‘Thirty-odd – and don’t you be worrying about me, Mick. I’ll strike one day and when I do that cunt Vinny won’t know what’s hit him. He’ll get his comeuppance, you wait and see.’
Queenie waited until Brenda, Tara and Little Vinny had gone to bed before she sat down and opened Roy’s letter. She had honestly thought her son had left this world without saying a proper goodbye to her and was so chuffed to discover that he hadn’t. Taking a sip of her sherry and a deep breath, Queenie rested her eyes on the page.
Dear Mum
I know if you are reading this letter then my plan and wish to die have been successful. I must explain why I did what I did, and I pray that you will understand.
I could never cope with being confined to a wheelchair from day one, and being paralysed down one side of my body was so awful. Even my face looked terrible where my mouth had dropped and I felt like a freak.
It made me bitter and I know I was nasty to people. Often in the night, I would dream of working at the club and being the man I used to be, then I would wake up and remember that I would never be that man again …
Queenie put the letter on the arm of the sofa. Her tears were dripping onto it, and she didn’t want it ruined. She wanted to treasure it for ever.
Five minutes and another sherry later, she found the strength to continue reading.
You were so lovely and kind every time you came to see me, Mum, and so was Auntie Viv. You deserved so much better than spending the rest of your lives worrying about and visiting some miserable bastard like me. Colleen and Emily-Mae both deserved more too, which is why I set them free.
I have forgiven Vinny, Mum, as not only do I want to rest in peace, I also know it is what you would have wanted. It was down to his past mistakes that I got shot, but he never pulled the trigger on the gun, so I could never truly hate him. It just used to make me angry when I saw him casually walking towards me in those smart suits, as I so craved to be able to do the same again myself.
Before I end this letter I want to ask a few favours from you. Firstly, I want you to be nice to my dad from now on. I know he was a bastard to you years ago, but he isn’t a bad man. I think he just felt very left out because Auntie Viv was always at the house, which is probably why he turned into a drinker and a womanizer.
Secondly, I want you to make sure Emily-Mae gets her inheritance. I still have quite a sum of money in my bank account and I want every penny to go to her when she is sixteen. I know Colleen has a new man now, but that does not alter my wishes. Emily-Mae is my daughter and I want to be the one to support her when she leaves school.
And last but not least, I want you to promise me that after reading this letter you won’t be sad any more. You have always been the strong one of the family and they all need you – Vinny, Michael, Brenda, Auntie Viv, and especially Champ and Little Vinny. You must be happy, Mum, please don’t cry any more.
Until we meet again,
Your loving son,
Roy xxx
Queenie put the letter down beside her and cried more than she had ever cried before.
Spring 1977
Hearing the wonderful voice of Barbra Streisand enhance the radio airwaves, Queenie Butler turned up the volume. Chart music had been wonderful back in the fifties and sixties, but apart from the likes of Barbra, Queenie hated it now. The charts were full of disco music, and as for that punk rubbish, she could not even understand what those vagrant-looking creatures were singing.
Queenie sat down on the armchair and sipped her tea. ‘Morning, boys,’ she said to the photo that now took pride of place on her lounge wall. She didn’t have many photos with just Roy and Lenny in them, but this one was a beauty and she’d had it blown up.
The farewell letter Roy had written her had helped Queenie cope with his death. She had always known how unhappy he’d been after the shooting, though she’d never wanted to admit it. The letter had helped her face facts, and if she were honest it was a relief knowing her son wasn’t suffering any more. Lenny’s death, however, was a different kettle of fish. That boy had died way before his time and, unlike Roy, he had been a happy little soul. Queenie was amazed Vinny hadn’t yet sorted that Turkish bastard out, but her son assured her he planned to and was just biding his time. Queenie would never be able to rest until that day came. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth had always been her motto.
When the phone rang, she answered it and smiled as she heard the sound of her sister’s cheery voice. Vivian’s recovery had been a long and winding road, but she was more than on the mend now. For the past seven months she’d been residing at Goodmayes Hospital – or West Ham Borough Asylum as it used to be known, which Queenie could never understand as it wasn’t even situated in West Ham.
‘Not long now, Vivvy. Five days and you’ll be back in your own bed,’ Queenie reminded her sister. Vivian had her three-monthly review this coming Wednesday, and the doctor had already told Queenie and Vinny that Viv was ready to return home.
‘Oh, I can’t bloody wait, Queen. Nutty Nora’s been at it again. Yesterday she was a bestselling author and today she’s a famous film star. Been flouncing around in her nightie this morning quoting lines from Sunset Boulevard.’
Queenie chuckled. Now that Viv’s humour had returned, the pair of them could share a right old giggle at the expense of some of the other patients.
‘How’s Bren and the baby doing, Queen? No news on Vinny’s little ’un yet, I take it?’
‘No, no news. Jo is long overdue now. She has another hospital appointment on Monday and I reckon they’ll keep her in and start her off. She can barely move and feels ever so uncomfortable, the poor little cow. Vinny said she’s been having trouble sleeping as well. Bren’s OK. She came out of hospital yesterday and is going to stay here for a week or two before she goes home. Tommy’s a gorgeous baby, Viv. Big fat cheeks, arms and legs. You wait until you see him. Happy little soul he is, too. Rarely ever cries. Shame the same can’t be said about the other one,’ Queenie said, referring to her sulky granddaughter.
‘Has Bren mentioned Dean lately?’ Vivian asked. It had been over seven months now since her niece’s husband went out for a newspaper and never returned.
‘Not since the birth, but I can tell she’s missing him. That’s why I suggested she stay here for a while. Not going to be easy for her, bringing two up on her own. If I ever find out where that Dean Smart is, I swear I will pay him a visit and string him up by the bollocks. How a man can walk away and leave his kids is beyond me.’
‘Well, my Bill did,’ Viv reminded her. ‘What time you coming up to see me today? Will you be on your own?’
‘Yes. Michael’s going to drop me off and Vinny said he’ll pick me up. I’ll stop at Mum’s grave and put some fresh flowers down, then I’ll come straight to you. About two-ish, I reckon. I’ve written out a list of ideas for the street party. We’ll go over it together and you can add to it. I want our contribution to be better than anybody else’s, Viv. Vinny suggested setting up a music system in the front garden so we can play all the old wartime songs.’
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