She was sitting on Auntie Viv’s sofa drinking brandy and she looked like she’d been crying.’
‘Why didn’t you bleedin’ well tell me that when you knocked on the door?’ Vinny asked, suddenly agitated.
‘Don’t have a go at her, Vin,’ Roy urged. His brother’s mouth could run away with him at times.
‘Shall I pop round there and make sure everything’s OK?’ Michael offered. Since Vinny had had a go at him, he was trying to do his best to please.
Vinny and Roy glanced at one another. Both were thinking the same thing. Their mother was a tough old East End bird, she never cried, so she had either found out that Vinny had attacked their father, or she knew about his affair.
‘I’ve gotta wait here for Geary, so you pop round home, Roy. You, Michael, can have the night off.’
‘Do you want me to go home to Mum as well?’ Brenda didn’t understand what the hell was going on.
Vinny handed his sister a pound note. ‘No. You take that, buy your friends some sweets and split the change equally between yous. Don’t go home just yet, Bren.’
When Michael opened the door of the club, ruffled her hair and called her sweetheart, Nancy couldn’t look him in the eyes. For the first time ever she had a crush on somebody, but unfortunately for Nancy, he was five years her senior.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I’m really sorry, Mum. I was going to tell you in front of Dad at Michael’s birthday lunch, but when I found out about the baby, I decided to sort it meself. Please forgive me,’ Vinny said, staring at his expensive black leather shoes in shame. Vinny loved his mother more than anybody else in the world. If it wasn’t for her sound advice, he wouldn’t be the man he was today. ‘Vinny, you do whatever it takes to make something of your life. It’s better to be a somebody than a nobody, son, and if that means stealing and stamping out people along the way, then so be it. Don’t ever knock or ill-treat your own kind though. You look after them,’ his mum had told him on the day he’d left school.
Aware that her son looked distraught, Queenie put her arms around him and gave him a motherly hug. Vinny was genuinely sorry, she knew that, and she was also thrilled when he had admitted to her that it was him who had put his father in hospital. ‘Let’s put all this behind us now. Your father ain’t worth the salt in our tears, boy. And thanks for giving him such a good going-over. You did me proud.’
Thrilled that his beloved mother was no longer angry with him, Vinny hugged her tightly to his chest.
Johnny Preston was parked up in his Triumph Herald approximately fifty yards from Queenie Butler’s house. Johnny loved his new set of wheels. It was a white convertible and a real babe magnet, just like himself.
With his strawberry-blond hair, six-foot frame, and Adonis-like physique, Johnny Preston was a handsome bastard and he knew it.
‘Cor, it’s fucking taters sitting here. Run the engine, so we can warm ourselves up a bit,’ Dave said to Johnny.
Johnny turned to his pal and shook his head in mock disbelief. Dave Phillips was his best mate. They had been as thick as thieves since the age of six and Dave was one of the toughest bastards that Johnny knew. Until it came to the weather, that was. As soon as the temperature fell below five degrees, Dave had a terrible habit of turning into a big girl’s blouse.
‘You’re such a tart, Phillips,’ Johnny said, starting the ignition. He turned up the volume of the radio. The Kinks were one of Johnny’s favourite bands and as he sang along to ‘Tired of Waiting for You’, he thought how very apt the song was. The reason being, he was getting fucking sick of waiting for mummy’s boy Vinny Butler to reappear from Queenie’s house.
Vinny still being tied to his mother’s apron strings was well-known amongst the criminal fraternity in London. As far as Johnny knew, nobody had ever said anything to Vinny’s face, but Johnny was well aware that many people laughed at Vinny’s almost incestuous relationship with her. He had even heard Mad Frankie Fraser joke about it once or twice.
It was because of his desperation to worm his way in with Mad Frankie and, in particular, Eddie Richardson, that Johnny had decided to confront Vinny Butler with only Dave as back-up. Their other pal Graeme was currently banged-up. You had to earn your kudos to be accepted by such people as the Richardsons and Mad Frankie and Johnny knew that to show such bravery as taking on the Butlers would win him a massive mark of respect. At the moment Mad Frankie and Eddie Richardson were keeping him at arm’s length, but Johnny was determined to change his idol’s opinion of him. Now twenty-seven, he had been forced to marry his wife, Deborah, several years ago after putting her in the family way and even though he still fucked anything with a pulse, he adored his two children, Joanna and Johnny Junior. He wanted to enrol them in the best schools and lavish them with untold wealth and he would do anything to make that happen, even if that did mean snuffing out Vinny and Roy Butler nigh-on singlehandedly.
‘Here he is now,’ Dave said, his voice full of adrenaline. The plan was to give Vinny Butler the pasting of his life and warn him if he or Roy ever went near Judy again, they would both be shot to smithereens.
Johnny punched his steering wheel with frustration. ‘Bollocks! The big fucking Mary-Ann is obviously going out on a family outing. What a waste of an afternoon.’
‘Can’t we just follow ’em and jump Vinny wherever he goes? His brothers ain’t with him,’ Dave suggested.
‘Nah, I don’t mind giving him a good hiding in front of his mother and aunt, but we can’t touch him in front of that backward nephew,’ Johnny replied sensibly.
‘Why not?’
‘Use your loaf, Dave. If we wanna move in the right circles we can’t be involving little ’uns, especially simple ones. It ain’t the done thing, mate.’
‘What we gonna do now then?’ Dave asked.
Johnny released the handbrake and put his foot on the accelerator. ‘Call it a day and come back tomorrow. Don’t worry, Davey Boy. Vinny Butler will get his comeuppance in the not-too-distant future. Nobody threatens my sister and gets away with it and I mean that with all my fucking heart.’
Albie Butler felt almost suicidal. Not only did he have two broken legs and three broken ribs, he was now homeless, and had a wife and a pregnant ex-girlfriend who both hated him with a passion.
‘Hitler in a German tank, parlez vous. Hitler in a German tank, parlez vous. Hitler in a German tank, reading the Beano and having a wank. Inky pinky parlez vous,’ sang old Mr Perry in the next bed.
Albie put his bruised head in his hands. Old Mr Perry had done nothing but sing war songs all day and if his legs hadn’t been in traction, Albie would have leapt out of the bed and throttled him by his scrawny neck.
‘Dad.’
Albie looked up and was thrilled to see Roy and Michael standing there. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you, boys. That old goat in the next bed has been doing my bleedin’ head in all day. You ain’t bought your old dad a bottle of brandy by any chance?’ Albie said, directing the question towards his youngest son. Unlike that sadistic bastard Vinny, Michael was a good kid and had visited him every day with an alcoholic gift. They say you shouldn’t have a favourite
