As he and the police had drawn a blank on the identity of his father’s killer, Eddie had little option other than to throw himself into his work. Since Christmas, he had let things slip, but he was determined not to fuck up the Mitchell reputation his dad had fought so hard to create in the first place.

The nightmares of what had happened still haunted Eddie. Many a night, he would get up about 3 or 4 a.m. and sit downstairs drinking endless cups of tea. Jessica had been a real star. She was very supportive and, if he was having a black day, she was gentle and understanding.

‘For fuck’s sake, Dad. Three times I’ve asked you the same question and you still ain’t answered me.’

‘Sorry, Rick, I was miles away, son. What were you saying?’

Ricky stood up. ‘Forget it. It’s my round. Same again?’

Eddie nodded. It was his forty-seventh birthday today. Jessica was at home preparing for a dinner party for him. It would be the first time they’d entertained at home since his dad’s untimely death.

Gary and Ricky had declined the invitation of a quiet night in. ‘We’re going to a rave up town, Dad, but we’ll take you out for a beer in the day,’ they’d told him.

Eddie hadn’t minded. They were only in their early twenties and he had been exactly the same himself at their age.

Ricky handed his brother and father their drinks.

‘What exactly is all this rave shit you keep on about?’ he asked his sons.

Gary laughed. ‘If you ain’t heard of raves, Dad, then you must be getting old.’

‘They’re a new thing out. Word has it, they’re gonna sweep the country this summer. The music’s blinding, Dad. They play house music. Everyone gets out of their nuts and they go on all night long,’ Ricky added.

‘You two ain’t fucking taking drugs, are you?’ Eddie asked.

Gary shook his head. ‘We just get pissed and pull all the birds, Dad,’ he lied.

Neither Gary nor Ricky were really into drugs, but ecstasy tablets were a new thing out, and they liked to drop an occasional one. They liked the ones called American burgers. They were proper happy pills and you could dance all night on them. These raves went on for hours and without something in your system to keep you going, you’d be as out of place as a pig in a synagogue.

‘So, who’s coming round yours tonight?’ Ricky asked his father.

‘Raymondo’s bringing Polly, his bit of posh, round. We ain’t met her yet. He was bringing her round Boxing Day but, obviously, when Grandad was found dead, he didn’t. Vicki and Dougie are coming and I’ve also invited Patrick Murphy and his old woman.’