Knowing that he had his shooter in the Land Cruiser with him, Eddie swung into a lay-by. The Vodafone he owned weighed a ton, it was hard to hold while driving and he could do without causing an accident, today of all days.

‘I’m driving. What is it, Dad?’ he asked impatiently.

Listening to what his father had to say, Eddie’s mood lifted like magic. ‘No. When? How?’ he asked joyfully.

As Eddie ended the phone call, he turned around in his seat and smiled at Paulie, Gary and Ricky.

Raymond nudged him. ‘Come on, don’t keep us in suspense. What’s happened?’

‘Dad’s just heard that Butch O’Hara’s brown bread. He ain’t sure how he croaked it, but someone he knows said it was a heart attack. Apparently Jimmy’s gonna set fire to his trailer with the body inside.’

‘Why ain’t they gonna have a proper funeral for him? Didn’t they like him?’ Ricky asked bewildered.

Eddie laughed. ‘They like a bit of DIY, the old pikeys. I think it’s custom for ’em to burn the dead in their own homes. Strange bastards, they are, I’ve always said that.’

Eddie whistled as he continued his journey. Lady Luck hadn’t been very kind to Jimmy over the years, and every time he received yet another kick in the bollocks it pleased Eddie immensely.

Even though they lived near one another, Eddie saw very little of Jimmy. His wife, Alice, had left him years ago. Apparently, she had walked into one of his salvage yards and had caught her beloved Jimmy having his cock sucked by some little dolly bird.

Alice was a typical feisty travelling lass and, by all accounts, had gone mental. Rumour had it, she had gone home and, on Jimmy’s return, she had clumped him over the head with a claw hammer. The following day, Alice had packed her bags, shoved the kids in the car and left him for good.

Eddie was overjoyed by Jimmy’s little mishap and dined out on it for months afterwards.

Jimmy was never the same man after Alice left him. Without his wife and kids by his side, he let his businesses slip, sold his Roller, and became a bit of a recluse.

Eddie grinned as he turned off the M1. Jimmy’s mum had died a couple of years back and, now the old man had popped his clogs, he had no one living on his acres of land bar himself.

Eddie stifled a snigger. At least he had his dogs and horses. Maybe the fucking goat was still alive and that could keep poor Jimmy company on his big piece of land.

Frankie put her last fifty pence into the fruit machine. ‘Poxy thing,’ she said, kicking the base of it.