Kimberley Chambers - Tainted Love

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2016

Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photographs © Konstantin Suslov Photography

Kimberley Chambers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007521791

Ebook Edition © July 2016 ISBN: 9780007521784

Version: 2019-03-01

In memory of my dear friend David’s father.

Frank Fraser

1923–2014

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Part Two

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Part Three

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Have You Read Them All?

Acknowledgements

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Queenie Butler slung another of her ornaments in the box marked ‘RUBBISH’ and momentarily felt comforted by the sound of it shattering into tiny pieces. That’s how her heart felt right now: broken and beyond repair.

Delving into a bag, tears stung Queenie’s eyes as she came across the first suits she’d ever bought her beloved boys. Vinny had been about nine, Roy seven and Michael a mere toddler. So smart they’d looked at their nan’s funeral. Everybody had commented on how fine they were turned out, but what was the point of keeping the bloody things? Wouldn’t be needing them now, would they?

Huffing and puffing, Big Stan ambled down the stairs with yet another heavy load in his arms. ‘That’s the last of it, Queen. The loft’s empty, love.’

‘Thanks, Stan. Only remembered I had stuff up there this morning and didn’t know who else to bloody ask. Thanks for always being there for me and mine over the years. I was never the perfect neighbour, I know that. Too wrapped up with me own, I suppose.’

‘Don’t be daft! You’ve always been the Queen of this street and always bleedin’ will be in my eyes. Ain’t gonna be the same without you and Vivvy, that’s for sure,’ Big Stan replied, his voice tinged with genuine sadness.

Queenie handed her neighbour a photograph. ‘Remember that night?’

Big Stan stared at it solemnly. Queenie and Vivian, so happy and vibrant-looking, done up to the nines in their expensive furs. Vinny and Roy, fresh-faced teenagers, suited and booted with a menacing edge even back then. Michael and Brenda, innocent schoolchildren with their whole lives ahead of them – or so you would’ve thought. And young Lenny Harris, poking his tongue out for the camera. ‘Course I remember it. Early sixties, was taken at the opening of the Butlers’ club. Brilliant night that was, the joint packed to the rafters. Teddy Drake the comedian and Dickie doobry – what was his name? The singer.’

‘Parker. Dickie Parker. Those were the days, eh, Stan? The good ol’ days. Look how happy we were. Breaks my heart to think the majority of us in that photo are now dead. None died from natural causes either. Murder and bleeding mayhem killed ’em all. What did my family ever do to deserve such tragedy, Stan? Perhaps we were wicked bastards in a past life, eh?’

Big Stan’s eyes welled up. ‘Bless your heart, Queen. Gonna miss you, ya know. Me and the missus moved ’ere in 1944 and you were the first neighbour we ever spoke to. You were pregnant with your Vinny and I offered to carry your shopping bags. Where have all those years gone?’

‘In a puff of misery, that’s where.’

Awkwardly hugging the distraught woman, Big Stan mumbled, ‘I wish there was something I could say or do to make things right for you, lovey. I’m truly sorry for your loss and for what happened at the wedding. Me and the missus will be attending the funeral of course and … Well, you’ve got our number if you need us for anything else in the meantime.’

‘You’re a diamond, Stan. What’s the fucking racket outside? Because if it’s that scum over the road again, mood I’m in, I’ll march over there and take an ’ammer to ’em.’

Big Stan looked out the window. ‘Yeah, it’s them. I’ll have a word. When did our wonderful Whitechapel go so downhill, Queen?’

Telling Stan to pour them both a large brandy, Queenie settled herself in her armchair and waited for him to take a seat on the sofa. ‘I’ll tell you exactly when things went from bad to bloody worse, shall I? Now cast your mind back to the spring of 1986 …’

Love me or hate me,

Both are in my favour.

If you love me,

I’ll always be in your heart.

If you hate me,

I’ll always be in your mind …

Anon

‘Sit yourselves down, boys,’ Queenie Butler ordered. Vinny was forty now, Michael thirty-six, but both obeyed their mother as though they were still small children. Respect went a long way in their world.

‘I’ll make us a cuppa. I don’t know what this bleedin’ world’s coming to, I really don’t,’ Vivian mumbled miserably.

Vinny and Michael glanced at one another. Their mother rarely summoned them to her house at such short notice these days, and it was obvious that both she and Aunt Viv had their serious heads on.

‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked.

‘Mr Arthur, that’s what. Poor old sod had his medals stolen. Inconsolable, he is. Wasn’t that long ago he was mugged, was it? That old bag Sylvie Stanley’s son was involved, by all accounts.’