‘I know I am, but unlike your bloody boys, me and you don’t heavy people. We don’t shoot stupid bloody thugs in dingy little clubs. Can’t you see that if you don’t put a stop to their gallop, they’ll end up dead or locked up?’

Even though Briony secretly agreed with everything Mariah said, her deep-seated loyalty to her family got the upper hand.

‘They’re my boys and I’ll deal with them.’

‘Well, you do as you see fit. But don’t say I didn’t try and warn you!’

Briony opened the door and snarled back, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

Slamming the door behind her she stormed out of Mariah’s house. She was even more annoyed with the twins now because on top of everything else they’d caused her to row with her best friend. All the way home in her car, she had a pain in her chest.

It was true what people said: the truth hurt. It hurt a lot.

Danny and Boysie came in at two-thirty. After the snooker club they had gone to The Two Puddings in Stratford and had a quiet drink. Watching the Rileys’ counterparts, the Moneys.

Michael Money was the leader and Boysie and Danny had made a conscious effort to ingratiate themselves with him. He was unaware that he was next on their list. Then at ten-thirty they had gone to a drinking club in Frith Street owned by Tommy Lane. There they had gradually come down from their earlier euphoria. As they walked in at the front door of their aunt’s house, the drawing-room door opened and Briony stood there waiting for them.

‘Well, well, well, if it ain’t Frank and Jesse James!’

Despite themselves they smiled. Only their Aunt Briony would talk to them like that.

‘Get in here, you two. Now!’

They walked into the drawing room behind her. Both stood in front of the blazing fire and looked at her.

Even in her rage she was overcome by the sheer power and magnetic quality of the two men in front of her. The two viciously handsome faces were turned towards her. The boys’ eyes and bodies were fiercely alert.

‘I want to know what happened tonight in Silvertown.’

‘I think you already know, Mum.’ The way Boysie called her ‘Mum’ tugged at Briony’s heart. They were her boys, her big boys now. Her Achilles heel.

‘I know enough to realise you two must be off your fucking rockers!’ Her voice filled the room. ‘Shooting people in front of witnesses. Carrying sawn-off shotguns. What next? You going to go in Scotland Yard and rob their payroll? You must be stupid. You are stupid. The Rileys will come after you hammer and tongs. Seamus was to be their next torturer, they worked for the Rileys, all the McNees, and what do you do? You go and shoot them. Jesus wept.’