Briony nodded. ‘We were charged with a very old crime, Danny boy. I know about violence, all right. But we were violent in the’twenties and believe me when I say you had to be violent then. You had to take what you wanted. It wasn’t like today, when the working classes can get an education, can follow their stars. I had the choice between looking after myself and my family, or going under, like me Mum had to.

‘You don’t know the first thing about real violence. Oh, you hurt people, you shoot them. But you have no inkling of real poverty, and that’s where real violence is bred. The survival of the fittest. Me and Tommy came from an era where eating regularly was a result, where keeping warm was a major occupation. You grew up with everything anyone could want. I even sent you two to Ampleforth and what for, eh? What the hell for? You even take pleasure in keeping your East End accent. I take the blame for you two - I should have knocked you down a peg when I had the chance; but being me, I loved you so much I couldn’t see your faults. I made excuses for you and in reality there were none. You were just a vicious little bastard and this is the upshot. I never hurt anyone for fun, for recognition. People had to tread heavily on my toes before I retaliated and that’s why I’m sitting here and you’re sitting there.’

Daniel sneered at her. ‘The voice of Briony Cavanagh. Shall I tell you something? We used to laugh at you and Tommy behind your backs. You was a joke to us. Me and Boysie, we had them there.’ He held out his palm. ‘We had them there, and would have kept them there and all. It was grasses who tucked us up and they’ll pay, believe me.’

Briony shook her head in sorrow. ‘Can’t you see anything, Danny? Can’t you see we’re living in a different world now? The days when you could walk into a pub with a shooter and expect everyone to turn a blind eye are long gone. You made the mistake of making too many enemies. The big I am, were you? Well look where it’s got you. I couldn’t give a monkey’s whether you laughed at us behind our backs, because at the end of the day, Tommy Lane is worth fifty of you, a hundred. That man deserves your respect. If you’d had any sense you’d have emulated him. Fifty years on and he’s still respected, still liked and what’s more, still outside on the street. The way you’re carrying on you won’t see the light of day until the year two thousand.’