downpour. The hottest summer on record was now just a distant memory, but the weather was the least of Queenie’s problems.
‘Don’t put that up in here. You always said it was unlucky to put a brolly up indoors,’ Brenda reminded her mother.
Glaring at her daughter, Queenie ignored her wishes. ‘As if we could be any more bastard well unlucky, Bren. Our family has had the heart ripped out of it already, so excuse me for not being overly superstitious these days.’
‘Where you going?’
‘To check on Vivvy again, and while I’m gone I want you to have a bath, young lady. You ain’t seen soap or water for three days, you dirty little mare. I expect Roy and Lenny’s send-off to be perfect tomorrow – which includes you making an effort to smarten yourself up.’
Umbrella in hand, Queenie made the short journey to her sister’s house next-door-but-one. She let herself in with her own key. ‘Cooey. Where are you, Viv?’ Queenie fully expected her sister to be sitting in the lounge staring aimlessly out of the window as she had been for the past few days since hearing about the car crash that had killed her only son.
‘I’m up here.’
Queenie hurried up the stairs and found Vivian in Lenny’s room, sorting through his things. ‘What you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m clearing Lenny’s room out. The dustmen come in the morning.’
Shaking her head in disbelief, Queenie sat down on the edge of Lenny’s bed. Her nephew’s nickname had been Champ and how very apt that had been. Starved of oxygen at birth, Lenny had overcome his disabilities and grown into a fine young man. His mental age might have been less than his years, but that hadn’t stopped Lenny being loved by everybody. He really had been a special lad. ‘Viv, please don’t chuck his stuff away, love. You’re not thinking rationally at the moment and I know you’re going to regret what you’re doing. Why don’t we go downstairs and have a nice cup of tea, eh?’
Ignoring her sister’s suggestion, Vivian yanked open a drawer and angrily tipped the contents onto the floor. Mumbling obscenities, she then began to put her son’s belongings into a dustbin liner.
Queenie’s eyes welled up. ‘Viv, I really need you to snap out of this silly behaviour. I’ve lost a son too, remember.’ Queenie had given birth to four children, and her middle son, Roy, was being laid to rest tomorrow after taking his own life. Wheelchair-bound since 1971 after a shooting outside the nightclub he owned, he’d suffered a miserable existence the last five years, finally ending it all by blasting himself in the head with a gun.
‘But you’ve got three other kids, and your grandchildren. Hardly the fucking same, is it?’ Vivian spat.
Queenie bowed her weary head. At forty-nine, she was three years older than Vivian. Both women were thin, had deep facial wrinkles due to their love of cigarettes and the sun, and with their dyed blonde hair and similar features, were often mistaken for twins rather than sisters. This past week, however, Queenie had felt as though she did not know her sister at all. Grief did strange things to people and Vivian was acting stranger than most.
‘How can you say such a thing, Vivvy? No matter how many kids or grandchildren I have, nothing takes the pain away of losing my Roy. I’m equally upset about Lenny, he was like a son to me too, but I watched my Roy suffer for years. At least your Lenny led a happy life.’
Her face contorted with anger, Vivian stood up and flew at her sister. ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my house.’
Being pushed and prodded was not something Queenie would usually allow, but she knew her sister didn’t mean it. It was the grief that was making her doolally. ‘Please let’s not argue. The funerals are tomorrow and our boys deserve the best send-off ever. If they’re looking down at me and you fighting, they’ll be devastated.’
‘Looking down! Looking fucking down! Don’t make me laugh, Queen. There is no bastard heaven. If God existed, why would he have taken my Lenny away from me, eh? It’s all a load of old bollocks.’
Desperate to give his brother and cousin the best send-off the East End had ever seen, Vinny Butler had spent the day preparing for the wake. The nightclub he part-owned with Michael had now been transformed into a shrine for their dearly departed.
Satisfied that his mum and aunt would approve of his handiwork, Vinny poured himself a drink and flopped onto one of the leather sofas. It had been three days since he and Michael had disposed of Trevor Thomas and there had not been any mention of a body being found or Trevor’s disappearance in the news.
Vinny grinned as his brother appeared. After the car accident that had killed Lenny, relations had been strained between himself and Michael, but thankfully carrying out their plan to kill Trevor seemed to have papered over those cracks. ‘You’re looking particularly dapper today, bruv. That another new suit?’
‘Yep. No flies on you, is there? This is the latest Savile Row addition to my ever-expanding wardrobe.’
Michael was five years Vinny’s junior. Both brothers had inherited their father’s jet-black hair, piercing green eyes and tall build. But they did not particularly look alike. Michael had a round face with a cheeky smile, whereas Vinny’s features were thinner and more chiselled, his lips usually twisted in a sinister smirk. They wore their hair in different styles as well. Michael used far less brylcreem and had what his mum referred to as a ‘short back and sides’. With their dark skin tone, both Vinny and Michael were often assumed to be of Italian or Irish descent, but as far as they knew, their ancestors had all been cockneys.
‘Well? Notice anything different?’ Vinny chuckled, indicating the numerous photos of Roy and Lenny that he’d had blown up to poster-size and displayed on the walls.
‘I don’t know, Vin. It’s a bit much, perhaps? Do Mum and Auntie Viv know you’ve done all this?’
‘No. I wanted it to be a surprise. Why shouldn’t we have photos of Roy and Champ on show? It is their special day. The one in the middle – I’m gonna keep that up after the funeral too.’
Michael stared at the photo Vinny was pointing at. It showed the three Butler brothers, and it was the last photo taken before Roy had got shot. They all had dark suits on and were smiling broadly, their arms draped around one another’s shoulders. It was a lovely photo, but it made Michael feel very sad. Feeling slightly lost for words, he was relieved when the phone started ringing, giving him an excuse to turn away. ‘I’ll get that,’ he said.
‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked, seconds later. He could tell by Michael’s face that something was wrong.
‘That was Ahmed. He’s out of hospital and wants to see you. He said to meet him at three at his house.’
Vinny felt the colour drain from his cheeks. This was the first time he had heard from Ahmed since the fateful night of the crash. The state Ahmed was in, Vinny thought he’d be burying his best mate as well as his cousin. ‘What exactly did he say?’
‘Not much. I got the distinct impression he didn’t really want to talk over the phone. I did tell him you were here, but he just said to meet him at three. What’re you gonna say to him, Vin? I hope he isn’t going to cause us grief. I’ve got Nancy and the boys to think of.’
‘I know far too much about Ahmed for him to cause us any grief, Michael. Anyway, he’s a mate and I’m sure
