Kelvin McCarthy was hurting everywhere. He was bound tightly, and he couldn’t move his arms at all. He was also tired out. He had the hangover from hell, and Michael Flynn was treating him like a fucking no one. He was threatening him, and Kelvin McCarthy felt that he should remind the man of who he was actually dealing with. He was scared, but he was also aware that his father would not allow anything to happen to him. His natural arrogance was coming to the fore. He was safe as the proverbial houses. Michael Flynn wasn’t going to really harm him – he wouldn’t dare. His dad had always stepped in and smoothed everything over. He had stepped over the line, and he would have to pay dearly when his dad learnt the whole story. But that was the point – his dad would ultimately be the one to punish him for his sins, no one else. That is how it had always been.

He sighed theatrically. He could feign abject contrition in his sleep; he had been doing it since he was fifteen and his dad had found out he was a thief. ‘Look, Mr Flynn, I admit it. I fucked up big time. It won’t happen again, believe me. I have learnt my lesson the hard way. But this is dragging on too long now, OK? My joints are screaming with pain, and I can’t feel my hands. I’ve been tied up like this for fucking hours. My dad will be wondering where I am. The people I was with last night will eventually have to tell him what happened – that’s if he hasn’t heard already, of course – but I will explain to him that it was all my fault. I swear to you both, on my mother’s life, that I will walk away from this without any malice towards you whatsoever.’

Michael Flynn listened to him intently, but he showed no reaction to his speech.