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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.
    ‘I’ve just spoken to the doctor. They reckon you’ll be in here for a while, you know,’ Queenie informed her old man.
    ‘Thanks very much. Cheer me up, why don’t ya?’
    ‘So, what exactly happened? Have you spoken to the Old Bill yet?’ Queenie asked.
    ‘Yeah. Not much I could tell ’em. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t get a clear view of any of the lads. Where’s Vinny and Roy?’
    ‘Roy and Michael are waiting in the corridor. The nurse said we could only come in two at a time, so I’ll send them in next. You had a fall-out with our Vinny and Roy?’
    ‘No. What makes you ask that?’ Albie asked defensively.
    ‘Because I’ve sensed a bad atmosphere the past few days. What’s going on, Albie? I ain’t some silly old fool, you know, and I will find out, so you might as well tell me now. What you done to upset them?’
    Albie looked at his wife with pure hatred in his eyes. Here he was, with two broken legs and three broken ribs, confined to a stinking hospital bed for Christ knows how long, and instead of concern, all Queenie was worried about was her precious sons. Was it any wonder he strayed at the drop of a hat?’ I ain’t done anything to upset the boys, OK? Now, please go and get me a bottle of brandy to help me with the pain. Killing me, my ribs are. I would give you the money, but the bastards who attacked me nicked me wallet.’
    ‘The doctor said you were on strong painkillers. You ain’t meant to drink with them, Albie. You might keel over and die in the night,’ Queenie advised him.
    Hoping that her sister’s warning just might come true, Vivian put her hand inside her handbag. ‘Poor sod’s been right through the mill. I’ll treat him to a bottle.’
    Knowing full well why Vivian had made such a kind gesture, Queenie had a fake coughing fit, then dashed out of the ward before Albie could realize she was laughing.
    Little Christopher Walker was mesmerized by the dark-haired man in the charcoal suit.
    ‘Stop gawping at people. Go and collect any empty plates and cups,’ Mary hissed in her son’s ear.
    Another person who had her beady eyes on Vinny was Freda Smart and when Christopher approached her, she couldn’t help but speak her mind. ‘Should be strung up by the balls, the lot of ’em. Bloody murderers,’ she said in a loud voice.
    Vinny smirked. Freda had been extremely friendly with the café’s previous owners and was the only person in the East End who would have the nerve to accuse him of killing Old Jack and Ethel’s son. She was spot-on actually. Fifteen-year-old Peter had had a habit of exposing himself to young girls and had one day made the fatal mistake of touching up a neighbour’s eleven-year-old daughter and