LITMIR.BIZ

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to have Daniel and Adam for the day. Did she not love him any more? Was their marriage over? Well, there was only one way to find out. An ultimatum should do the trick. ‘Nance, I cannot believe what you just said. “I will look after the boys for you” – have you forgotten you’re their mother? Look, I know you’ve been ill and I sympathize with that, but now you’re feeling better, you need to have a think about us. I’ll give you a week to get your arse back home, and if you don’t, I shall start divorce proceedings. Our sons are unsettled enough as it is at the moment and I won’t allow you to keep fucking them about. They miss you, I miss you, and you should be back at home where you belong. You can’t hide behind your parents for ever. As for the funeral, the boys are coming with me, end of. It’s not fair on Lee if they don’t.’

      ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bad mum and wife, but I have been really ill,’ Nancy replied, her voice full of emotion.

      ‘No, you haven’t been ill, Nance, you’ve been depressed. Two different things, so my mum reckons. Don’t you think I get depressed too? My cousin has just been beheaded in a car crash, Roy has blown his brains out, and I’m currently trying to run a business and bring up three kids on my own. Do you wanna swap fucking places? Listen, I’ve got to go now. I need to get round my mum’s and the boys haven’t had any breakfast yet. I meant what I said though, Nance. You’ve got a week to make up your mind, or we’re finished.’

      Joanna Preston held Vinny’s arm as they strode towards Queenie’s house. It had been her boyfriend’s idea that she ring her mum this morning. He had said that her eighteenth birthday was as good a time as any to try and patch things up. He’d also insisted she tell her mum that she was pregnant.

      ‘You OK? Shame your mum went off on one, but she will come round in time you know,’ Vinny said. He had been dying for Johnny Preston to find out that he had got his daughter up the spout. Deborah was bound to tell him the news, and Vinny only wished he could be there to see the look on the bastard’s face.

      ‘Are all these people here for the funeral, Vinny?’ Joanna asked, as they turned the corner. There was a crowd of about a hundred or so.

      ‘Yeah, must be. Bit early they are, though. I hope they haven’t knocked on my mum’s door. I told them to leave her be,’ Vinny replied. His mother had insisted that, apart from family, she wanted nobody inside the house.

      The flowers spread across his mum and aunt’s front gardens brought a lump to Vinny’s throat. The wreath he had chosen, with ‘Champ’ spelled out, was that big it literally shone out like a beacon.

      Little Vinny was ten years old and with his black hair and piercing green eyes it was like looking at his father at the same age. Unfortunately for Queenie, her grandson had picked up many of Vinny’s traits. He was obstinate, had a temper on him, and once he got a bee in his bonnet, there was very little reasoning with the child.

      ‘I’ll say this once more, Vinny. Get upstairs and put your suit on before I brain ya. I really don’t need you performing today, boy. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.’

      When Little Vinny didn’t move out of the armchair, Queenie was moving in to give him a good clout round the earhole when she heard the front door open and close. ‘About bloody time too. I’ve had all them nosy bastards out there knocking on the door, and now your son reckons he isn’t coming to the funeral,’ Queenie told Vinny.

      Ordering Joanna to keep his mum company in the kitchen, Vinny walked into the lounge and shut the door. ‘What’s the matter, boy?’

      ‘Don’t like funerals. They remind me of my mum dying.’

      Vinny crouched next to his son. Little Vinny had barely known his mother. Karen had been a stripper at the club when she’d fallen pregnant by Vinny. He’d paid her off and brought his son up with the help of his mum. When Little Vinny was five, Karen had turned up on his doorstep like a bad penny. He’d had her done away with, ordering that her murder be made to look like a heroin overdose. ‘Look, boy, I know you aren’t happy about me being with Joanna and her being pregnant, but I bet once your brother or sister is born, you’ll be in your element.’

      ‘No, I won’t. I hate babies,’ Little Vinny replied, his lip protruding sulkily.

      ‘But it won’t stay a baby for long. It will soon be old enough for you to talk to and take out. I remember sulking when your nan fell pregnant with Roy. I wanted to be the only kid. When Roy was born, I soon grew to love him – and you’ll be the same when Jo’s baby is born. You’re my first-born, Vinny, and you’re always going to be more special to me than any other kid.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, really. I’ve always been closer to Nanny than Roy, Michael or Brenda were, and that’s because I was her first-born. Number one son you are, boy. Very special that is.’

      When Little Vinny grinned, Vinny ruffled his hair. ‘Now, go and put your suit on.’

      Vivian Harris took one last look inside Lenny’s old bedroom and shut the door. It looked bare and cold now, just like her heart felt. The dustmen must have taken away his stuff because she’d looked out of the window an hour ago and it was gone. A mass of flowers had replaced her son’s belongings.

      Hearing voices outside, Vivian peeked through the curtain again. ‘Nosy fucking bastards. Go away and leave me alone,’ she muttered. She had only ever been interested in her family. In her eyes, nobody else mattered.

      Aware that somebody was staring up at her, Viv jumped away from the curtain. She poured herself another brandy and lay down on her bed. As soon as her pest of a sister left for the funeral, she planned to fall asleep and never wake up. Lenny needed her, he always had, and she was determined to be there in heaven for him. That’s if the bastard place existed, of course.

      When Michael arrived, Queenie Butler battled her way through the well-wishing mourners to get to her sister’s house. Vivian had insisted on being left alone earlier and had promised she would knock at Queenie’s as soon as the coffins arrived. She hadn’t. Queenie put her key in the door, but the chain was on. ‘Viv, it’s me. Let me in.’

      When she still received no reply, Queenie started to get angry. ‘Vivvy, open this bastard door now,’ she yelled.

      Aware of Nosy Hilda and Mouthy Maureen staring at her, Queenie pushed past the gawping mourners and marched back to her own house. ‘Vinny, you’re going to have to do something. Viv’s locked herself in and she won’t answer the door. It’s all your fault for fitting that poxy chain lock, so best you sort it. What with your sister and son, I’ve had enough drama for one day.’

      Vinny snatched the key off his mum, then darted next door. ‘Auntie Viv, come and take this lock off please. We have to leave soon, the cars are here.’

      After five minutes of begging his aunt to answer the door and receiving no reply, Vinny took a couple of steps back and booted the door open. He looked in the lounge first, then ran up the stairs.

      ‘Go away and leave me alone,’ Vivian screamed when her bedroom door flew open.

      ‘What you doing, still in bed? We have to leave in a minute. Why aren’t you dressed?’ Vinny asked.

      ‘Because I ain’t coming. Nothing is going to bring my Lenny back. Why would I want all them nosy cunts out there gawping at me, revelling in my misfortune?’

      Clocking the bottle of brandy on Vivian’s bedside cabinet, Vinny sighed. Only his mother could sort this one out and she was going to go apeshit when she found out Viv was sloshed. He ran back to his mum’s, drew her aside and told her, ‘Viv reckons she isn’t coming to the funeral. She’s still in bed and she’s slurring. I think she’s pissed.’

      Queenie Butler was out the door like a bat out of hell. Her black hat flew off in a gust of wind as she ran down the path, but she did not stop to retrieve it. First Brenda playing up, then her grandson and now Vivvy. Did the selfish bastards not realize that she was grieving too?

      ‘Is everything all right, Queenie?’

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