Before I end this letter I want to ask a few favours from you. Firstly, I want you to be nice to my dad from now on. I know he was a bastard to you years ago, but he isn’t a bad man. I think he just felt very left out because Auntie Viv was always at the house, which is probably why he turned into a drinker and a womanizer.
Secondly, I want you to make sure Emily-Mae gets her inheritance. I still have quite a sum of money in my bank account and I want every penny to go to her when she is sixteen. I know Colleen has a new man now, but that does not alter my wishes. Emily-Mae is my daughter and I want to be the one to support her when she leaves school.
And last but not least, I want you to promise me that after reading this letter you won’t be sad any more. You have always been the strong one of the family and they all need you – Vinny, Michael, Brenda, Auntie Viv, and especially Champ and Little Vinny. You must be happy, Mum, please don’t cry any more.
Until we meet again,
Your loving son,
Roy xxx
Queenie put the letter down beside her and cried more than she had ever cried before.
Spring 1977
Hearing the wonderful voice of Barbra Streisand enhance the radio airwaves, Queenie Butler turned up the volume. Chart music had been wonderful back in the fifties and sixties, but apart from the likes of Barbra, Queenie hated it now. The charts were full of disco music, and as for that punk rubbish, she could not even understand what those vagrant-looking creatures were singing.
Queenie sat down on the armchair and sipped her tea. ‘Morning, boys,’ she said to the photo that now took pride of place on her lounge wall. She didn’t have many photos with just Roy and Lenny in them, but this one was a beauty and she’d had it blown up.
The farewell letter Roy had written her had helped Queenie cope with his death. She had always known how unhappy he’d been after the shooting, though she’d never wanted to admit it. The letter had helped her face facts, and if she were honest it was a relief knowing her son wasn’t suffering any more. Lenny’s death, however, was a different kettle of fish. That boy had died way before his time and, unlike Roy, he had been a happy little soul. Queenie was amazed Vinny hadn’t yet sorted that Turkish bastard out, but her son assured her he planned to and was just biding his time. Queenie would never be able to rest until that day came. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth had always been her motto.
When the phone rang, she answered it and smiled as she heard the sound of her sister’s cheery voice. Vivian’s recovery had been a long and winding road, but she was more than on the mend now. For the past seven months she’d been residing at Goodmayes Hospital – or West Ham Borough Asylum as it used to be known, which Queenie could never understand as it wasn’t even situated in West Ham.
‘Not long now, Vivvy. Five days and you’ll be back in your own bed,’ Queenie reminded her sister. Vivian had her three-monthly review this coming Wednesday, and the doctor had already told Queenie and Vinny that Viv was ready to return home.
‘Oh, I can’t bloody wait, Queen. Nutty Nora’s been at it again. Yesterday she was a bestselling author and today she’s a famous film star. Been flouncing around in her nightie this morning quoting lines from Sunset Boulevard.’
Queenie chuckled. Now that Viv’s humour had returned, the pair of them could share a right old giggle at the expense of some of the other patients.
‘How’s Bren and the baby doing, Queen? No news on Vinny’s little ’un yet, I take it?’
‘No, no news. Jo is long overdue now. She has another hospital appointment on Monday and I reckon they’ll keep her in and start her off. She can barely move and feels ever so uncomfortable, the poor little cow. Vinny said she’s been having trouble sleeping as well. Bren’s OK. She came out of hospital yesterday and is going to stay here for a week or two before she goes home. Tommy’s a gorgeous baby, Viv. Big fat cheeks, arms and legs. You wait until you see him. Happy little soul he is, too. Rarely ever cries. Shame the same can’t be said about the other one,’ Queenie said, referring to her sulky granddaughter.
‘Has Bren mentioned Dean lately?’ Vivian asked. It had been over seven months now since her niece’s husband went out for a newspaper and never returned.
‘Not since the birth, but I can tell she’s missing him. That’s why I suggested she stay here for a while. Not going to be easy for her, bringing two up on her own. If I ever find out where that Dean Smart is, I swear I will pay him a visit and string him up by the bollocks. How a man can walk away and leave his kids is beyond me.’
‘Well, my Bill did,’ Viv reminded her. ‘What time you coming up to see me today? Will you be on your own?’
‘Yes. Michael’s going to drop me off and Vinny said he’ll pick me up. I’ll stop at Mum’s grave and put some fresh flowers down, then I’ll come straight to you. About two-ish, I reckon. I’ve written out a list of ideas for the street party. We’ll go over it together and you can add to it. I want our contribution to be better than anybody else’s, Viv. Vinny suggested setting up a music system in the front garden so we can play all the old wartime songs.’
Vivian smiled. She loved a sing-song and a royal celebration. The Queen’s Silver Jubilee was just what the doctor had ordered for her imminent homecoming.
Little Vinny Butler was currently in the doghouse. A fortnight ago, he and Ben Bloggs had broken into the general store run by the Indians along the High Street. The robbery had not been successful. An alarm had gone off and, even though the lads had scarpered quickly, the police had caught them hiding in an alleyway shortly afterwards with their hoard of stolen cigarettes.
Queenie Butler had gone apeshit when the police had knocked on her door in the middle of the night. Not only had her grandson lied to her about his whereabouts, he had also robbed a store that she used regularly.
The following morning, Queenie had rung her son to inform him Little Vinny would not be living with her any more. She had also marched the boy round to the Patels’ shop to make him apologize in person and offer his services to do any odd jobs on a Saturday for the next year.
‘Dad, please can I go out and play? I won’t go far and I’ll behave myself, I promise,’ Little Vinny begged.
‘No, son. I have to pop out in a bit and I need you to stay here and look after Jo for me. The baby might come anytime now, and Jo can’t be left alone.’
‘But I don’t want to stay ’ere with Jo, and I’m sick of hearing about the baby. I don’t like living here. I want to live with Nan again.’
‘Well, you should have thought of that before you robbed Mr Patel’s shop. Your nan won’t have you back, so best you get used to living here and start treating Jo with a bit more respect. Fucking rude you were earlier when she made you that sandwich. I want you to apologize to her.’
Unable to control his temper, Little Vinny punched the wall. He and his dad used to be so close once upon a time. Not any more though, and Little Vinny rued the day his dad had met Joanna Preston. In fact, he wished she would die.
Ahmed Zane met his cousin at their restaurant in Tottenham. Being Sunday lunchtime, the gaff was packed, so Ahmed followed Burak into the small office.
‘What’s that?’ Ahmed asked, clocking an unlabelled bottle.
‘Raki. I found us a new cheap supplier. Taste it.’ Burak poured a glass and handed it to him. ‘So, how’s it going with Vinny?’
‘OK. Since I started making more of an effort to spend time with him, he’s more like his old self. He still won’t touch any cocaine though, which is a damn shame. He was a lunatic on that stuff and would have had a really bad habit by now. It would have been so much easier to pull the wool over