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eye again, am I?’

      ‘I have no idea what you’re on about, Mum. I haven’t seen Trevor since he ran off with that slag, Yvonne.’

      ‘Swear on my life,’ Queenie demanded.

      Before he could speak, Michael ended the conversation by grabbing Vinny’s arm. ‘Bobby Jackson’s only had the nerve to show up. Shall I throw the cheeky bastard out, or do you want to do the honours?’

      Vinny’s lip curled into a snarl. He hated Bobby almost as much as he had despised his father. ‘Where is he?’

      ‘Stood at the corner of the bar. Christ knows how long he’s been here. I reckon some idiot left the main door open and he just wandered in.’

      Usually, whenever the club was open Pete and Paul were on the door, but because they were lifelong friends of Roy and extremely fond of Lenny too, Vinny had given them the day off to enjoy a good drink at the wake like everybody else. ‘He’s overstepped the mark this time, bruv. We can’t let this go, we’ll be a laughing stock.’

      Michael nodded. The whole of Whitechapel was aware of the bad blood between Vinny and Bobby, therefore he’d have to be taught a lesson for taking such a liberty.

      ‘What’s going on?’ Queenie demanded. She could barely hear herself think over Big Stan’s rendition of Johnnie Ray’s ‘Cry’. Talk about murdering a great song.

      ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Mum. Just an uninvited guest, that’s all. Go and sit back down with Joanna and keep her company for me. I’ll be over with some more drinks in a minute,’ Vinny ordered.

      Bobby Jackson had been out on one of his little benders. He had celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday the previous day and ended up pulling some bird in the Ilford Palais, so he was still in yesterday’s clothes. He’d been on his way home when he had spotted the door of the club open, and unable to resist the lure of free alcohol, Bobby had decided to sneak in. The worst Vinny would do was chuck him out, surely?

      A sucker for a pretty face, Bobby was busy chatting up one of the barmaids and did not see Vinny creep up behind him. ‘You’re not the first to say I look like Les McKeown. I get it all the time, I do,’ Bobby chuckled.

      ‘Well, you won’t be looking like Les by the time I finish with you – you’ll be looking more like a fucking corpse,’ Vinny hissed, grabbing Bobby by his long brown hair and dragging him backwards towards the exit.

      Having gone to a lot of trouble to model his look on the lead singer of the Bay City Rollers, Bobby was more worried about his appearance than anything else. ‘Mind me barnet, will ya? The door was wide open. I didn’t gatecrash, honest I didn’t.’

      Max was singing ‘New York, New York’, and lots of the mourners were in a circle on the dancefloor doing that stupid dance where you put your arms around one another’s shoulders and kick your legs from side to side.

      Vinny smiled at Nosy Hilda as he dragged Bobby past her feet. ‘Nothing worse than a pisshead who turns up at the wake in jeans, is there? Didn’t even have the nous to wear black. I don’t know what the world is coming to these days, Hilda. No respect for the dead any more.’

      Not one person said a word as Vinny dragged Bobby outside. Nobody followed either. It was none of their business and anybody with even half a brain knew not to interfere.

      Joanna Preston was worried. Following Queenie’s stare, she had just seen Vinny drag a man out of the club backwards. ‘Should we go outside and make sure Vinny is all right, do you think?’

      Queenie glared at Joanna. ‘Are you tuppence short of a shilling or something? I told you earlier that men like Vinny do not want or appreciate their birds sticking their oar in. How old are you again?’

      Joanna’s eyes welled up. She was having her worst birthday ever. ‘I’m eighteen today, and I was only trying to help.’

      Feeling a bit guilty, Queenie softened her tone. She’d had no idea that it was Joanna’s eighteenth birthday. Vinny had failed to mention it. ‘Sorry if I was a bit abrupt with you, love, but it’s only for your own good. Did you notice how all these people inside the club, including myself, ignored Vinny dragging that man outside?’

      Joanna nodded.

      ‘Well, that’s what you’ve got to learn to do. Hear no evil, see no evil – you get what I’m saying?’

      If there was ever a moment when Joanna wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew, then that moment was now. Did she actually know Vinny Butler at all?

      Down the side of the club was a small alleyway where the bins were kept. ‘What you gonna do to me? I’ve already said I’m sorry, Vinny. I didn’t do anything wrong in the club. Please just let me go home.’

      ‘You did do something wrong, Bobby. You disrespected my brother and cousin by turning up at their wake smelling like a brewery and dressed like a cunt. You also disrespected Michael and myself by entering our club,’ Vinny said, grabbing an empty vodka bottle out of a nearby bin.

      Flinching, Bobby put his hands over his head to protect himself. He already lost a clump of hair, he’d felt it rip out as Vinny dragged him along the floor. The next thing he knew, Vinny smashed the bottle against the wall, yanked Bobby’s head upwards by his fringe, then stabbed the jagged edge deep into the left side of his face.

      ‘You bastard! What you done to me?’ Bobby yelled as blood began to spurt out of his face at a rapid pace.

      ‘Think yourself fucking lucky I’ve only scarred you, because I am telling you now, you ever cross my path again, Jackson, I will kill you stone dead.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Queenie put her coat on over her nightdress. It was the middle of the night, but she had to check on Vivvy. Sleep was out of the question until she’d put her mind at rest.

      Vinny had organized a locksmith to mend the lock and remove the chain from Vivian’s door, so Queenie was able to let herself in with her own key. She poked her head around Viv’s bedroom door and was alarmed to see the bed empty. ‘Vivvy, where are you?’

      The answer to Queenie’s question came when she opened Lenny’s bedroom door. Her sister was laid out like a starfish, face down, on the centre of his bed.

      ‘Vivvy? Wake up, sweetheart.’

      After a couple of minutes of prodding and poking, Queenie tried to move her sister. It was then she saw the empty tablet container. Panic-stricken, she let out a deafening scream.

      Vinny Butler woke up at midday with the headache from hell. The phone had been ringing all morning, but he had felt incapable of lifting his bonce off the pillow.

      Picking up an empty glass, he filled it with water and downed it in one. Since Lenny and Roy’s death, he had kept his promise to Michael and stayed off the coke. Trouble was, before he had snorted the shit he had been able to hold his drink, but now he couldn’t. After cutting Bobby Jackson last night, he had got well and truly hammered.

      When the phone rang again, Vinny staggered into the lounge to answer it. ‘Slow down, Mum. I can’t understand you. What’s happened?’

      ‘It’s Vivian. She’s tried to kill herself.’

      Ahmed Zane sat down opposite his cousin in the small restaurant situated just off Tottenham High Road. The establishment had been funded by Ahmed. Burak ran it, and the two men split any profits straight down the middle. ‘How’s business?’ Ahmed asked.

      ‘Good. It’s been busy lately. How’s that loyal friend of yours? You seen him yet?’

      Ahmed told him about Vinny visiting him at home, then filled him in on what had occurred at yesterday’s funeral.

      ‘So, what happens now? I am still on good terms with the Finsbury Park lads.

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