He could hear the swearing and threats coming from the other room, and he closed his eyes in annoyance. This wasn’t his gig – this was Michael Flynn’s territory. He didn’t like being dragged into it all, but he had no choice in the matter. Someone had to do something before it got out of hand. This was the kind of situation that could easily cause a war.

He saw the headlights of a car as it pulled up outside, and he waited patiently for Michael to join him. He was really aggravated, but he knew he had to keep a lid on it until this was all sorted out. One thing at a time, had always been Patrick’s mantra, and Declan chose to live by it.

Michael opened the door and, as he walked in, Declan saw that the man was already angry. ‘Tell me this is a fucking joke, Declan.’

Declan shook his head, nervous suddenly. Michael Flynn looked fit to be tied, and that wasn’t a good thing. ‘Like I’d bring you out at this time of night for a fucking laugh. I’ve been trying to get you all evening. This is your fucking business, Michael, not mine.’

Michael knew he was right. He should have answered the phone – no one rang the house unless it was important. Josephine was his only weak spot, his Achilles heel. He had fucked up big time.

‘So, come on then, what fucking happened?’

Declan realised that the man in the next room had suddenly gone quiet. He assumed that he had heard Michael’s voice, and was now rapidly sobering up and wondering how he could get out of the situation he had caused.