She stood up and watched her brother as he hurried across the yard once more; the rain was pelting down, and she felt lonelier than she had ever felt in her life.

Back at the Portakabin, Danny poured them large brandies and, as Dessie threw his back in one nervous gulp, Danny said gently, ‘Tell him what you told me.’

Dessie nodded. He could feel the men’s eyes boring into him, and he hoped he was doing the right thing. If he was wrong, he would be leaving himself open to all sorts of fucking aggravation – and not just from the Baileys either. He was sweating with fear; the tension in the room was almost overpowering his ability to speak.

‘I heard a whisper, Daniel, and I didn’t know if I should repeat it, you know? I don’t want to drop anyone in it. But I felt that you needed to hear it.’

Daniel Bailey just stared at him. Dessie could see the toll his wife’s death had taken on him, and he was genuinely sorry for the man. Everyone knew that Lena Bailey was his big love; it was already an urban legend because of the way she had died.

Danny nodded at him, urging him to carry on. ‘Just tell him, Dessie.’

Dessie took a deep breath before saying quietly, ‘At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, it was just something I’d overheard, it meant fuck-all, you know? But after everything that’s happened—’

All the boys jumped, as their father suddenly bellowed, ‘For fuck’s sake, Dessie, just spit it out, will you!’

The man’s face turned ever paler; he looked like a statue, he was suddenly so still. Abject terror in his eyes, he struggled to speak. They felt desperately sorry for him, but their father needed to hear what this man had to say and, by all accounts, it was important enough for him to have requested this meet. They were willing Dessie to get it over with.

‘I heard something in the pub, it was the night that . . . When . . . you know . . . Lena.’ He stumbled once more as he tried to explain himself.

Daniel rolled his eyes up at the ceiling with impatience. ‘I assume you mean the night my wife was blown all over the West End, the night my brother was supposed to die instead of her. Is that the fucking night you are referring to, Dessie, or was there another fucking night I don’t fucking know about?’

Danny said evenly, aware that his father was at breaking point, ‘All right, Dad, let’s hear what he has to say, eh?’ He smiled gently at Dessie, saying, ‘You all right now, Des? Need another drink?’

Dessie nodded, then he cleared his throat noisily. Jamsie started to pour more brandy, as they waited to hear what he had to say.