The silence was beginning to get on his nerves: Tiffany was a girl of few words. Even in bed she lay back with a serious expression while he did the business, then she got up silently and washed herself over the bidet before getting back into bed and going straight to sleep. It was like shagging a blow-up doll. The only time she showed any emotion was when she was admiring herself in the mirror. The telephone jangled into the stillness of the room and Kelly jumped in his chair. He went to the table and picked the phone up thinking it might be Mandy.

It was Bill Doon.

‘Pat, I’ve been to see the bloke and he’s skint. He’s blown the bloody lot on the horses. His wife never even managed to get a bit out of him for Christmas, the ponce.’

‘What did you do, Bill?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing you, shall I give him a hiding or what?’

Patrick closed his eyes for a second and then gritted his teeth.

‘Now you work for me don’t you, Bill?’ His voice low and patient as if he was talking to a child.

‘Yeah.’ Bill’s voice was puzzled.

‘And I pay you a good piece of wedge to collect outstanding debts for me don’t I?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then go and break his fucking arms. Jesus wept, I might as well go and do the fucking job meself.’

‘All right, Pat, keep your hair on. He’s got six kids sitting in that flat with him.’

‘Then take him out of the flat, you prat, and as it’s Christmas you can give him a dig near a casualty department, how’s that?’ He slammed the phone down. After a couple of seconds he picked it up again and pressed 4. The phone was answered by Kelly’s right-hand man, Willy Gabney.

‘What do you want, Pat?’

‘I want you to make up a goodie bag, Willy, and drop it round Bob Mason’s place. He won’t be home for Christmas.’

‘Okey doke. Mandy back yet?’

‘Not a bleeding sign of her. That ponce Kevin’s probably still tarting himself up!’

He put down the phone and poured himself another large brandy. The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece showed ten to nine. Where the hell was Mandy? He had booked the table for nine thirty.

Kelly sat back in his chair and fingered a piece of paper in his breast pocket. It was the deeds to a small hairdressing salon and beauty parlour, his gift to his daughter for Christmas. He allowed himself a small smile.

Mandy would be over the moon.

He sipped his brandy in the silence once more. Tiffany, he noticed, was still watching herself in the mirror.