Declan walked from the room slowly and, once more, seated himself behind the big old desk that his brother had bought at an auction years before. He picked up the bottle of Glenfiddich and poured himself out another generous measure. He knocked it back quickly, and immediately poured himself out another large glass. The dawn was breaking. He could hear cars in the distance, the sound of people going to work, to jobs that paid the same wage week after week, year after fucking year. It was completely alien to him, that kind of life. But, as Patrick had always said, without people like them, Britain would be fucked. They were the people who kept the country going, who worked in the industries that made Britain great. They were the backbone of the country; without them and the work ethic they possessed, Patrick had always said Britain would die on its feet. There was a beautiful logic in there somewhere, a brutal truth that couldn’t be denied. He sighed heavily, and looked at Michael warily. He was still standing there, not even a movement or a word to indicate he had heard anything that Kelvin McCarthy had said.

Michael could see the confusion on Kelvin’s smug face. He had expected a reaction to his little speech. But Michael knew, deep in his heart, that he was never going to give this ponce a swerve. He looked at the man once more. He had everything a man could want. He was big, handsome, he had a fuck-off head of hair, and a father who would have gladly given him the earth on a plate. But he viewed his own father as nothing more than a fucking weapon, used him as a guarantee so he would never have to pay for his mistakes personally. That a man like Christie McCarthy could produce such a fucking weak-willed, avaricious, lazy, vicious, useless ponce like this was beyond Michael’s ken. He would rather be childless than have to own up to fathering someone as heinous as Kelvin McCarthy. Even now, the man thought his name could excuse everything he had done. Michael was so disgusted, and so ashamed for Christie McCarthy, a truly great man. To know that he had produced such a fucking ingrate must be the worst thing a man could experience.

Michael went into the office where Declan was sitting quietly and, pulling out an old chair from the back of the room, he sat opposite him, and held out his empty glass. Declan filled it for him, and they both smiled suddenly.

‘Patrick would never have sat there like you. He just couldn’t have done that, Michael, you know? He had to be in the position of power always. This is the first time I have ever sat behind this desk! What does that say about me?’