Lena laughed once more and, as she pushed her way through the crowded club, Daniel said to his brother loudly, ‘Best fucking decision I ever made, marrying her.’

Peter nodded. Both of the brothers were very pleased at how the night was going. The atmosphere in the club screamed success, and it was a legitimate earn into the bargain.

‘I know, Dan, we both done well in that way. We knew a good thing when we saw it. Unlike this new generation, they only see the top show, they don’t understand there’s much more to marriage than that.’

The brothers were still laughing and joking five minutes later when they felt and heard the explosion. The front of their new club disintegrated before their eyes, and pandemonium broke loose.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen

Peter Bailey was looking around him at the devastation that the bomb had caused. The front of the club was completely destroyed – there was nothing left except a gaping hole. All around him were casualties, young men and women, cut and bleeding. The glass front they had so lovingly designed had been no more than a weapon in the end.

Imelda was sitting on the dirty pavement, her mother beside her, holding her close, their new clothes forgotten now, both of them looking bewildered.

Peter looked at Theresa and, even now, amidst such carnage he still had to admit, she was a fucking phenomenon. She was talking to him, trying to remind him and his brother that they mustn’t forget the real issue here. He could hear police sirens and fire engines, he could smell the acrid stench of burning, of smoke, and he could see the remainder of his car. The car in which Lena had been butchered.

‘Peter, son, get your brother away now. Sort him out before the Filth get here.’ Peter knew his mother was right; he had to keep it together for the time being at least. He pulled his dazed brother away from the scene; they needed to focus on the next few hours. The police would be all over this like a rash, and the papers would be milking it like a Jersey cow. It was a dream story for them: bombs, criminals and Soho. It was the sixties all over again.

‘Daniel, listen to me. You have to think straight. The Filth will be all over this, and you can’t say anything at all.’

Daniel Bailey was nodding as his brother spoke. Peter knew he was absolutely stunned, unable to take in the fact that his wife had been murdered, blown to smithereens. Daniel looked into his older brother’s face and, with tears rolling down his cheeks, he said quietly. ‘Peter, you listen to me, bruv. You don’t get it, do you? That bomb was meant for you, mate. Not my Lena.’

Peter Bailey stood on the pavement holding his brother’s hands, as the reality of his words sank in.