‘I can hear your thoughts,’ says Michael, killing the engine and looking at his brother. ‘I know you’re worrying.’

‘I said nothing, brother …’

‘You’re thinking that the Teagues are kin, aren’t you? That we’re on their side, and that the thing to do is to get Papa his daughter back, aren’t you?’

Padua nods, chewing his lip. He feels ashamed.

‘And you’re right to think those things, so you are,’ says Michael, stubbing out his cigarette against the glass of the window. ‘It speaks well of you. Speaks of a man with a good heart. But you’ve too soft a heart, that’s the thing of it, boy. Don’t let yourself think of the other stuff, do you? Like, why didn’t Papa ask us to babysit her from the off, eh? Why send her to some silly gobshite in a shitty flat in Scunthorpe? Why keep it from us? It’s because they’ve got no real love for us, Padua. Not the way we have tried to love them. They use us, brother. The things they say …’

‘About what, Michael?’ asks Padua, looking up, his big moon face reflecting back in the glass.

‘About you, boy. About your affliction.’

‘Do they, Michael? Do they say that?’

‘They do, boy. And then they don’t even give us a how-do-you-do when the feud begins afresh? Good enough to get them what they want but not to bring into the fold.’

Padua looks at Roisin. ‘She’s gorgeous, brother,’ he says, softly.

‘Aye, that’ll not be in dispute. But you leave her be, boy. There’ll be more than broken bones if she goes back home with her honour gone.’

Padua looks puzzled. ‘You told me she’d been spoiled, Michael. You said …’

‘You said, you said …’ laughs Michael, eyes dazzling. He looks down at his phone. ‘Oh there’s a cat among the pigeons, boy. Papa’s frothing at the mouth.’

Padua looks again at Roisin. Michael has been waiting for an opportunity like this. He’d been disgusted to learn that Roisin Teague had been staying in the care of a fat witch in Scunthorpe these past days and weeks. Had said a whole rosary of prayers, begging the Good Lord to bring her to him for protection. Had chewed his knuckles bloody when he learned of what happened to Eva-Jayne. And then Roisin had called them. Said that the bad man had come for her and she’d managed to get away. Said they were kin, and that she needed somewhere to stay and a way to contact her father. Michael had already made up his mind before he hung up the phone. He’d give her back to Papa Teague, but not for free. And he’d give Papa Helden the chance to outbid his rival. He’d had the good grace to look a little sheepish about it, but the way he saw it, this was an opportunity too good to pass up.

‘What about Cromwell?’ asks Padua, quietly.

Michael rolls his eyes. Sucks spit through his teeth. ‘Fucking fantasy, boy,’ he says, scornfully. ‘I don’t know a soul who’s seen him in the flesh. And Papa Helden doesn’t need outside help, the ruthless bastard.’