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'Look, Lil. Of course I want the boy to have a great day but, no matter what I say, you will decide it all in the end anyway. You want a row and I ain't going to let you have one.'

Lily knew exactly what he was trying to do and the knowledge depressed her. She could indeed start a row in an empty house, he was right about that much. But she was right about him and his other life as well. He called them fliers, she called them the reason she couldn't sleep.

'Get back into bed.'

She allowed him to tuck her in, fighting the urge to cry. She ached all over and she was tired and irritable. The twins would be up at six and she would have to be up with them no matter what she felt like. This was the edge he always had over her. She wondered what he would do if she fucked off one night and left him there wondering where she was, who she was with and when she would be back. That would never happen though, and they both knew it.

'Get a bit of sleep, Lil, you need it. I am only making you upset by being here and neither of us want that, do we?'

As Lil lay back against the pillows once more, she was amazed to see her husband finish dressing himself. She watched as he checked his pockets for his wallet and keys and then, kissing her lightly, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She stretched out in the bed then and the sleep that had eluded her finally overcame her; this was a milestone in their marriage and she knew it. For the first time ever, she was glad he was gone from her. She knew he had come home the conquering hero and she had pissed all over the fireworks. The knowledge saddened her.

Chapter Nine

'What are you doing, boy?'

Pat Junior grinned as he poured the tea out and he basked in his mother's pretend annoyance. He loved it when she acted like he was still too young to do things for himself or for the others.

'Making the breakfast, Mum. Sit down and have a rest.'

Lil laughed happily. 'Have a rest, I only just got up!'

Since his birthday invitations had gone out and his cake had been ordered, Patrick Junior had been like a dog with six lampposts. He was a good kid anyway; he would go to the ends of the earth for her or his sisters and brother but, since the party had been organised and authenticated with hand written invitations, he had been like something from a Hollywood film. He could not do enough for her. Her contretemps with his father had, as always, blown over. She blamed herself for it because she should have had the sense to keep her trap shut and her opinions to herself. She knew that her husband had more temptation before him than most men, and she knew that now and again, he was going to succumb. What he didn't need was her giving him the green light by nagging him out of the door.

She was sipping her tea and nibbling on the toast her son had made her, when she saw Lance's face. It was bruised and scratched. 'What's wrong with your face, mate?'

Lance shrugged. His deep-blue eyes were, as always, devoid of any real emotion; at least that was how they looked to her. She hated herself for thinking it.

Pat stood behind his chair and she realised that his eyes were exactly the same as his brother's, except that she enjoyed looking into her older son's eyes.

'He had a fight at school, Mum.'

Lil sighed. Her frustration at her youngest son's bored demeanour was putting her on edge.

'What are you, Pat? His fucking parrot? Let him answer for himself. He ain't deaf, is he?'

She was sorry for her words and her anger immediately; Pat Junior was crushed by what she had said and the way she had said it. He had always been the buffer between her and his brother and she loved that about him. She felt the usual pang of guilt about her reactions to her younger son and prayed once more that she might find it in her heart to love him like she did all the others. She played the part of the doting mother so well that she believed it herself at times. But seeing Lance bruised and scratched made her feel guiltier than ever because she had not noticed it the night before.

Pat Junior stood behind his brother with one hand on his shoulder, and the other hand shielding eyes that were filled with tears. His head sank on to his chest and Lil knew he was trying not to break down in front of his siblings. She pulled him into her arms.

'I'm sorry, darling. You know I ain't myself lately. You are such a good boy, Pat, and I depend on you, which is wrong.' He hugged her tightly and she felt the solidness of his body; he was becoming a young man. Although Lance was bigger and heavier, he didn't have the tight muscles of Patrick Junior. Lance looked like the older brother but he didn't have Pat's sense or intellect.

'Now, Lance, come here.'

Lil held out her free arm to her second son and felt his hesitation before he moved towards her. She hugged them both to her tightly and Lance squeezed her back as if his life depended on it.

'So, who hurt you, Lance? Tell me.'

He stepped back from her and shrugged like he always did when questioned about anything he was the cause of.

'It wasn't his fault, Mum. It was the bigger lads; they pick on him because of his size.'

Lil held up her hand to silence Pat Junior. He was always trying to keep the peace but she knew that Lance was the one causing fights; it was in his nature and the school had just about had enough of him. Lance was on his last warning, and he knew it.

'Who were you fighting, Lance? Tell me and I'll let it go. But if you lie to me, I'll be angry. Now, answer me truthfully. Were you fighting again?'

He nodded and she sighed. It was pointless going on about it; he never listened to her anyway.

'Have I got to go to the school?'

Patrick Junior shook his head. 'It was outside of school, Mum, on our way home. Honest, it's all sorted, really.'

Lil nodded and lit another cigarette. As long as she wasn't going to be dragged up to the school she didn't really care.

Pat Junior was subdued now and she wished she had left it. After all, Pat had always looked out for his brother and that was never going to change. She worried that Lance's big mouth and knack of picking fights would one day land his older brother in trouble that he couldn't handle. So far he had bailed him out regularly and with the minimum of fuss, but she knew that as they got older it would not be so easy for him. Patrick could call on a lot of friends if he needed to, but Lance didn't make friends; he only had Patrick. She instinctively knew that in the years to come, Pat Junior would still be clearing up after his little brother. Lance depended on him too much and she blamed herself for that.

She smiled at the boys then, to show she was over it all, and they smiled back.

It occurred to Pat that his mother had not attempted to dress his brother's wounds like other mothers would have done and, as always, he felt the burden of Lance falling on to his shoulders.

