Ethel had been her usual light-fingered self and had turned up every day that week with a bag full of goodies. The drink was plentiful, thanks to a fifty-pound gift from uncle Kenny. Knowing Maureen would refuse the gift, he’d sent the money via Ethel. He couldn’t make the party, because he and Wendy were on holiday, but he’d sent a lovely card saying that he’d be thinking of them and hoped they had a great night. At the bottom he’d put a PS telling Tommy to ring him and he’d sort him out with a job.

The money Maureen was grateful for, yet it was her son’s job offer that made her day. She’d often worried about how Tommy would survive after prison. Would anyone want to employ a lad of twenty-five who had spent over a third of his life in clink?

Over the years the ill feeling surrounding Terry Smith’s murder had died down. His mum, Mary, had left the area yonks ago. Unable to deal with her son’s death, she’d moved her family away to make a fresh start. A lot of stories about Terry had surfaced since Mary’s departure. He’d had an awful reputation and had made many people’s lives a misery. Maureen listened, but never commented on the tittle-tattle. Whatever the lad was, he didn’t deserve his bad end at the hands of her son. Nevertheless, she still took some comfort from being told over and over again that her Tommy wasn’t to blame.

‘Terry Smith was bad rubbish, he was due his comeuppance and he got it,’ people said more than once. Even Mary’s old pals from the bingo hall were now Maureen’s friends again. In fact, most of the stories had come from them. Living in Bethnal Green, they’d known young Terry better than most.

Taking a break from her food preparation, Maureen made herself a well-earned brew. Tommy’s surprise party had been all her idea. While inside, he’d changed so much that, surprisingly, she’d become proud of him. He was no longer the obnoxious, skinny little runt he’d once been. He was now six foot tall, handsome, polite and built like a brick shithouse.

While he’d been in Feltham, she’d rarely had a chance to visit him. Kenny had taken her a few times, but the train journey was far too expensive for her to afford on a regular basis. She’d seen much more of him when he’d been moved to the Ville. For the first four years, she’d gone up there once a week. Sometimes she’d go alone, but most of the time either James or Ethel would accompany her.

Her trips to see him had dwindled to once a month after his mate Freddie had been released. Tommy was only allowed one visit a week and, although hurt at first, Maureen fully understood why he’d rather have his mate’s company than that of his boring old mum.

Sipping her tea, Maureen smiled. That Freddie Adams was such a nice lad, and he’d certainly had a positive effect on her Tommy.

‘You watch me, Mum. When I get out of here I’m gonna make something of meself. I might even go into business with Freddie. We’ve often spoken about it,’ Tommy told her.

Maureen savoured her last drop of tea. Her Tommy wouldn’t have to worry about work now his uncle Kenny had offered him a job. He’d be so pleased, she could hardly wait to tell him. Maybe Kenny would take Freddie on as well. Tommy would love that, he’d be chuffed to bits.

Maureen glanced at the clock. It was ten to twelve and Tommy would definitely be out by now. He wasn’t coming straight home. Freddie was picking him up and they were going for a beer first. She wasn’t disappointed, she totally understood. Boys would be boys, after all. He’d rung her only yesterday and promised faithfully he’d be home by seven.

‘I’ve got a surprise for yer, so don’tcha let me down, and make sure you bring Freddie with yer,’ she told him.

Maureen stood up. She had so much food to prepare that she needed to get her arse in gear. Ethel and the girls were coming this afternoon to give her a hand. Susan had agreed to help as well, although Maureen doubted this, as she was too busy chasing after that no-good bastard who had knocked seven bells out of her. Hours she’d sat up casualty with her. As luck would have it, nothing was broken, but her face was cut to pieces and she was bruised from head to toe.

‘Don’t you ever have anything to do with him again,’ she threatened Susan. ‘In fact, I’m takin’ you round to his mother’s. I’m gonna show her what he’s fuckin’ done to yer.’

‘Please, Mum, no,’ Susan screamed. ‘It wasn’t his fault, I’m the one to blame. Please, Mum, just leave it.’

Maureen shook her head in disbelief. ‘If I find out you’re still seeing him, I’ll domp yer me fuckin’ self. And if I ever come face to face with him, God help me.’

Maureen looked at the clock and tutted. The unreliable little mare said she’d be home over an hour ago. Still, she didn’t particularly need any help. She wanted it all done by the time anyone else arrived, so her family and friends could just sit, have a drink and enjoy themselves. They’d all done more than enough already, bless ’em. Maureen sang along happily to the radio as she put the sausage rolls in the oven. Tonight would be her best party ever.

The pomposity of the man’s voice snapped James out of his daydream. ‘I am so sorry, sir. I will look for you immediately.’

James checked through the shirts in the storeroom and, unfortunately for him, came back with the wrong size.

‘I’ve never known such incompetence. Get me the manager, at once.’

Hearing the commotion, James’s employer, Mr Cohen, rushed to the rescue. ‘You take a break now, James. Make us some coffee and I’ll deal with Mr Branson.’

Harold Cohen immediately located the appropriate shirt and handed it to his customer. Full of schmooze, he then talked him into being measured up for one of his most expensive suits. Smiling as he counted the money, he thanked Mr Branson and shook his hand.

Seeing James hover awkwardly in the doorway of the storeroom, Harold waved him over. James walked towards him. He hoped he wasn’t about to receive a telling-off. ‘I’m so sorry. I was about to . . .’ James was stopped mid-sentence by Harold’s loud laughter.

