‘Your missus was the best fuck any of us had ever had. Phew! What a girl. But God she was wicked. She didn’t tell you any of this, did she? No, I can see from your face that she didn’t. It was her who made sure Claire Milo cleared off. She asked us to put the shits up sweet little Claire, and Ciaran and Jeb did. Good and proper. Girl ran off. Did the dog, while we were at it. Put that fucker in the grave in that little church down near the camp, you know the one?’

Josh felt as if he was dreaming.

Rowan was saying that Shauna had been behind Claire going. Shauna had used the Cleavers to get rid of Claire, and she had been seeing Jeb since . . . for what? He couldn’t even imagine. Visions of Shauna romping in his bed with Jeb Cleaver shot into his brain. His whole world seemed to spin on its axis then. This was his wife Rowan was talking about. The woman he should be closest to in the whole world. Yes, he was aware that Shauna had been wild in her youth. But this . . .

‘What do you mean, a chat?’ he said, his mouth dry as dust. ‘What the fuck you talking about?’

‘Jeb’s been sweet on your girl for years. And she’s liked it that way, know what I mean?’ Rowan winked. ‘Can’t be doin’ with people choppin’ and changin’ that way, our Jeb, and he’s right,’ said Rowan, taking a gulp of scrumpy and belching loudly. ‘Loyalty’s what counts in this world. Your Shauna, she thinks she can move on up and get rid of ol’ Jeb, shake him off like a hound shakin’ off a flea? She can think again.’

Josh thought of Shauna, back at the house.

We’re going to yours . . .

He thought of baby Connor, the light of his life.

‘Where’s the bogs here?’ he said to Rowan.

Rowan was draining his pint while pointing to the left of the bar. ‘But don’t you go wanderin’ off now. You an’ me, we’re goin’ to meet up with old Ciaran at your place and then your good lady is going to be told once and for all that she can’t fuck with us Cleavers and get away with it.’

There was going to be blood. Drunk though Rowan was, Josh could see it, could feel it in the prickling of his skin, in a heightened state of awareness that was so much a part of his life as a boxer. Connor was there at home with his mother, unprotected. In danger. The rest of it, about Shauna? He couldn’t think of that now. Later – if he was able – he would address that, make sense of it. But not now.