Dave was sitting in his mother's house waiting for Bernie to bring Dennis back from the hospital. He was still bad, by all accounts, but he was better than anyone had expected him to be. Dave had left him there for three weeks without once going to see him. At first he had left it because he was so upset. Then he had left it too long to go without having to explain his absence. Now though, he had to face him and sort this thing out once and for all. Bernie would be here with him any minute and he had made sure that they would be alone.

He was nervous, but he didn't regret what he had done any more. It had been on the cards, the pressure had got to them all and he had blown, simple as that. Dennis was such a handful he could start a fight in a monastery. It had been inevitable they would come head to head at some point.

Dave glanced around his mother's lounge: the Yorkstone fireplace and shagpile carpet were stained and dilapidated and he was once more reminded of the money they had spunked up without a second's thought. As Pat had once pointed out, he had helped them make it and he was not obliged to tell them how to spend it. But he had tried. He had warned Dave about the way he was spending, had told him that until you line your pockets properly, keep your money in your pockets. Never let anyone know what you've got, had been another one of his favourite sayings; once people were aware that they knew too much about you, they wouldn't be comfortable with you ever again.

How true those words had been, and how Dave wished he could turn back the clock. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. That was another of Brodie's sayings that he wished he had listened to.

Pat had more or less told him that he was still on the firm but not in the capacity he had been before. Now he was on the payroll, on a wage, and he knew he had to swallow that. The fact he had even contemplated trying to force his way into Patrick's and Spider's business arrangement was enough to see him six-feet under so he was more than aware that he had been given a second chance.

He was not going to blow that. At least he had learned that valuable lesson and he had learned it well. Now he had to talk his brother down, and he was not relishing that at all.

Dave lit a cigarette and pulled on it for long moments, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs. The shaking of his hands was evident, even to him, and he willed himself to relax, but he had no idea what Dennis was going to be like when he walked through the door. With Dennis, the unexpected was the norm.

He heard a car pull up and stopped himself from leaping out of the chair and looking out of the window. He wanted Dennis to see him calm and controlled; it was important that he took the lead in the conversation and tried to salvage not only his brother's love and friendship, but also his position as head of the family. Dennis was strong enough to take that from him and he knew that better than anyone.

Vince had not forgotten, although he had forgiven. Dave had apologised profusely to him more than once and he was also on a promise to Patrick and Spider to keep Dennis on the straight and narrow for the foreseeable future. This first meeting was important inasmuch as he had to make Dennis understand that he was living on borrowed time until he could prove that he was not going to try to muscle in on anyone else's business.

He was aware that Dennis had not spoken to the police, who had questioned him in a perfunctory manner. Like him, they felt he had got his comeuppance at last and they would have known exactly what had gone down. They would have visited him because they had to, not because they wanted to solve any kind of crime. Dennis was hated by everyone in his orbit in one way or another.

Dennis had been the driving force behind every failed deal they had invested in, he had been the instigator, the front man, and he had been the one who had blamed everyone else around him when it had all gone tits up. Everyone, that is, except himself. He had been the same all his life; everything was always someone else's fault and he had always got away with it.

All their big dreams and it had come down to this. They were skint, humiliated and back where they started; on a weekly wage and having to prove themselves worthy of future advancement. His younger brothers had been cleaned out financially and he knew he should have put a stop to it long before it had got this far. Dave knew they had placed their trust in him and he was aware that they knew Dennis had been allowed to call the shots and that he had more or less taken over the family business and finances. And he had allowed it all to happen. He had listened to his brother's big talk and believed him when he insisted that they were shrewd enough and respected enough to overlook Brodie's and Spider's involvement in the drugs trade.

He could only put it down to madness on his part. He had no excuse for his behaviour except greed. If it was anyone else in this position he would have found it laughable; somehow he didn't find any of this amusing in the least. Especially since he could hear Dennis cursing and shouting as he got out of the car and limped slowly up the gravel path.

This was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Dave had ever had to do, and he had done some harsh things in his time.

Dennis came into the room and, even though he had lost weight in the hospital, he was still larger than the average Williams brother. His face was harder than Dave remembered and his shaved head showed the scars where the scalp had been sewn back together. Dennis looked like someone who had been in a plane crash and Dave had to remind himself that he had inflicted all the damage: the deep head wounds and the swollen bruises around his eyes and face.

And the worst thing of all was that, if he was really honest with himself, he had enjoyed every second of it. In a strange way, he wished that he had finished the job; it would have made his life a lot easier. His nervousness had suddenly gone and he looked at his brother with a rueful grin and said quietly, 'All right, bruv?'

Patrick was in his club, it was early evening and the girls were getting ready for the night's excitement. They were like a flock of chattering birds, their heavy make-up and skimpy clothes belying the stormy weather outside.

Patrick Brodie loved the West End when the days started to draw in. The tourists were long gone and even though the takings dropped off, he loved the feel of the real Soho. On nights like tonight he loved the clubs; when the girls were getting on with each other and not fighting over the least little thing. This club was the biggest of them all and he had bought it for a song, taking it as payment for a large gambling debt incurred by a man called Pierre Lamboutin. The French name had been an alias. Why he had chosen such a mouthful Patrick had no idea; aliases were supposed to be plain and dowdy, not something that drew attention to the person involved. But as Pierre was now as dead as a dodo and the club was his and, unofficially, the best earner in Soho, Patrick didn't give a fuck. Keeping on top of the game was no mean feat, considering all the competition that was opening up around him. But he had taken Lil's advice and as he treated the girls relatively well they were loyal brasses and he knew they made a point of not tucking anyone up on the premises.