‘You worry too much, James, my boy. Mr Branson is a schmuck, an absolute putz.’

James smiled. He might not have been Jewish, but he’d worked for Harold long enough to have picked up a bit of Yiddish. He was no expert, but he knew both schmuck and putz equalled cock in his own language.

Still laughing, Harold put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Now James, I want you to do me a favour. You’ve been in a bloody trance all day and I’m not telling you off, because I fully understand why. You’re excited about seeing your brother and you can’t wait to get home to that pretty little girlfriend of yours.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ James insisted.

Harold smiled. James might only be his employee, but he knew him better than he knew himself. Maria, the pretty shikseh, had stolen the boy’s heart and Harold could sense it a mile off.

‘You get yourself home, James. It’s quiet now, I’ll finish up here. You have a great night, enjoy yourself and you can tell me all about it next weekend. Oh, and by the way, there’s an extra tenner in your wages. Get yourself a cab home and treat the beautiful Maria to something nice.’

Waving away James’s gratitude, Harold smiled as he dashed out of the shop. It was thirty-two years since his father had retired and he’d inherited the tailor’s shop situated on the Bethnal Green end of Roman Road. In all those years, hand on heart, he could honestly say that James was the best employee he’d ever had. He’d worked for him for well over a year now, and although still at school, he did every Saturday and most of the holidays for him.

Harold had lost count of the number of boys he’d employed over the years. At a guess, he’d say it was anything between forty and fifty. The one thing he was sure of was that none of them could hold a torch to young James. Intelligent, polite, eager to learn and a wonderful salesman, James had everything Harold had been looking for.

At sixty-two years old, he was almost ready for retirement. A father to three gorgeous daughters, James was like the son he’d never had, and would make a wonderful successor. He hadn’t said anything to the boy yet. He believed in doing things properly and he would talk to the lad’s mum before he spoke to him. Deciding to pay her a visit in the next few weeks, Harold happily greeted his next customer.

‘Kev, I’ve gotta go. I’m hours late already and me mum’ll go apeshit if I ain’t home when our Tommy arrives. Not only that, I promised to help her with the food and stuff.’

Kevin shot her a look of pure hatred. ‘Don’t fuck me about, Suze. I’m ready to come, just finish me off, will yer?’

Knowing that Kevin had not yet forgiven her for the Joanne episode, Susan lay back on the bed. She owed him big time for smoothing everything over. Eight stitches, his cousin had ended up with but, thanks to Kev, hadn’t prosecuted. ‘I was attacked from behind, and didn’t see a thing,’ she told the police.

Willing Kev to hurry up, Susan was relieved when he finally shot his load. Swallowing just as he liked her to, she jumped off the bed for the second time.

‘Look Kev, I’ve really gotta go now. I’m sorry you can’t come to the party, but yer know how it is. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’

Smiling, Kevin handed her her jacket. Susan’s mother hated him; he was banned from the house, and if he wasn’t allowed to attend the party, he was fucked if Susan was going to enjoy it. Obviously, Maureen had no idea that her wonderful daughter had smashed a pint glass over his cousin’s bonce. As usual, he was the bad bastard, the villain of the piece.

‘Forget about tomorrow – you’re dumped,’ he said nastily.

Susan was well annoyed. Twenty minutes she’d just spent sucking his sweaty cock and now he had the cheek to dump her! She’d spent weeks grovelling and pandering to his every whim and she was sick to the back teeth of it.

‘What have I done this time?’

Kevin shrugged. ‘Nothing really, I just fancy a break.’

Sick of his stupid mind games, Susan walked towards the door. Usually, she cried and begged forgiveness, but not any more. She’d had enough and was physically and mentally exhausted by their fucked-up relationship.

‘Go fuck yourself!’ she screamed as she slammed the front door.

Kevin was astonished by her little outburst. Years he’d been with her, fucking years, and the odd clump here and there had always stopped her from answering back in the past. It certainly wasn’t a case of love at first sight. He hadn’t even liked her, and had only copped off with her because he couldn’t pull anyone else.

Kevin would never forget that first night with Susan for as long as he lived. His unusually high sex drive was a standing joke to his mates, but Kevin didn’t find it funny, as he’d lost so many birds over it. For some reason, once a night seemed to suit the female sex, whereas he needed it at least half a dozen.

Fucking Susan was the biggest surprise of Kev’s life. Not only was she a nymph, but she was a dirty whore as well. Eight hours that first session had lasted and it would have carried on longer had his knob not been so sore. From that night onwards, he hadn’t been able to keep away from her. Tracey and Darren had fallen head over heels and him and Susan were kind of thrown together due to their love of filthy, non-stop sex.

He’d tried many times during the course of their relationship to get her out of his head. He’d knocked her about, finished with her, shagged loads of other birds, but nothing seemed to erase her from his mind. Even now, four years later, he was sure he didn’t love her. It was hard to explain, but she was like a magnet that kept drawing him towards her.

Flopping back onto his bed, Kev stared at the ceiling and thought about life in general. Tracey and Darren had made a nice comfortable nest for themselves. They had a council flat in Bow and a baby on the way. Kevin envied his friend. He loved kids and couldn’t wait to have his own. Maybe it was time for him to stop playing games, accept his fate and settle down with Susan.

He smiled as he got dressed. He’d spend one last night with a prostitute and from tomorrow he was all hers.