’t you coming as well?’ Queenie asked, surprised.

Not wanting to be anywhere near his arsehole of a father, Vinny shook his head. ‘Roy’ll look after you, Mum. Someone has to be at the club, don’t they?’

Queenie eyed her eldest child with suspicion, but said nothing. Both Vinny and Roy had virtually blanked Albie during dinner the other day and Queenie wasn’t stupid. She could tell Vinny had fallen out with his father. Now all she had to do was find out why.

Humming along to Petula Clark’s ‘Downtown’, Mary smiled as the woman she and Donald had nicknamed Mad Freda approached the counter. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’ This was the first time Freda had visited the café since the day she had knocked at the door to warn them about the Butler family.

‘Mug of tea and a piece of that fruit cake, please. So, how’s it going?’ Freda enquired.

‘Ever so well, thanks. Donald and I have been run off our feet again today.’

‘Met the Butlers yet?’ Freda asked.

‘Two ladies who came in the other day introduced themselves by that name, but they were lovely, ever so polite,’ Mary replied, desperate to avoid getting involved with tittle-tattle.

‘Huh. Brady and Hindley was probably lovely and polite people too,’ Freda said sarcastically, referring to the couple who had recently been arrested for murdering children on the moors.

Thankful when Freda plonked herself at a table over by the door, Mary called her son over to the counter. Unlike his sister, who had been helping Donald in the kitchen all day, Christopher had done nothing but sit on his backside and read his Roy of the Rovers comics.

‘Two burgers and chips,’ Donald shouted out.

‘Get the plates off your dad and take them over to that table next to the jukebox, Christopher,’ Mary ordered her son.

Christopher stood transfixed to the spot with his mouth wide open. The rich-looking man with the posh Jaguar car who he had seen punching the wall earlier had just walked into the café.

Albie Butler felt terribly sorry for himself as he lay flat on the hospital bed with both legs up in traction.

‘Jesus, Albie. Whatever happened, eh?’ Queenie asked, marching into the ward with Vivian behind her.

‘Got jumped by a gang of lads for me wallet,’ Albie mumbled.

‘Why ever did they jump you? Everyone who knows you is aware you ain’t got a pot to piss in,’ Vivian replied, her voice as cold as ice.

Albie glared at his wife’s sister and, instead of calling her a fucking old trout like he wanted to, managed to bite his tongue.

‘I bought you some pyjamas up, and made you a ham sandwich,’ Queenie said, plonking a carrier bag on the bed next to her husband.

‘I can’t get pyjama bottoms over the plaster and I can’t eat nothing. I’m in too much pain. A small bottle of brandy wouldn’t have gone amiss though,’ Albie muttered miserably.

‘Ungrateful old bastard,’ Vivian mumbled under her breath.