Once Stoneham had left, Mike sat by his son’s side, looking at every bruise and cut and imagining him being beaten by two men the same size as himself. The doctor’s voice made him jump, which was so unlike him.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Regan, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

It was Doctor Redwood, the neurological surgeon who had operated on Ricky. He was a middle-aged, fit-looking man with friendly eyes. ‘We have run more tests. It seems the swelling is slowly going down, but I have to be fair and warn you that he may have sustained some brain damage. Until he is fully conscious, we won’t know exactly. Tomorrow, we will look to take him off the drugs that are keeping him asleep. This will be a critical time. Would you like to be here?’

Mike felt his throat swelling and his mouth seemingly clamming up. He nodded and brushed away a tear.

Redwood patted his shoulder. ‘We are doing our best and Ricky is a fighter.’

As soon as the doctor left the room, Mike flopped his head on the mattress beside Ricky’s hand and sobbed his heart out. The tears wouldn’t stop until he felt a pair of soft, warm hands wrap around his neck. ‘Come on, Son. You’re exhausted. I can take over for a while. Please go home and get some rest.’

Mike dragged his head away and looked up at his mother. ‘He may be brain-damaged, Mum.’

Gloria was dressed in her elegant Chanel suit. She was a short woman with a big heart, unless, of course, you crossed her the wrong way. ‘Now, you listen to me, Mikey Regan. Our boy’s a strong lad. He’ll recover just fine, you wait and see.’

She pulled him up from the seat. ‘Now then, you get off home. Besides, if you leave that rotten bitch for too long, she may just start wrecking your home. Christ, as if you ain’t got enough to worry about. I knew it was a bad idea, your father taking her to yours. He should have let her die in her own shit pit.’

‘Mum, it’s done. She’s at mine, getting cleaned up. Ricky may want to see her when he comes round. I would want to see my mum.’

‘Yeah, well, she ain’t no proper mother, that one. She’s lower than a worm’s tit and shouldn’t even have the steam of that boy’s piss, if you ask me. And as for our Zara, Gawd love her, I’d have done the same. The bitch deserved a bashing. Mark my words, Mike, she’s one shit-stirring cow. And, by the way, I know Zara. I bet you, Jackie did or said something to cause that backhander. Zara wouldn’t go around acting like that for no reason.’