Eddie looked at Vinny in amazement. ‘I wouldn’t order your suit just yet. My Frankie was well in love with Stuart, and he’s only been dead five minutes.’
‘So was Little Vinny with Sammi-Lou. But neither can be brought back from the dead, mate. Life goes on, so they say …’
‘Please come with me, Joey. I don’t think I can go on my own,’ Frankie Mitchell begged. Apart from Stuart’s funeral and a few sneaky trips to the local off-licence, she had not ventured outside the house since her fiancé’s death. Now she was in her brother’s car on her way to Little Vinny’s, and the thought of being left alone there terrified her.
‘You know I can’t come with you, sis. Dom has taken the day off work for one reason: so he and I can spend it together. Little Vinny is a nice guy. He’ll look after you.’
‘Divvy dinlo whore,’ Harry whispered in his sister’s ear. Joey drove a red Mazda sports car and he and Georgie were all but crushed in the small space behind the seats.
Georgie pinched her brother as hard as she could. Harry could not see the wood for the trees at times, whereas she most certainly could. ‘It’ll be OK, Mum. I’ll look after you too,’ Georgie promised.
Frankie stared at her trembling hands while taking deep breaths to try and control the panic. She’d often gone out, once upon a time, but since Stuart’s death leaving the house felt like a big deal. It scared her. Thankfully she’d had the foresight to sneak some vodka into her handbag. ‘Can we stop at a garage or somewhere? I’m busting to do a wee,’ she lied. As far as her brother was aware, she only drank wine of an evening now to help her sleep, and what he didn’t know couldn’t worry him.
Joey squeezed his sister’s hand. ‘’Course we can.’
Queenie Butler was done up to the nines. Her bright red cashmere jacket was thin, flowing and to the knee, and her new black ankle boots with a three-inch heel were very modern and suited her. Vinny had told her that only yesterday. ‘Mum, you look more like fifty-four than seventy-four in that get-up. Really suits you,’ he’d said when she’d shown him the outfit she planned to wear today.
As per usual, Joyce was done up like a dog’s dinner. She had a thing for animal prints and Queenie thought the long coat she had on today looked as common as muck. Her blonde bouffant hairstyle didn’t do her any favours either. She stood out like a beacon in Lakeside.
‘You know who you remind me of,’ Joyce said. They were currently sitting outside a little coffee shop.
‘No. Go on.’
‘Barbara Windsor. Minus the big knockers, of course,’ Joyce laughed.
‘I don’t look sod-all like Barbara Windsor. She wears wigs, for starters. I read that in Bella magazine the other day,’ Queenie snapped. ‘You remind me of someone too. It’ll come to me in a minute.’
‘Yootha Joyce?’
‘You look a bit like Yootha, but it’s not her I’m trying to think of. Me and Viv used to adore George and Mildred. Don’t make ’em like that any more do they? Nor Love Thy Neighbour. The world’s gone politically-correct-fucking-mad,’ Queenie said bitterly. ‘As for the music these days, don’t even get me started. Ava had some shit blaring out in my house the other day. I said to her, “You can turn that bleedin’ racket off.” She said, “But it’s Shaggy, Nan.” Who’s Shaggy when he’s at home, eh? I couldn’t even understand what the bastard was singing. I mean, what happened to the likes of Kay Starr and Johnnie Ray?’
Breaking into Johnnie Ray’s ‘Cry’, Joyce spotted an awful sight and stopped singing. ‘State of that over there. Has she not got a mirror indoors? Look at the fat hanging out over the top of those tracksuit bottoms. You think she’d wear a long baggy top, not a belly one, wouldn’t you? It’s enough to put you off your lunch.’
Queenie Butler felt melancholy as she nibbled at the scone and sipped her tea. Gone were the days when women would take pride in their appearance like they had on a Saturday down the Roman back in the day. Used to be like a contest, that did, to see who could get glammed up the most. This was her first trip to Lakeside shopping centre since Vivian had died, and she and her sister had spent many a happy day here.
‘Nice of your Michael to give us a lift, wasn’t it? Handsome sons you have, Queenie,’ Joycie Smith said.
‘Thanks, lovey. They’re always well turned out. I drummed that in ’em as kids.’
‘Eddie said you lost a daughter as well. What happened to her? I hope you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Nah, it’s fine. Got stabbed, my Brenda did. Another one murdered in cold blood. To be honest, I doubt she’d be alive now anyway. She was an alcoholic – had her father’s genes.’
‘That’s tragic. Did they catch her killer? Poor you, Queen.’
‘No. Never caught him. Jake Jackson his name was and he fled abroad. Could be anywhere in the bleedin’ world now.’
‘Was it a random attack?’ Joycie enquired.
‘No. My boys had run-ins with Jake’s father and grandfather many years ago. Still doesn’t explain why the little shit targeted Brenda though. Too cowardly to have a pop at the men, I suppose.’
‘You never get over it, do you? Not a single day goes past I don’t miss and think about my Jessica.’
‘I rarely think about Brenda any more, to be honest. She was her father’s daughter all right.’
‘Aww, was she close to Albie then?’
‘No. Brenda hated him as much as I do. Now drink your tea, Joycie. It’s getting cold. Nice scones these, aren’t they?’
Little Vinny and Frankie Mitchell were sitting in the garden. The autumn weather was breezy, but the sun was shining and the birds could be heard tweeting away in the surrounding trees.
‘Peaceful out here, isn’t it? Sammi loved this garden. I was thinking of planting something and making some kind of shrine to her and Oliver down the bottom.’
‘I think that’s a lovely idea. It just doesn’t seem possible that we are never going to see them again, does it? I keep expecting Stuart to walk through the door any minute, laughing and joking as he always did.’
Little Vinny nodded. ‘I know where you’re coming from, and even though people mean well, nobody really understands, do they? My mate Finn’s been great. He pops round most days, but I find it difficult to open up to him, and my family. My dad’s had too many deaths to deal with over the years, made him as hard as nails. And my nan’s the same. They haven’t got a sentimental bone left in their bodies.’
‘I feel the same. The nights are the worst. I can’t sleep unless I’m bladdered. My dad sent a private doctor round to me recently. I think he thought I was gonna top myself, so he gave me some pills. They haven’t helped much though. Then he suggested I have counselling, but I can’t be talking to strangers. Makes me feel uncomfortable. Have you been drinking or taking any pills?’
‘Nah. I daren’t. Got a bit of an addictive personality, me. I don’t do anything by halves, and I made a promise to Sammi-Lou that I would be strong and take care of Calum and Regan for her.’
‘Awww, that’s lovely. Did you speak about stuff like this then when Sammi was alive? Me and Stuart didn’t and I wish we had now.’
‘No. I made Sammi the promise when she was dead. Excuse me a tick. Gotta pop to the loo, then I’ll top your glass up. You’re not in a hurry to get home, are you? I wasn’t in a cooking