‘We’ll meet again a week tonight and I want to hear that things have been happening. I’m off to London next week and I intend to tell the boys there that normal service is about to be resumed. So, do not fuck me about. Right, who’s for a pint in the Dolphin? My shout.’

Gallagher rose and made his way towards the door followed by his entourage.

All except Charlie. He hung back while the others left. When his father had looked in his direction he indicated he would follow in a minute.

With everyone gone, he sat back down and lit a cigarette. He smoked Balkan Sobranie Black Russian because he thought they were flash, but he actually hated the things and the strong taste of the tobacco did nothing to improve his humour.

‘Why not, eh? Fucking gangsters! Don fucking Bridgeton! Swima widda fishes!’

The level of Charlie’s voice increased with each phrase, ‘Fuck yous! Fuck the fucking lot of yous!’

He ground out the partly smoked cigarette on top of a beer can.

‘I’ll fucking show you,’ he whispered. Charlie picked up the telephone and began dialling.

Kevin Boyle was alive. He could hear the ticking of a bedside alarm clock. Each tick exploded inside his head. He risked opening his eyes slowly and very carefully. The room was in semi-darkness, for which he was truly grateful. He waited until the room came into focus. It was in no way familiar to him. He looked at the sleeping form beside him. It was in no way familiar to him.

He lifted the duvet and studied his companion. The girl was lying on her back with her face turned towards him. She was naked. Her blond hair was cut short and as his eyes wandered downwards, Kevin noted she was a real blond.

Nice tits, he thought to himself.

Kevin reached across and squeezed the girl’s breast. When he obtained no response he shoved his hand roughly between her legs. The girl moaned and turned away from him.

‘Useless bitch,’ he muttered, and lay back on the bed. The events of the previous night began to come back to him – or at least some of them did.

It was customary for Kevin to be seen in one of the clubs he owned, buying drink for a group of hangers-on. He delighted in what he perceived to be hero worship. Whenever he entered a club, he would find himself surrounded by people anxious to be seen to be wishing him well.

In reality, the admiration society was composed of two classes of members – those who were quite happy to be bought drink all night, and those who felt safer to be in the company of Kevin Boyle than be perceived as an outsider.