Theresa doubted that somehow, but she didn’t voice that opinion. ‘He was a beautiful baby was little Jack. A real little darling. Ria ruined him – she could never see him without, you know? He was always a bit of a lad, bless him, but she never chastised him like the others. Spare the rod, eh?’

Theresa had swallowed the situation, she was a hard old bird, but she was also a realist. Nothing was going to stop the events of this night and the sooner everyone accepted it the better.

This was the downside of the Life, one which everyone had to face eventually.

Chapter Eighty-Two

Danny, Davey, Noel and Jamsie were in a club in Manor Park; they were loud, out of control and, as they were all Baileys, no one said a word to them about their behaviour. What no one knew was that they were each determined that tonight would wipe out the horror of the last few days – even if only for a few hours.

The club was packed with revellers and, as the boys looked around them, they were acutely aware of how different their lives were in comparison to everyone around them.

Jack’s youth, along with his foolishness, was hitting them harder than they would admit. They were finally aware of how precarious the lives they were living actually were. For the first time, they were understanding just how dangerous the Life could be for people who didn’t take it as seriously as it warranted. The weight of their family name and reputation suddenly felt like a burden. It wasn’t a game any more.

Peter and Daniel Bailey were men who had fought hard for their positions in the world and, as their blood, their sons were expected to work just as hard. They were expected to be just as cunning as their fathers, and just as capable of making difficult decisions – even if those decisions were about their own flesh and blood. This had brought home to them exactly what they were all involved in and, more to the point, what was required of them.

Jack was their blood, their family, but that had not been enough to help him in his hour of need; in fact, it was because he was a Bailey that his actions were seen as so heinous. The girl’s death was terrible – no one was disputing that – but she was a junkie; it wasn’t like she was an innocent. But Jack had also become a junkie, and they knew now that there was no excuse for such a monumental fuck-up, no matter who you were.

It seemed that they were not as safe as they had always assumed. They were not living the charmed lives they’d boasted about. The Life they took for granted came with its own set of rules, and those rules were harsher than any of them had ever realised.