He resented the fact that he had no real authority; his father and his uncle still had the final say on everything. Dumb and fucking dumber – and they still had the fucking world by the gonads. They gave fucking Delroy more clout than they gave their own sons! They were like a pair of fucking Duracell batteries; they went on and on. It was ridiculous. They were never going to retire; in his opinion they needed shooting like a pair of knackered old horses. His father was still giving him orders – it was outrageous. He was stuck in his father’s shadow – he was the heir-in-waiting, but he had waited far too long already.

Petey realised he had to try and placate this brother of his; Liam was a good bloke, but he was too weak to see that they were being taken advantage of, that they were being fucked over on a daily basis. They took all the risks, while the old man creamed in the money.

‘Look, Liam, I know I sail close to the wind at times, but I’ve always had your back, and I can’t help my personality, can I? I always pay what I owe eventually, and you know that.’

Liam looked at his elder brother, and fought the urge to smack him right across his face. If he paid what he owed they wouldn’t be having this conversation! Petey Bailey had always travelled on a different bus route to everyone else. He was a liability, an accident waiting to happen – it was just a question of when.

‘Do you know what? Fuck you, Petey! Do what you like, but don’t say I didn’t try and help you. Jack’s long gone, and the old man loved him, but he was still willing to take him out for the good of the family. I don’t think you understand the old man at all. I don’t think you can see that being a Bailey means a lot more to Dad than just fucking acting the part. He is beside himself with guilt over Auntie Lena’s death, and I think you know that he will not be thwarted. You’re my brother, and I love you, Petey, but I’m sick to death of you – you need to remember that. I ain’t covering your back any more – in future you sort your problems out yourself. Oh, and one last word. You better talk to the Patels before they go to the old man for restitution. The East-End Asian boys are a fucking big outfit now; they are not averse to chasing up money owed – and they don’t give a fuck who you are either. And, from what they told me last night, you owe them a small fortune, bruv.’