Sammy’s murder had knocked the stuffing out of Jed for a very long time. The bullets were meant for him, he knew that, and if it wasn’t for his psychic mother having one of her premonitions, he would now be six feet under. His mum’s tearful phone call was the only reason Jed had swapped seats with Sammy on that fateful night. He had been driving the horse-box in a very drunken state, and after he’d spoken to his mum, he’d allowed Sammy to take the wheel to ensure they got home safely. Picturing his cousin’s smiling face, Jed sighed. He would never forget all the blood and gore, and the look of death on Sammy’s face. The images of those particular things would live with him for ever.

Sammy’s father had been the one to collect his son’s body and Sammy was given a private send-off less than twenty-four hours after his death. Jimmy had known the bullets were meant for Jed and had begged his brother not to involve the police. ‘If you involve the gavvers, all our lives will be in danger. We’ll sort things in our own time and in our own way,’ Jimmy had promised, before heading up to Scotland.

‘You’ve been quiet today, Jed. Are you OK?’ Lola asked, walking into the bedroom.

‘I was just thinking about life, but I’m OK. I’m not working today, so shall we do something? We can take Shelby out somewhere if you want.’ Since moving to Scotland, Jed had given up his previous career of conning old people. Without Sammy by his side, it just wasn’t the same and he was also afraid of getting his collar felt and blowing his cover. These days he earned his dosh buying and selling horses and motors and he also did a bit of roofing here and there. He was by no means rich, but was reasonably well off, and was happy enough with his lot. Jed stood up, put his arms around his wife and smiled.

‘Well, whaddya think?’

‘I think it would do you good to go out for a drink with your dad and the boys. I might take Georgie shopping. Your mum can look after Shelby for us, can’t she?’

Jed looked into his wife’s beautiful face and, not for the first time, thought how lucky he was. At twenty years old, Lola was seven years younger than him. She had naturally curly, long dark hair, pale blue sparkling eyes and a sunny, upbeat nature.

‘I really do love you, girl. I’ll go and give the old man a knock now. I fancy a pint or six.’

Lola grinned. ‘You just make sure you have fun.’