Michael looked at his old friend. Declan was ageing before his eyes. It didn’t help that he dressed like a fucking Nigerian refugee. He always looked like he had got dressed in the dark. ‘I suppose so. But Josephine wanted me to report back to her, and how can I do that now? I’ve sent someone round to her gaff. She won’t like it, but who gives a fuck? I need to know she’s OK.’

Declan didn’t say anything. Jessie Flynn was notorious in their world. Her name was a by-word for whoring. She had used up all her brownie points with her uncle Declan years ago. She disgusted him now. If she was his daughter he would have crippled her many moons ago, put a stop to her gallop then and there. She had slept with everyone they knew.

‘Daughters, eh, Declan? A breed apart!’

Declan laughed gently. ‘I wouldn’t know, Michael. I never wanted kids, or a wife, come to that. You know me, mate. I never felt the urge to reproduce.’

Michael was laughing despite himself. ‘I can’t say I fucking blame you for that. Anyway, what’s the score? I heard about the aggro in the lap-dancing club.’

Declan groaned theatrically, pleased to be changing the subject. ‘If you had seen the bloke who caused it, you’d freak out. He was as old as the hills for a start, and the girl was all of nineteen. He had made the fatal mistake they make, of course – assumed that because he had been giving her money all night he owned her. Then, when her shift was over and she tried to leave, he kicked off. Typical city type, thinks the whole world owes him allegiance. Well, he got a fucking slap in the end – there was no talking to him. He’s barred now, the wrinkled up old ponce.’ Declan motioned for more drinks before saying craftily, ‘I had to laugh, though, he was two grand down, and drunk as a coot, but he was a game old fucker, I’ll give him that.’

Michael was laughing with him now. ‘It always amazes me that they just don’t get it.’

Declan picked up his fresh pint, drinking deeply, enjoying it. ‘’Course they don’t get it, Michael. If they did we wouldn’t earn a fucking bean!’

Chapter Ninety-Five

Chapter Ninety-Five

Hannah Flynn was listening to her arch enemy with interest. Lana wasn’t her favourite person, but she did oftentimes have a good insight into her daughter’s life.

‘I tell you, Hannah, my Josephine is getting worse. If it wasn’t for that little boy I don’t know what she would do.’