Patrick turned to face Kate. ‘That’s Veronica Campella, otherwise known as violent Veronica . . . She’s his manager. Veronica’s got one of the biggest stables in England and she knows her job all right. She got him a twenty grand purse for tonight. Not bad for two rounds, is it? She even takes her boys as far as China and the States for fights.’ Kelly’s voice was admiring.

Kate was silent as she saw the Irishman being helped from the ring. The Rasta went to him and they embraced like old friends. The Irishman was obviously a good loser.

‘Can we go now, Pat, please?’

‘There’s another couple of fights on yet, Kate.’ He looked at her closely. ‘What’s the matter?’ His voice was genuinely puzzled.

‘I just want to get out of here. It’s horrible. All this,’ she spread her arms out, ‘makes me feel sick to my stomach.’

For a fleeting second she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Patrick’s features. Then he seemed to remember who she was, because he smiled at her sadly.

‘Not a very good idea this, was it?’

Kate picked up her bag from the floor and shook her head.

‘Not really. I don’t like legal boxing, Patrick. I can’t stand any form of violence.’

‘Then we’d better go, hadn’t we?’

She knew that she had annoyed him for real this time. His voice was flat and he walked through the crowd ahead of her, nodding here and shaking hands as he went. As they left the heat and excitement of the hall and walked out into the cold air, Willy appeared as if by magic.

‘How did you fare, Pat?’

‘Not quite as well as I expected, Willy. You?’

Kate heard the tone of voice and gritted her teeth.

‘Won meself a quick grand. I knew the soot could take him, Pat. I just knew it. That boy can fight!’

Patrick smiled at him. ‘You stay and watch the rest of the action, Willy.’

‘What about you two?’

Patrick sighed. ‘I’m quite capable of driving me own car, Willy.’

Willy knew something was up. Kate looked like a wet weekend in Brighton and Patrick didn’t look much better. He handed over the keys.

‘Well . . . If you’re sure . . .’

He didn’t like Pat driving the Roller, she was his baby. ‘Well, don’t gun her, right? She ain’t really used to you driving her. You have to know how to handle her . . .’

‘Willy!’ Patrick’s voice was clipped.

‘What?’

Patrick pushed his face close to the other man’s and said, ‘Goodbye.’