Lenny laughed at that. ‘He could be a right handful now and all, I reckon.’

Reggie laughed with him. He saw Lenny looking at his watch and knew it was the sign he had to go.

Reggie stood up and said casually, ‘I’ll get the shower going for you, and make you a fresh coffee before you go.’

Lenny was already up and out of the bed. Reggie hated this part of the evening, even though he knew this was how it had to be. He heard Lenny singing tunelessly in the shower as he rinsed out the cafetière in the kitchen.

Chapter Sixty

Frank Barber was not a big man by any means, but he was mean. He had the look of one who was unpredictable and who could be capable of great violence. It was as if he was trying to hold it inside him, and that communicated itself to the people around him and made them wary of him. He had grey hair that was thick and wavy, and his eyes were a greeny-blue that gave him a claim to good looks. When he had been a young man he had been a fine specimen. Now he was in his sixties, but he still got the odd look from women.

Frank Barber’s saving grace was that he loved his kids with all his heart. His eldest son was severely disabled and Frank had taken him everywhere with him, as proud of him as he was of his daughters. His son had died while Frank was doing a nineteen and it was said that he’d cried like a baby. Then he had smashed the wing up and spent three months in solitary. One of the screws that had tried to contain him had lost an eye. He was a hero in the nick, but he had missed his son’s funeral.

Now he was out on the streets, eager to get back into the game and, as he stood in the pub, he wondered at how the world had changed while he had been banged up. A few of his old cronies had come to pay their respects and Frank had been shocked at how they all looked. Thanks to his own fitness regime in the nick, he was still in pretty good shape for his age. He was holding court when two big, dark and handsome men came over and introduced themselves.

He had heard of Lenny Scott and he was pleased at the way the boy and his companion respectfully shook hands with him. He liked the way they were deferential to the older men there and that they wore decent suits and good shoes. Things like that were very important to Frank Barber. After wishing him well, they said their goodbyes and left the pub quickly.

One of the men there, Davey Foster, said sagely, ‘That is Jack Johnson’s blue-eyed boy.’