‘I am going to kill this cunt with my bare hands, Declan. How dare he bring this to my door? Whatever might have happened in the past, his fucking beef was with me, not my family. I’m the one who fucked up.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Or, more to the point, Patrick was the one who fucked up. He knew what he was asking me to do. But what I can’t get my head round is that, of all the people I have taken out for whatever fucking reason, the only time it’s come back to bite me on the arse, is the one time I never intended to hurt a fucking soul. I would never have done that for anyone. Taking out women and children? That’s a fucking no-brainer. I would never have agreed to that.’

Declan sighed. He could understand Michael’s feelings. He kept his voice neutral as he said calmly, ‘It’s all relative. That’s in the past, Michael. All you can do now is sort out this shit as best you can.’

They were sitting in traffic at the Lodge Avenue roundabout in Barking. It was so frustrating. Michael was grasping the steering wheel with both hands, he was sweating all over, his fury and impatience intense now. He had no other choice – he had to sit there patiently until the traffic moved. There was nothing else he could do.

Declan could feel the man’s tension – it was understandable, but it was also threatening to get out of control. He lit them both cigarettes, and he passed one to Michael. Then they were on the move. Michael manoeuvred his Mercedes through the traffic skilfully and, as they edged towards Dagenham, he said with obvious relief, ‘Another five minutes in that traffic and I would have run fucking riot through Barking.’

Declan laughed with him; he felt the same way. It was dark now, and the sky was heavily laden with rain clouds. It was close, stormy, and it added to the feeling of urgency. As it started to spit, Michael put on the windscreen wipers. He was already relaxing as they passed the Ford Motor Works along the A13, and slipped into Rainham. After all this time, he finally had a fucking goal to head for.