‘They ain’t carting her off to one of them fuckin’ nuthouses, Maur. I ain’t having it. She can come and live with me, I’ll take good care of her.’

Maureen had begged her mother-in-law to change her mind. ‘You’ve got arthritis yourself, you ain’t gonna be able to cope. I know it’s sad, Mum, but you’ve gotta face facts. Glad needs professional help. What if she burns your house down with you inside?’

Ethel was adamant. ‘Don’t take no notice of all the fuckin’ gossip-mongers. She forgot she’d put something in the oven, that was all. We’ve been friends for over half a century and I know she’d do the same for me. She ain’t goin’ to one of them loony bins, I won’t let it happen.’

Maureen had watched in horror over the next couple of days as Tommy and Freddie had moved all Gladys’s stuff that had survived the fire across the road. Ethel could be such a stubborn old cow at times. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken herself and Maureen was sure it would all end in tears. She could understand Ethel’s loyalty towards her friend, but not her refusal to admit to the woman’s illness.

James had been another problem. He’d started full-time work in Harold’s shop a couple of weeks ago. Trouble was, he was living a party lifestyle and she had terrible trouble getting him up in the mornings. His elder brother was becoming a bad influence on him. Before Tommy came out of nick, she’d rarely seen James drunk. Now he was pissed all the time. Last week, when he’d staggered in at six in the morning, she’d had to call in sick for him. A massive row had followed.

‘You’ve gotta pull yerself together, James. You’ve been given a wonderful opportunity in life; don’t fuck it up, son.’

He’d agreed with her at the time, but nothing had changed since. He was still going out every night and coming home at all hours. Maureen just hoped that Harold didn’t change his mind about the offer he’d handed James. The silly little sod would know all about it if he lost his job and the business was snatched away from under his nose.

At least Maureen had the one good bit of news. Susan’s engagement had come as a bolt out of the blue and her daughter was on cloud nine.

Maureen smiled. The engagement party was this Saturday and she was really looking forward to it. If being a gran wasn’t exciting enough, she was now going to be mother of the bride!

Kev’s mum worked in a local pub as a barmaid and had organised the party there. The Prince of Wales, in nearby Duckett Street, was better known to everyone as Kate Odder’s. Kate, the guv’nor, had agreed to section off half the pub and allow the kids to have it free of charge. Usually Maureen would have held a little do for them around hers, but for once, she was glad of someone else doing all the work. With everything that had been going on, she’d been really stressed out and organising a get-together had been the last thing she needed.

Tommy had been another pain in the arse. People kept dropping hints that he wasn’t working on the building site. At first Maureen hadn’t taken much notice of the snide remarks, until yesterday, when her two best friends, Sandra and Brenda, had had a quiet word in her shell.

‘Look, Maur, we don’t wanna be the ones to tell yer this, but someone’s got to. Your Tommy ain’t working where he says he is. My dad, Archie, says he’s hanging about in a pub in Poplar most days of the week. He reckons he’s well known in the area, and him and his mate, Freddie, are a pair of villains.’

Maureen’s heart sank. Her heart told her that they’d got it all wrong, but her head told her differently. Ethel had always said the same thing and they couldn’t all be bastard well wrong. There must be some truth in the rumours – there had to be. She needed to do some investigating, find out the truth. She certainly didn’t want James going out with Tommy all the time if he was up to no good. If Tommy got her baby into any trouble, she’d fucking well kill him.

She hadn’t said anything to anyone about what she’d been told. She needed proof before she tore into Tommy and went shooting her mouth off. One thing she was sure of, though: if Brenda and Sarn were right, she’d kick his arse out of her house so fast, he’d bounce down the fucking road. Maureen was just about to hatch a plan to catch the bastard out, when she was interrupted by a frantic Ethel.

‘Quick, Glad’s fallen over. I can’t lift her, can yer give us a hand?’

Maureen slammed her cup of tea down and ran out of the house.

Freddie chuckled. Things had been going incredibly well since they’d upped their game. Three little post offices they’d spun in the last few weeks, which in total had earned them nigh on fifteen grand. They’d left the big towns and cities well alone. There was more money to be earned in them, but with the two of them working alone, they didn’t have the manpower. In the bigger offices you needed to be in and out in well under five minutes. Any longer than that and the police would be on your tail.

Freddie’s uncle Bobby had given them all the vital information. He’d once made the mistake of hitting busy areas. ‘Too many have-a-go Charlies willing to get themselves in the papers as some two-bit hero,’ he told them. It had been Freddie’s idea to hit the countryside. The money wasn’t fantastic, but the jobs were easy peasy.

The owners were naive and the plastic screens that protected them could be smashed with one clump of a baseball bat. Not only that, you could leg it from the building and literally bump into no one. Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridge they’d hit so far, tiny little villages with more cows than people. Freddie had insisted that they hit a different area every time, so they wouldn’t arouse suspicion. They’d even invested in a country wardrobe. When they went to work they wore waxed jackets and corduroy trousers and they looked like any other local until the masks came down and the gun flew out.

