in her hand had been comical and attracted some weird looks from passers-by. ‘I felt sorry for that nice lady who works in Ashby’s. She only asked if you were OK and you told her to mind her own fucking business. How we meant to queue up in there for our meat and salt-beef sandwiches in future, eh?’
Vivian roared with laughter. ‘I’ll go in and apologize to her next week. Silly question to ask though. If I was OK, I would hardly be limping along the road like a lame dog with one shoe in me sodding hand, would I?’
‘Oh, Viv, you are a case. How’s your ankle now? It’s definitely swollen. We’ll get a bag of frozen peas on that when we get home.’
‘Can’t feel no pain – the alcohol must have numbed it. It’s more painful looking at these poxy slip-ons you bought me. That’s the last time I’m sending you shoe-shopping. I look like silly-girl-got-none. Hope we don’t see anyone we know as we walk to the car.’ She checked her watch. ‘What time did you say Little Vinny was picking us up? Ring him and ask if he can bring a balaclava with him so I can’t be recognized in me new shoes.’
Her sides aching from laughter, Queenie urged her sister to behave herself.
Little Vinny was horrified when he arrived at the pub to find both his nan and aunt inebriated and giggling like two silly schoolgirls. He was clean as a whistle these days. Did not drink, smoke or take drugs.
‘What the bleedin’ hell do you look like? And why you got your jeans rolled up and those silly dark glasses on? Not sunny in here, is it? It’s a pub,’ Queenie tutted.
‘And he’s topless. I think me and you should walk in a boozer one day baring our top halves, don’t you, Queen? I mean, if you’ve got it, why not flaunt it? And if that skinny bag of bones has it, then so have we.’
Even though he knew full well he looked a cool dude in his rolled-up faded Levis, white Lacoste trainers and Porsche sunglasses, Little Vinny felt his face go red as he caught a couple of birds and a geezer looking his way and laughing. His nan and aunt had loud enough voices when sober, let alone when drunk. ‘Yous two wouldn’t understand fashion. Come on, we’re going.’
‘Don’t be so rude. You’ve not even bought me and Viv a drink yet. Put your top on and get up the bar. We’ll both have a brandy and lemonade,’ Queenie ordered.
‘Aw my gawd, Queen! He’s wearing pink. Take the T-shirt back off again, Vin. You look like a poof!’ Vivian guffawed.
Noticing the two birds and bloke on the next table laugh at him again, Little Vinny saw red. He ran towards the male, grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against the wall. ‘You wanna be careful who you take the piss out of, you soppy-looking prick. I am Little Vinny Butler, son of the Vinny Butler, and I can easily arrange your funeral.’
Aware that his cellmate was trying to stifle his sobs, Vinny Butler walked over to his pal’s bunk and rubbed his back. He’d calmed down now, although Michael had pissed him off immensely. ‘Let it all out, Jay. Far better out than in – trust me, I know.’
‘I feel such a fucking dick crying, Vin, but I loved my bro so much,’ Jay wept in his broad Scouse accent.
Jay Boy Gerrard was an up-and-coming boxer who had only just turned pro when he’d ventured down to London for a pal’s stag night. Undefeated as an amateur, the future looked bright for Jay Boy until he’d got involved in a drunken brawl. One punch was all it had taken Jay to kill his victim. It hadn’t been his intention, but unfortunately the lad had fallen backwards, smashed his head against the edge of a kerb and died instantly.
Jay had been given a five-year sentence, and was looking forward to his imminent release. He and his brother had planned to set up their own boxing gym, but that dream was over now. His brother had been stabbed outside a boozer in Kirby last night and was dead. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do, Vin. My bro’s a legend in Liverpool. I don’t want to go back there now. If I do, I’ll be reminded of his death everywhere I turn. I can’t believe he’s gone and I’m never going to see him again. It doesn’t seem real.’
Knowing exactly what his mate was going through, Vinny gave the lad a hug. Jay was fourteen years his junior. They had been sharing a cell for the past two years and Vinny cared for the bloke like a brother or a son. Jay had most certainly brightened up his time inside, which was why Vinny wanted to repay the favour. ‘Listen, mate, why don’t you stay in London and work with me? You can work at the club. I’ll see to it you get treated with respect and paid good dosh. Then, when I get released, you can be my main man.’
‘Really! But what about your bro?’ Jay asked. He was well aware of the friction between Vinny and Michael as his cellmate often spoke about it.
‘Don’t be worrying about Michael. He will do exactly as I tell him. Whether he likes it or not, I’m the boss. Always have been and always fucking will be.’
The man apprehensively entered the plush office. His boss could be a real tyrant at times and he hoped he wasn’t in any trouble. His last task had proved anything but fruitful.
‘Sit down.’
‘Sorry I had a wasted trip, boss. I tried my hardest to track him down, honest I did.’
‘I know. Which is why I’m putting my faith in you again. I have an address of a nightclub in the East End of London. There you will find a man called Michael Butler. I want photos, movements; dig up as much as you can on him. I even want to know when he takes a shit. Understand me?’
‘Clearly, boss.’
Joanna Preston clapped as the rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ ended. She bent down next to her daughter. ‘Make a wish, darling, then blow out the candles.’
‘What’s a wish, Mummy?’
‘It means think about something you want. Why don’t you wish for that little fluffy white kitten you saw last week, eh?’
Ava did as she was told, then squealed with delight seconds later when her granddad handed her a small cardboard box with the kitten inside. ‘Can I call it Bagpuss?’ Ava asked. She loved to watch TV and the videos her nan and granddad brought her, and Bagpuss was her current favourite.
Deborah Preston picked up the kitten and chuckled. ‘Seeing as she’s a pretty little girl, just like you, I think we can come up with a nicer name than Bagpuss. Why don’t we make a list of names, then you can choose which one you like the best?’
Standing with her hands on her little hips, Ava Preston shook her head in defiance. ‘No, Nanny. I want to call her Bagpuss.’
‘She’s a case, isn’t she? Talk about three going on thirteen,’ Nancy Butler joked. Ava was nothing like Molly in any way, shape or form, and Nancy still couldn’t decide whether that was a good omen or bad. With her mop of curly blonde hair and sweet nature, Molly had been a replica of her lovely mum. Ava was far more of a little diva, and with her jet-black hair there was a definite resemblance to her father.
‘Stroke her, Nancy,’ Ava demanded.
Nancy smiled as Ava climbed on to her lap. She wondered if the reason she’d not bonded with her as much as Molly was because she saw Ava far less frequently. Since
