Claire’s attention returned to the fight and she cringed with revulsion. This was the way Josh earned a crust, the way his dad had, and his grandfather too. Since way back, the Flynns had been doing this, setting up illicit matches in farmers’ barns and at horse fairs and funfairs. This was the way Romanies settled their differences, too; they fought. They didn’t call the muskras or whine to the courts. They went head to head, bare-knuckle, and the winner won the argument.

Pikeys, the gorgis or house-dwellers called them.

But really they were the fearless ones, the people who lived life on their own terms and fuck what the rest of society said about them. Claire wished she was fearless, like Josh. Like that bitch Shauna was too. But she knew she wasn’t.

‘Come the fuck on, break!’ shouted the man in the white blood-spattered shirt and red braces who was trying to referee this whole damned thing and mostly failing.

Claire looked around the crowds. She saw Cloudy there; he styled himself Josh’s ‘manager’, and was shouting louder than anyone. He was going to be furious if Josh did win. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Then her eyes slipped onward and she saw dark-haired, flashing-eyed Shauna Everett standing in among the jostling throng of people, grinning straight at her. Smirking at her. Mocking her.

Fucking Shauna.

Claire forced herself to drag her eyes away from Shauna’s. She looked on, around the heaving, screaming crowds. The Cleavers were in, mob-handed. There was Bill, the father, who was shorter than his three sons but still huge, broad as an ox. Then Ciaran, the eldest boy, with that distinctive milk-white blind eye. Rowan the middle son, solidly fat and grinning as if at some private joke; and Jeb the youngest, who with his black hair and beard almost verged on handsome. Catching her eye, he winked at her. Claire looked away with a shudder.

Whenever she passed the Cleaver place – and mostly she tried not to – Claire thought that it looked sinister, like an indication of the type of people living there. No one ever saw the boys’ mother. Rumour was she’d left, run off years ago, and good luck to her.

Then Claire’s eyes drifted back to the ring and she got a shock.

Matty was sagging against Josh, clinging up close so that Josh couldn’t punch. Josh shoved him back, away, and the crowd roared as Josh’s left fist smacked hard into Matty’s jaw. Matty reeled and then lurched back and swung a haymaker at Josh.

The crowd went crazy. Josh’s mate Sam looked like his head was going to come off his shoulders; his face was beetroot-red as he yelled himself hoarse, urging Josh to finish him.

Josh ducked. Matty charged in. Claire looked away again.