After initially being nervous, Tommy now loved the adrenaline of having a real shooter. They’d even fired it in Suffolk, when the old dear behind the counter had refused to hand over the money. Working with a gun had added to his confidence no end, and his nerves had all but disappeared.

Tommy counted out £500, handed half to Freddie and pocketed the rest himself. ‘Shall we go out and celebrate, mate?’

Freddie nodded. ‘Let’s get rid of the dough first, eh?’

Even though they were raking it in, the boys were careful with the money they spent. They always had big wads in their pockets, but steered well clear from buying anything that made them look like big-time Charlies. With both of them still living at home, they’d had no option other than to bring James in on the act. Neither of them had bank accounts and even if they had, they couldn’t have used them. James was their bank manager. He hid their money easily for them in the shop. Freddie had been wary about including James, but Tommy had insisted.

‘He’s as good as gold. He’ll be great cover and we can bung him a few quid here and there.’

Freddie opened the door and urged Tommy to hurry up. ‘Come on then, Bethnal Green it is. I’ll call a cab. We don’t wanna walk about with this lot on us.’

Tommy smiled. Life couldn’t be any fucking better.

‘James, my boy, I’m off to see that meshugeneh in Gants Hill to pick up my money. Then I have to go to the shikseh in Aldgate to pick up some shirts. Will you be OK locking up tonight, son?’

James smiled. ‘I’ll be fine, Harold. You have a good weekend.’

‘And you have a nice weekend, too. Enjoy your sister’s engagement party and I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning. Don’t forget to wish her mazel tov for me.’

James sighed as Harold left the shop. He was such a lovely man, and he didn’t want to hurt him. Feeling guilty, James carried on with the stock check. It was a month now since he’d been working full time in the shop and as much as it upset him to say so, he’d hated every moment of it. Working Saturdays and school holidays had been a different kettle of fish. He’d been a kid then and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience and pocket money. Now that he’d left school, things were very different. He was bored shitless, stuck in the shop day in, day out. The early part of the week was the worst; sometimes they’d go hours without even greeting a customer.

He enjoyed having money in his pocket all the time, but the boredom outweighed the earnings. Giving it up wasn’t an option. Harold would be heartbroken and his mum would bloody well kill him.

‘All right, Jimmy boy. On your own, are yer?’

James smiled as his brother and Freddie walked towards him. ‘Yeah, Harold’s gone out for the rest of the day.’

Tommy handed him a big envelope. ‘Stash that away for us, will yer?’

James told his brother to keep an eye on the shop while he went out the back. His boss was aware that he put money in the safe for Tommy on a regular basis. A man of the world, he asked no questions. He was a slippery bastard, was Harold, and had bundles stashed in there himself.

‘Why don’t you put it in the bank?’ James asked him one day.

‘Gevalt geshreeyeh! I can’t put it in the bank. What if the wife or the tax man get their greedy hands on it?’

James laughed. A rabbi couldn’t be more Jewish than Harold.

As James walked back into the shop, Tommy handed him some money.

‘There’s a twoer there, Jimmy boy. We’re going for a beer now. What time yer finishing?’

‘Six o’clock. Where will yer be?’

Tommy shrugged. ‘Dunno. I’ll ring you on the shop phone at half five and let yer know.’

James watched his brother swagger out of the door. He was so cool, and James wished he could be more like him. Tommy’s life was so bloody exciting, whereas his was dull and boring.

As she approached one of the blokes, she heard wolf whistles. She knew they were taking the piss, because she looked like a packet of hot shit.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to a man in a bright yellow hat. ‘I need to see my son, Tommy Hutton. He’s the manager here, apparently.’

The man smiled, ‘Never heard of him, darling.’

Maureen felt a shiver run through her veins. ‘Is there another estate being built near by? Only, I know he works in this area and he drinks in that pub across the road.’

The man shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge, there ain’t.’

‘Oi, darling!’

Maureen looked up at the young boy with the big ears. ‘What?’

‘Fancy a date?’ he sniggered. All of his mates were standing behind him, egging him on.

Maureen was annoyed, fucking annoyed. As if her day hadn’t been bad enough, she now had a load of dimwits taking the piss out of her.

‘Take no notice,’ said the nice man in the yellow hat.

Maureen had no intention of taking any notice. Cheeky little blighter – she had a son older than him. Looking back up, she glared at him.

‘If yer dick’s as big as them ears, I’ll be more than happy to go out with yer, love.’

The other lads all fell about laughing. Normally, Maureen would have been pleased by her wondrous humour. Not today, though – she had too much on her plate. She had to find that lying no-good bastard son of hers; she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. She’d give him manager of the building site. Making her look a fool like that: she’d kill him for this, fucking well kill him.