Queenie put the topside of beef in the oven, then flopped down on the sofa next to Vivian. ‘I wish we could find out how Kenny is. He couldn’t have grassed Vinny up, else we’d have the police crawling all over us by now. Perhaps he is still out cold? Or, worse still, say he’s croaked it,’ Queenie said, her lips twitching anxiously.
Realizing her sister was going out of her mind with worry, Vivian got up and poured them both a glass of sherry. ‘Of course Kenny ain’t dead. The ambulance man said he was still breathing, didn’t he?’
After Roy and Michael had managed to drag Vinny off Kenny Jackson, they had moved him away from the snooker club, dumped him in a nearby doorway, and rung an ambulance. Sheila had been told to say nothing and Queenie was sure that providing Kenny survived his ferocious beating, neither he nor Sheila would dare implicate her Vinny. Grasses were despised in London’s East End, and treated worse than vermin.
‘If Kenny dies and my Vinny goes to prison, it’ll be the end of me, Viv. I’d die of a broken heart, I just know I would,’ Queenie said dramatically.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, stop talking bollocks and drink your sherry, will ya? Vinny’s got our dad’s temper, that’s his bloody problem. Anyway, Kenny Jackson took liberties and Vinny had every right to give him a good fawpenny one.’
‘How dare you talk about my Vinny in the same light as that nasty old bastard,’ Queenie spat. Their father was dead now, thank God, but before he had kicked the bucket, he’d led their poor mum a dog’s life.
‘I didn’t mean it like that. Your Vinny is nothing like Dad. I just said he had a similar temper,’ Vivian explained.
‘No he has not! Have you forgotten how Dad used to beat Mum up? My Vinny would never lay a finger on a woman, Viv. He’s a gentleman,’ Queenie insisted.
Michael stomped in, ending the awkward exchange between the two sisters.
‘What’s up? Has something happened to do with Kenny Jackson? Vinny ain’t been arrested, has he?’ Queenie gabbled.
‘No. I’m just pissed off because Linda has blown me out. Well, it weren’t actually her. It was her dad that did the deed.’
‘Why?’ Queenie asked.
‘Why do you think? Her dress got splashed in claret yesterday, didn’t it? Her dad saw it when she got home and hit the roof. I tried to explain to him that what had happened had nothing to do with me, but he wasn’t having none of it. He told me that under no circumstances would I be allowed to take Linda out again, then he shut the door in my face.’
‘What a fucking liberty! Do you want me to speak to him? Or even better, send Roy or Vinny round to have a word?’
Michael shook his head. ‘Nah, not worth it.’
‘Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best, love. There’s plenty more fish in the sea and you need a girl who will understand your family, don’t you? You’re in business with your brothers now, so no point you being with someone too naïve who has up-their-arse parents. They won’t fit in with us,’ Queenie advised.
‘And Vinny did say to you that you shouldn’t have invited Linda yesterday, didn’t he? Perhaps you should keep any future girlfriends away from the club. Business and pleasure should always be kept separate, Michael,’ Vivian added.
‘Don’t be blaming me for inviting the girl. I didn’t know my lunatic of a brother was gonna nigh-on kill a man in front of her very eyes, did I? As for the poxy business, I didn’t want to be part of it and still don’t. All I ever wanted was to be a mechanic,’ Michael said, his eyes blazing angrily.
‘Don’t you dare call your brother a lunatic. And where do you think you’re going?’ Queenie shouted, when her son leapt out of his chair and put his parka back on.
‘Out with Kev on me bike. It’s the only time I get any peace and quiet,’ Michael yelled, slamming the front door.
Vivian raised her eyebrows and smiled at her sister. ‘Boys, eh? Who’d have ’em?’
Over at the café, young Christopher Walker was bored out of his brains and in desperate need of excitement. ‘Please come out and play, Nancy? I really want to know if that man is dead or not, don’t you? The police might be at the snooker club and if we walk past we might be able to see them and we can find out exactly what happened to him.’
Nancy immediately shook her head. She had been petrified yesterday when the fight had broken out at Brenda’s mum’s party, and the sight of that poor man lying on the pavement covered in blood would probably stick in her mind for life. ‘No, Christopher! I am never ever going near that club again, and neither should you.’
Christopher put on his coat and ran down the stairs. There was no way his parents would let him play out on his own after what had happened yesterday, so he would have to pretend that he was popping round to see Tommy. Surely he could get away with telling one little white lie, couldn’t he?
‘You can visit Tommy, but I want you back by five. And don’t you dare go near that club again, Christopher,’ Donald warned his son.
Albie Butler was shocked to see the state of Kenny Jackson. Both men frequented the Blind Beggar pub, but rarely drank in the same company. ‘Jesus wept! What happened to you, Ken?’
Ordering Sheila to leave them alone and come back in ten minutes, Kenny couldn’t keep the sneer off his battered face as he turned back to Albie. His injuries included concussion, a fractured wrist, broken nose, and he felt and looked as though he had spent ten rounds in the ring with Henry Cooper. ‘I had a fucking run-in with your psycho of a son, that’s what,’ Kenny wheezed.
Albie felt his pulse start to quicken. He had always been a bit wary of Kenny Jackson. He’d seen him do a bloke with a hammer in the Blind Beggar a few years back, and had always given him a wide berth since then. ‘I’m sorry, Kenny, I really am.’ Albie didn’t have to ask which son had beaten the living daylights out of Kenny.
‘You’re sorry! Is that all you’ve got to say? That boy needs taking down a peg or two, Albie. Everybody knows it was your Vinny who put you in here. I mean, what type of boy does that to his own father, eh? The kid’s a fucking animal to do this to me in front of my wife. Us men don’t involve our women in such spats, you know that.’
Mortified that people knew that his own son was responsible for his broken legs and ribs, Albie bowed his head in shame. ‘I dunno what to say to you, Kenny. There is nothing I can do to help your predicament. The only thing I can suggest is you accept the beating and swallow your pride. Vinny has no respect for me. He has never listened to a word I say.’
Old Mr Perry smirked as he listened to the conversation going on a few feet away from him. He had been so bored cooped up in a hospital bed after his bowel cancer operation, but since Albie had arrived, the pure entertainment had lifted Mr Perry’s spirits no end.
Christopher Walker felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sat down on the step in the doorway opposite the snooker club. Popping a sherbert lemon into his mouth, the boy looked to his right. His mum had said that Mad Freda lived near the club and he wondered which house it was. About to turn back, Christopher noticed the white Triumph Herald convertible parked up. He could vaguely make out the silhouettes of what looked like two men sitting inside the car, and he wondered if they were friends of Vinny’s or undercover policemen.
Taking his sweet out of his mouth to see how much longer he had to suck to reach the sherbet, Christopher thought back to the events of yesterday. When the fight had first broken out, he had been just as scared as his sister. But after he had got back to the safety of his parents’ café, Christopher couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen. He had found the whole experience exhilarating, and he now couldn’t wait until he was old enough to join the police force, so he could investigate people being beaten up and murdered.
Feeling his heart start to beat faster when