Harry smiled. ‘Every Wednesday morning Butch travels alone up to Southhall horse market. It’s his only day away from the boys. The horsebox he goes in isn’t kept on the site, he keeps it in a lock-up around the corner. He leaves really early, about half-five and I’m gonna wait for him at the lock-up.’

Reg nodded. He loved the idea. ‘What you gonna do? Frighten him or finish him off?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I dunno. Butch is probably totally unaware that his boys have been performing on our territory. I might just shoot him in the foot, give him a little warning. Mind you, if we have any repercussions, I’ll blow his fucking brains out.’

‘Why don’t you just blow his brains out anyway?’ Ronny said, laughing.

Harry ignored his idiotic son. ‘Oh, one more thing before we go. I’m gonna need a driver to come with me. You up for it, Eddie?’

‘Sure, Dad. When do you wanna do it, this Wednesday coming?’

Harry pondered momentarily. ‘I think we’ll leave it till the following week. They might be waiting for repercussions and we want them to enjoy a nice little surprise.’

Ronny glanced at Paulie. Neither said anything, but both were thinking the same thing. At thirty-six, Paul was the oldest. Ronny was thirty-three, yet Eddie, the youngest, was the golden fucking boy.

Reg clocked Ronny’s annoyance and looked away. He was Harry’s younger brother and had always been in his shadow, yet it had never bothered him. He didn’t mind Paulie, he was OK, but Ronny was a moron and Reg made a mental note to keep a close eye on him. For months, he’d noticed him becoming more and more jealous of Eddie and it wasn’t on – they were brothers, for fuck’s sake.

With the meeting over, everybody said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Joyce glanced at the clock and opened the oven door. She tested the knife in her fruit cake and, happy it was properly cooked, put it on the kitchen top to cool down. Eddie was due to pick her daughter up soon, and she’d baked it especially for him.

Sitting in his armchair, Stanley was unable to concentrate on Hawaii Five-O. Usually, he was glued to anything Steve McGarrett did, but today the only thing he could concentrate on was that smarmy bastard who would shortly be picking his daughter up.

Stanley hadn’t been able to sleep properly the previous night and, when he had dozed off, he’d had nightmares about Harry Mitchell. He’d dreamt that Mitchell had taken out his eye instead of Roger Dodds’.

His nightmare had only come to an end when Joyce punched him in the side of the head. ‘What you screaming out and fidgeting for? You silly old bastard,’ she’d said.