He threw open the bedroom door and it crashed against a bureau, sending an antique jug and bowl crashing to the floor. Before Kevin had even opened his eyes properly, Patrick Kelly was on him. Dragging the boy by the hair he pulled him from the bed, shaking him like a terrier with a bone. He began to rain punches on Kevin’s body, kicking him and screaming at him at the top of his voice.

Kevin curled himself up into a tight ball, taking all that Patrick Kelly doled out to him. Frightened out of his life, he felt the savageness of the attack but was powerless to put a stop to it. Dragging him up by his shoulders, Patrick Kelly drew his head back and brought his forehead down on to Kevin’s face with all his might. The force of the blow stunned them both. Kelly let Kevin drop to the floor, the boy’s whimpering barely penetrating his rage.

Gabney, who had followed his boss up the stairs, stood in the doorway, his face neutral. The violence of the attack affected him not one iota. He was only surprised that Kelly had acted out the whole thing himself. It was precisely what Gabney himself was paid to do.

Kelly stared at the crumpled figure on the floor below him. He pointed, his finger shaking.

‘My Mandy was raped and half murdered last night, you fucking ponce! Some piece of shite buggered my baby! Do you hear what I’m telling you, wanker?’

Kevin stared up, bemused. Mandy, raped?

Kelly brought back his leg and kicked Kevin in the knees as hard as he could.

‘She’s in a coma. She could be a vegetable because of you. But I promise you this, dickhead, whatever happens to my baby, happens to you! Remember that. Keep it stamped in your mind.’

He was so exhausted by his exertions he could barely talk, every few seconds gasping for breath. ‘You’re dead meat, boy. Dead meat.’

He leant against the dressing table until his breathing returned to normal. Then he nodded at Willy. ‘Get all the lads here NOW. I don’t care if it is Christmas Eve, I don’t care if they’re at their mother’s death bed, get them here pronto!’

Gabney hurried away. When Patrick Kelly was annoyed, it was best to do exactly what he said.

Kelly stared down at the crumpled heap on the floor. Crimson stains were appearing as if by magic on the Axminster carpet. Gathering up the spittle in his mouth, he bent over the prostrate form and spat into his face.

‘Get up, Cosgrove, and piss off out of my house. You get yourself a sherbet dab and all, because my Mandy’s car stays here. Get it?’