Last, but certainly not least on the hit list, were the O’Haras. Stuart had been watching their movements for over a fortnight now and it had been decided they would strike late on Wednesday night. Jimmy and Jed both went to Southall horse market very early every Wednesday morning and, apparently, arrived home as pissed as farts between nine and ten in the evening. This suited Eddie, as the more rat-arsed they were, the less alert they would be when he and the boys broke in and shot the bastards.

Eddie punched in Gary’s number and smiled as he heard his son’s hungover-sounding voice. It had been Gary’s thirtieth birthday the previous day. They’d had a family lunch, then Gary, Ricky and Stuart had all gone clubbing up West.

‘How’d it go, boy? I hope you looked after Stu. He never came home last night, so I take it he’s with you still?’

‘Him and Ricky copped off with a couple of birds, fucking models they were, the lucky bastards. Christ knows how I got home; I must have got a black cab. I feel like shit today, I can tell ya. I’m getting too old for all this partying lark.’

Eddie chuckled. ‘Well, best you sort yourself out in time for tomorrow. Track down the other two for me. I expect all three of yous to be bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning. I’m on me way to visit Frankie now. Fuck knows why she’s asked to see me, but I expect I’ll get an earful, I always do off her. I’ll bell ya when I leave the prison and, in the meantime, sort yourself out, boy, OK?’

Gary sighed. The way he felt, another big celebration in the dysfunctional life of the Mitchells was the last thing he needed.

Joey and Dominic sat opposite Joyce in an Italian restaurant in Hornchurch. It had been Dom’s idea to pick Joycie up, get her drunk, and then beg her to let her husband come back home.

‘So, are you looking forward to tomorrow? Big day for you as well, isn’t it?’ Joyce asked her grandson.

Joey nodded. He was proud his dad had chosen him, very proud indeed. ‘I wish you’d come, Nan. Dad was upset when I told him you wasn’t coming. He thinks the world of you, you know.’

‘I know he does, but I can’t come, love, it don’t feel right. Now, can we talk about something else?’ Joyce asked, feeling herself becoming emotional.

Joey topped his nan’s glass up with more wine. ‘Let’s talk about Grandad. He’s been as good as gold with us, Nan, but we can’t have him stay there for ever. You know how old fashioned he is – me and Dom are too frightened to have sex in case he hears us.’