Eddie stood up and nodded at Stuart to do the same. ‘Nah, Stu’s taking his little bird out for lunch and I’m gonna go and settle up with Flatnose Freddie for the other night. Stu will meet you in Nico’s at seven, OK? And Ray, you and Polly meet me and Gina in the Bell at the same time. You know where it is, don’t ya?’

Raymond nodded. ‘I dunno if Polly will wanna go out at short notice, though. She’s been a bit of a home-bird since she’s been pregnant.’

Eddie sighed. He’d never been the biggest fan of Raymond’s old woman. ‘Fuck her, then. Just come on your own if you have to, but make sure you’re there by seven. Right, laters all, and keep smiling, ’cause this time tomorrow that little fucker Jed will be brown bread. Rhymes that, don’t it?’

Laughing at his own wit, Eddie sauntered out of the room.

Unaware that if things went to plan, today would be the last day of his life, Jed was over in Southall horse market debating whether to buy a rather frisky-looking black stallion. Paddy Brady was Irish, and a rather notorious ex-prize-fighting champion. He had a reputation for being flash, and apart from knocking fifty pounds off as luck money, would not be bated down any more.

‘Gissa minute. Me and my cousin are business partners and I just wanna have a quick word with him,’ Jed said, walking over to where Sammy was chatting to three geezers.

‘What’s up?’ Sammy asked, as Jed rudely dragged him away.

‘We’ve gotta have the gry, but that Paddy Brady’s a proper cunt to deal with. It’s a shame me old mush ain’t ’ere, ’cause I know Brady’s only mugging me off ’cause he thinks I’m wet behind the ears. Talking to me like I talk to me chavvies, he was, the cheeky Irish bastard.’

Usually Jed’s dad always accompanied him on their regular trips to Southall, but hadn’t been able to make it today because one of his brothers was at death’s door.

‘Whaddya think?’ Jed asked, as Sammy studied the stallion.

‘He’s a bit lively, but they’re always the best ones. I’m sure we can sort him with a lot of hard work and a few cracks of the whip.’

Feeling brazen, Sammy decided to try his luck with Paddy himself. ‘Knock another fifty off and we’ll take him,’ he said, confidently holding out his right hand.

Paddy Brady laughed, grabbed Sammy’s hand and in a flash, twisted it behind his back. ‘I’ve already told your so-called business partner, pay the wonga, or fuck off.’

Jed was fuming. Irish and English travellers clashed at the best of times, but this bastard was taking the real piss out of him and Sammy.