‘I told you this new batch is stronger,’ Karel yelled. ‘Why d’you never fuckin’ listen, you brain-dead piece of shit?’

‘It ain’t my fault,’ Nick repeated angrily, the coke he’d snorted before heading upstairs making him feel invincible. ‘If you wanna blame anyone, blame the cunt you bought it off. I fuckin’ told you to stick to our usual man, ’cos at least we can trust his shit.’

‘So now you think you know better than me?’ Karel shot back furiously.

‘About this, yeah!’ Nick argued. ‘I ain’t being funny, man, but I’m the one who handled everything while you was on lock-down, and I had run-ins with that twat when I found out he cuts his shit with rat poison. We put good stuff out to make the fuckers come back for more, not fuckin’ kill ’em! But, hey . . . what do I know?’ He spread his arms. ‘It’s your business, and you know best.’

‘Yeah, I fuckin’ do, and you’d better remember that in future,’ spat Karel. ‘It’s my shit you wasted; my money you’ve poured down the drain.’

As the men continued to argue, Frank focused on his breathing in an effort to calm his pounding heart as he took over the drying of the dishes. Since the visit from Karel’s enormous friend a couple of weeks earlier, there had been a shift in the dynamics of the gang. Irena barely talked any more, and Frank could tell she was in pain as she moved slowly from one task to the next. But the visit seemed to have had the opposite effect on Karel, and his celebrations hadn’t stopped since he’d returned that night. His drug-taking was completely out of control now, and Frank rarely saw him without a straw up his nose. He was also drinking whisky like it was water, and his mood could switch from genial host to raging psychopath in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, Nick was like that naturally, and the combination of volatile personalities was making the atmosphere in the house feel like a pressure cooker. The other men had felt it, too, Frank was sure, because they seemed to be on edge far more than usual, as if they were waiting for the ticking bomb to explode.

Irena had come back downstairs. Spying her in the doorway, Karel stopped arguing with Nick and jerked his chin up at her.

‘Well?’

She shook her head.

‘Fuckin’ great!’ Karel muttered, running his hands through his hair. ‘So now I’m a tart down.’ He turned back to Nick. ‘More money down the fuckin’ drain.’

‘It ain’t my fault,’ Nick said for the third time.

‘I don’t wanna hear it,’ Karel snapped, slumping down on his chair and snatching up the banknote he’d dropped. ‘Take the others to work, then come back and clean your mess up.’