his dingle-dangle out in public. Vivvy used to get so embarrassed and Lenny would look at me with a twinkle in his eye and I knew he only did it to wind his mother up. Used to flash at people he did not like, so if anybody here today had the misfortune of coming face to face with Lenny’s dingle-dangle, sorry, but you obviously was not one of my nephew’s favourite people.’
Queenie told two more funny stories, then wrapped her speech up by saying, ‘Rest in peace, Roy and Lenny. Your family loved you both very much.’
The service came to a close with ‘On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep’ and it was then that Queenie finally broke down. She had tried to be so strong for the sake of her sister and family, but the tears she had been storing seemed to all flow out at once.
Vinny held his mother close to his chest. Her shoulders were hunched like those of a much older woman, and it was as though she had aged ten years in the past ten days. All he could do was stroke her hair and tell her, ‘I know it’s terribly sad, Mum, but Roy will be happier in heaven, I know he will.’
Michael was the first to notice the criminal element amongst the mourners. As he left the church, he tapped Vinny on the shoulder. ‘Lots of faces here, bruv. I’ve just spotted the Mitchells, and I’m sure I saw David Fraser as well.’
The Mitchell firm, led by Harry Mitchell, were out of Canning Town. Harry’s three sons, Paulie, Ronny and Eddie worked alongside him in the pub protection racket, and over the years they had built up a fearsome reputation in the East End.
David Fraser was not a man to be messed with either. Son of Mad Frankie, who was currently banged up at Her Majesty’s pleasure, David came from south of the water. ‘That’s Sid the Snake who David is talking to. I know him quite well. You go and find the Mitchells, Michael, thank them for coming and invite them to the wake. I’ll do the same with David and Sid,’ Vinny ordered.
‘Vinny, why you faffing about here? We don’t want to keep the vicar waiting at the graveside,’ Queenie scolded. She had been bowled over by the wonderful flower arrangements Roy and Lenny had received. There had been hundreds of people standing in front of her house and a big crowd outside the club as the undertaker had walked in front of her dearly departed on their final journey.
‘You go ahead with Auntie Viv, Mum. Michael and I just need to speak to a few people, then we’ll follow.’
‘Well, don’t be too long. As I told you this morning, I expect this to be the perfect send-off.’
The moment the congregation reached the cemetery, Queenie’s wish for the perfect funeral was ruined.
It had been decided that Roy and Lenny would be buried side by side in Plaistow – Bow Cemetery having stopped burials a while back, thus scuppering Queenie and Vivian’s wish to have their sons buried close to their beloved mother. Among the mourners waiting for the cortege to arrive was Ahmed.
When Vivian spotted him, she stopped dead in her tracks. Ahmed was chatting to a couple of men, casually smoking a cigarette as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Who invited that murdering bastard? I’ll kill him! I will bastard-well kill him,’ she screamed as she ran towards him.
‘Ruined our lives, you have. Broken our hearts!’ Queenie shouted, joining Vivian in throwing punches at the man they blamed for Lenny’s death.
Humiliated because the Mitchells were standing nearby, Vinny grabbed hold of his mother and ordered Michael to restrain Vivian. ‘Ahmed loved Lenny, and he wanted to say farewell to him. What happened was an accident, Mum.’
‘Accident! An accident! I’ll give you fucking accident, sticking up for that murdering Turkish cunt,’ Queenie yelled, slapping her son repeatedly around his stupid head.
‘Ahmed, I think it’s best you leave now. This is meant to be a funeral and it’s turning into a circus,’ Michael said, aware that everybody including the vicar was gawping.
‘Let me at him! Let me at the evil murdering shitbag!’ Vivian shrieked, desperately trying to shrug off her nephew’s grip.
Ahmed held his hands up in surrender. ‘I wanted to pay my respects, but I shall leave now. I am sorry if I have upset anybody.’
With Vivian and Queenie still shouting obscenities in the background, Ahmed turned up the collar of his black Crombie coat and slowly walked away, smirking to himself.
Things went from bad to worse as the vicar said a few words after both coffins had been lowered into the ground.
‘What’s that? What you just thrown in my boy’s grave?’ Vivian hissed, prodding her sister’s arm.
‘Zippy the monkey. He loved that toy and you put it out for the dustmen. I thought it should be buried with him, Viv. It was always his comfort thingy.’
‘Noooo! You can’t bury Zippy! I want him. I want to keep him,’ Vivian shrieked. Shoving the vicar out of the way, she literally threw herself on top of her son’s coffin.
As every single mourner present stood frozen, open-mouthed, Queenie was the first to react. ‘Do something, Vinny. Get her out of that hole,’ she screamed.
Dutifully obeying his mother’s orders, Vinny wished the hole could be filled with earth with him in it. His brother and cousin’s expensive farewell had turned into a joke. One that the East End and criminal fraternity would dine out on for years.
Desperate to save face after such a public display in front of the vicar, Queenie made a point of putting on her poshest voice and personally inviting all of the neighbours back to the wake.
‘You can count me out, Queen. I’m in no mood to socialize. I just want to be on my own,’ Vivian told her sister, clutching Zippy the monkey tightly to her chest.
‘Hold that monkey normally please, Viv. People are staring at you. You are coming back to the club. Our neighbours must already reckon you’ve lost your marbles after the way you threw yourself on top of Lenny’s coffin, and if you don’t show your face at the wake, they’ll think you’ve lost the plot completely. Mouthy Maureen and Nosy Hilda will be the first to spread such rumours, you mark my words.’
‘Like I give a shit what any of the bastards think,’ Viv snarled.
‘Yes, you do. You’re just not thinking straight at the moment. We haven’t got to stay at the club long. But we do need to show our faces, especially after today’s little fiasco. That’s the least we can do for our sons’ memory,’ insisted Queenie in a tone that brooked no argument.
Not wanting the wake to be a sombre affair, Vinny had hired a band for the occasion. Max Bennett was an old timer when it came to the East End pub circuit, and he always encouraged punters – or in today’s case, mourners – to stand up and belt out a song or two.
The professional caterers had put on a nice display. As well as the usual buffet food, there was every type of seafood you could imagine, including a dozen big tubs of jellied eels.
‘Good idea of yours, getting Max in to sing, Vinny. I can’t believe the amount of people that turned up. I expected a big crowd, but not quite this big. The Davisons from Charlton are here, and Freddie the Fox,’ Michael informed his brother.
The Davisons were a very big crime family who ran a scrap-metal business in South London as a front for their illegal activities. Freddie the Fox was an ex-bank robber who originated from Whitechapel but had moved to the Costa del Sol after his latest prison sentence had ended. ‘I’ve already spoken to Freddie. Bowled over that he travelled all the way from Spain just for the funeral. I feel such a mug though that I couldn’t go through with the speech. And what with Mum and Auntie Viv’s performance at the graveside …’
Michael put a comforting arm around his brother’s shoulders. ‘You should be proud of yourself today. I have never seen such a well-organized funeral