Declan stood watching him. Michael knew that he had not really believed that he would actually say anything to Patrick, even though they had planned this together. Patrick wasn’t a man who encouraged any kind of criticism about himself, in fact he had a serious problem dealing with it. But something had to be done, and Michael was the only person with the balls to do it.

Patrick looked at Michael. The contempt in his voice was evident. It was not something he had ever thought he would hear directed at him, let alone from young Michael.

‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you might think, Michael. You need to remember that you work for me, mate, not the other way around.’

Michael steadied his voice, aware that he had to try and defuse the situation. But, by the same token, this had to be sorted, things had to be said. ‘And you need to remember who you are, Patrick. If you have any brains you will stop this fucking witch hunt. Think about it. If your daughter actually knew who had knocked her up, don’t you think she might have fucking mentioned it by now? I really do understand how you’re feeling, but you are making a laughing stock of yourself. It’s a joke, Pat. You’re not the only man whose daughter is having a baby on her own. It’s the eighties, it isn’t even a fucking big deal these days.’