‘You go with him and I’ll wait ’ere with this prick,’ Vinny urged Michael. ‘And I’m telling ya now, if I don’t get those medals back, you’re both dead,’ he vowed, treating Russ to a sharp kick in the side of his head.
When Michael marched out the pub with the visibly trembling Duncan, the guvnor and all the customers pretended not to notice anything amiss. Even Nosy Hilda looked the other way. Whatever happened to Duncan and his loudmouth pal, nobody would dare grass. The Butlers would always stick up for one of their own, and that’s why they were legends.
Mr Arthur could not hide his delight when the Victoria Cross was placed in the palm of his hand. It had been one of the proudest moments of his life when he’d been awarded that, and the other stolen medal meant just as much to him, as it had belonged to his brother who had never returned from the war.
‘I dunno what to say. I can’t thank you enough, lads.’ Mr Arthur’s eyes welled up with tears. ‘I really didn’t think I was going to see these again. The VC’s worth a lot of money, I think.’
‘A word of advice, Mr Arthur. It’s up to you, but Whitechapel isn’t the area it once was and if I was you I wouldn’t wear the VC when you go out in future. Too many chancers about these days, unfortunately. If you want, I can lock it in my safe at the club for you?’ Vinny offered.
‘No. I might be wary answering my front door, but I’ll never let the bastards get the better of me, Vinny. If I stop wearing it, they’ve won the battle. I won’t let them defeat me.’
Michael and Vinny glanced at one another, full of admiration for the elderly gentleman.
‘I’ve had a word with the carpenter pal of mine,’ said Vinny. ‘He’ll be popping round tomorrow afternoon to sort that door out for you, Mr Arthur. I told him to leave it until after half three as I know you like your lunchtime pint.’
‘Thank you so much. You really are kind. As for them other so-and-sos, they better not be in the pub when I get there tomorrow, else they’ll get some of this,’ Mr Arthur said, lifting up his walking stick.
Michael chuckled. ‘You won’t be getting any more grief off them, trust me. They’ve both been sent packing with their little tails between their legs.’
Mr Arthur smiled. ‘Good boys, yous two. Last of a dying breed.’
Vinny winked. ‘You know our motto, Mr Arthur. Same as yours in the war: An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’
‘Well? How did it go? Where’s Michael?’ Queenie Butler asked.
Vinny grinned. ‘Pour us a Scotch and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Queenie Butler clapped her hands with glee as Vinny related the day’s events. ‘That’s my boys! Was the Maurice banged out?’ she enquired.
‘Fairly busy. Not like the old days though. About forty-odd in there, I’d say. Nosy Hilda was there though, so you can guarantee the whole of the East End will know by now.’ Vinny laughed.
‘Well, that’ll give the tale-bearers something to dine out on for a while, eh? I am so chuffed you got Mr Arthur’s medals back. I bet he was over the moon. What did he say to you?’
Vinny repeated the conversation. ‘Touched me and Michael right ’ere, it did,’ he said, patting the skin covering his heart. ‘To think men like him and his brother laid their lives on the line and fought tooth and nail for this country, and for what? To be disrespected and end his days living in the dump Whitechapel has now become? Seriously, Mum, you have to move. Me and Michael walked along that High Road earlier and thought we were in a different fucking country. And this ain’t just about the foreigners. The newer breed of English round ’ere now are scum. State of ’em – pure shitbags.’
‘Don’t start all that again, Vinny. Me and Vivvy are quite happy living ’ere, thank you very much.’
Vinny held his hands up. ‘OK, I rest my case. But when it gets even worse in the next ten or twenty years and something bad happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
When Queenie mocked her son and called him a ‘worry-pot’ she truly had no idea that one day his words would come back to haunt her, big time.
Michael Butler shot his load, kissed Katy Spencer on the forehead, then tumbled out of bed.
‘Do you want me to leave now?’ Katy asked awkwardly. She’d been working for Michael for the last twelve weeks, but it was only this past month they’d been a couple, so to speak.
‘Yeah, you’d better make tracks. The lads are coming in early today, and we don’t want them knowing jack-shit, do we?’
Katy put on the glittery mini-dress she’d worn the previous evening, then draped her arms around Michael’s neck. She could never get enough kisses off her man. At thirty-six, Michael was fifteen years Katy’s senior. But with his dark hair, piercing green puppy-dog eyes and cheeky schoolboy grin, he looked much younger. Katy wasn’t bothered about the age gap. She’d been obsessed with Michael since the first day she’d laid eyes on him, and her friends couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be waking up in his bed.
Michael gently released Katy’s grip around his neck. Shagging his twenty-one-year-old housekeeper/nanny hadn’t been the cleverest move he’d ever made, especially since she’d taken it upon herself to keep turning up at the club.
‘Will I see you tonight?’
‘Not tonight, babe. I’ve got a bit of business to attend to,’ Michael lied.
Katy’s expression changed from hopeful to crestfallen. ‘OK. Do you want me to ring you after the boys have had their breakfast?’
‘Yeah. That’ll be cool. And remember, keep us to yourself. I don’t want Lee and Daniel finding out. It’s too soon after their mum.’
Katy smiled. Michael’s words led her to believe that he was in it for the long haul. Apart from her friends, she’d told nobody. Her parents were both regular church-goers who would have a fit if they thought she was dating Michael Butler.
When Katy left, Michael sat down on the edge of the bed and put his weary head in his hands. Shagging Katy was all Bella’s fault, and Vinny’s. His brother had convinced him jumping back in the saddle would help mend his broken heart. It hadn’t worked. Fucking Katy meant nothing to him. It was just sex and would never be anything else.
Bella D’Angelo packed the rest of hers and her son’s belongings into the Gucci suitcases. She couldn’t stay in Sicily any longer. It was doing her head in and, as much as she adored them, so were her parents.
‘Mummy, will Michael be coming to see us when the plane lands?’
Bella stroked the hair of her pride and joy. Antonio would be five soon and he was a wonderful child. Polite and intelligent, her son had everybody he met eating out the palm of his hand. Apart from his dark hair and piercing green eyes, he was thankfully nothing like his father.
‘Rupert’s picking us up from the airport, darling. Mummy has lots of work to catch up on,’ Bella explained, referring to her gay PA. Rupert had been running her modelling agency while she’d been skulking in Italy.