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Pat stepped between the two men and Lance knew that this was something he would have to place on the back burner. He'd wait until the time was right to finish it.

'Oi. Come on you two, what the fuck is all this about?'

Pat pushed Lance towards the stairs and walked close behind him as they went up to the office. He shut the door quietly and then he turned on his brother with more anger than Lance had ever seen before.

'What the
fuck
are you doing, Lance? You lost your fucking mind or what?'

'What are you on about? I was trying to make us some money; that cunt is always chatting up the hostesses and he ain't got the fucking nous to do that job.'

Pat held up a hand in a gesture of silence.

'You do not tell anyone what to do unless I expressly say so, you hear me, Lance? I am the boss of this outfit and that fucking includes
you.
Keith's all right and the Munroes are a fucking good crew. If you cause a war with him they will all be out of sorts and at the moment I can't afford for that to happen. So shut the fuck up and stop trying to cause upset where there ain't none.'

Lance didn't answer him, he just stood and stared. His face was, as always, expressionless unless it displayed anger or distaste.

Pat wondered at times if this man was even on the same planet as everyone else. Lance was his brother and he loved him but he was a loose cannon and, worse than that, he was devoid of anything even resembling human emotion. Except when it came to Kathleen that is; she was the only person who he seemed to care about. It was his one saving grace and it had saved him a few times lately, if he only realised that.

'What happened with Donny?'

'Sweet as a nut. The money was paid in full, of course.'

'Well, where is it then?'

Lance shrugged then, as if he was talking to a moron, someone without any intelligence whatsoever. It was all Pat could do not to murder his brother there and then.

'It's in the safe over there, of course.'

Pat nodded. He knew that if Lance had access to the safe then he was snooping all over the place and he made a mental note to have the locks changed.

'Come on, Lil, eat something.'

'I can't Janie, I feel like shit on a stick.'

They both laughed then.

'You look like shit and all.'

'I feel a bit sick.'

'Well, a baby will do that to you, Lil. I was as sick as a dog with all mine.'

Janie sat beside Lil at the kitchen table and lit herself a cigarette.

'I bet you couldn't believe it, could you?'

Lil laughed and her face looked young again, but just for a moment.

'Just my luck, ain't it? Another bloody baby at my age.'

'Look on the bright side, Lil. This one could be the baby for your old age. Years ago, if women had a late one, it was seen as a blessing. A child for your old age, a child to look after you and make sure you were all right.'

Lil sighed once more.

'I can't see it being anything like that, Janie. Kids nowadays don't seem to have that kind of tolerance. It's all about them, not anyone else.'

Janie shrugged. 'Well, you ain't done bad with the last lot, they seem to have got their priorities right.'

Lil didn't answer her. Instead she poured herself another cup of tea and, as she sipped it, she looked around the kitchen. It was looking much better than it had for years. There was a new fridge, a washing machine and even a dishwasher. Annie was thrilled about that. In fact her mother enjoyed it more than she did. Her mother was in her element, they were back on top and she was making the most of it. She even went to bingo so she could lord it over her cronies. Women who didn't like her now spoke to her because her grandson was out and back on the street.

Pat was a good boy, not that she had thought that for a little while. Until she had seen Jasper's body for herself, she had really believed it had been poor Jambo down there.

There had been so much death lately and it was bothering her, even though she knew it was necessary for her family's survival. That was the legacy Pat had left to them, to his sons, to her even. His insistence on working alone and making himself the only person who knew anything of merit, had caused his downfall. People had banded together and taken him down; they could never have done it on their own. His children knew that. Patrick especially, with his prison talk and his determination to find out the truth. He was his father's son in more ways than one.

The boys were honourbound to take back what they saw as theirs by rights and who could blame them after the way they had been treated over the years. They'd had to watch others make a fortune on what should have been their inheritance. They had been made to feel like second-class citizens knowing how hard it was for her to put clothes on their backs and food on the table.

She felt so bad at times. She knew her boys, even Lance, were doing everything for her, were trying to make things right for her again. But they didn't know, neither of them, that nothing could ever be right for her again. She also knew that was the excuse they used to justify their anger and their hate.

They might tell themselves it was for her but she knew, and deep down
they
both knew, it was for themselves really. She was just a good reason for the insanity of recent events. She also knew that she would defend them to the hilt, lie in a court room under oath and stand in front of them with a shotgun, if necessary. Although she hoped that it would never come to that. But it might do, nothing would surprise her any more.

Her mother's mantra over the years had been that they were as God made them. But she was worried that they were as
she
had made them. Not deliberately, but with the choices she had made over the years, and the mistakes she had forced them to live through.

She had created them. Together with her mother, she had created two men who were as dangerous as they were enigmatic.

Even Ivana was caught up in their thrall. But like any woman who was foolish enough to get involved with them, she was on a losing streak. She wanted to warn Ivana, but she knew it was a pointless exercise and that she wouldn't listen to her. No more than
she
would have listened if someone had warned her about Patrick. Life had a habit of repeating itself.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Spider was listening to the men around him with interest. He knew they were all wondering why he had not attempted to do anything about Pat's hold over the West End. Spider was renowned for never discussing anything unless he wanted to, so no one thought it strange that he chose to overlook the heavy hints around him.

He looked at his boys; a lot of them were young, up-and-coming wide boys getting an education at his door. But he knew in his heart that at least one of them was in the pay of Brodie Junior, maybe even more than that. It wasn't anything he knew for a fact, it was more a natural progression. Young Pat was everywhere and there wasn't a scam on the go that he didn't have a hand in.

Spider knew Pat was backed by the best. The people he had been banged up with had seen his potential, Spider had seen it himself. Pat was such an astute businessman and knew exactly what was required; how to get the maximum for the minimum. He also had a rep that was even more respected than his father's.

None of that bothered him personally, it was the way he had come home and acted like his long-lost son, thanked him for his help over the years with the family and had then just blanked him. Not in any way that he could jump on, could use against him; it was a more personal insult. He said all the right things but Spider knew that he didn't mean any of it. And yet his son and Patrick were as close as ever. Indeed he wondered at times if it was his son's friendship with Pat that was keeping him alive. Because Spider knew that if Patrick wanted him gone, then gone he would be.

Spider was a realist; he knew the score in this world and he also knew that everyone had a shelf-life, even Pat Junior. It was the law of the pavement. If a big sentence didn't get you, a bastard with a grudge would. People in their world rarely died in their beds; each generation was waiting to step into the next pair of boots and, from what he had heard, Pat had been offered them on a plate.

He watched as his son rolled a joint. He knew he had served up Jasper to Pat and he respected that. But what Spider didn't understand was why no one, even his own flesh and blood, thought it appropriate to tell him what was going on. He had heard it from one of his guys; like a gossip, he was having to ferret out information. Yet nothing had occurred for months, and everyone was relaxed, except for him. He knew that Pat was like his father; he would exact his revenge slowly. If it took years, that would suit him; he would wait until the person concerned was settled in their life and work and sure that they were safe and then he would take great pleasure in proving them wrong. That was the real power of revenge, taking it when the person concerned least expected it, and had the most to lose.

His son was a part of all that planning and yet he had never mentioned it to his own father. He felt like an outsider and was being treated like one into the bargain. The main earner for the younger boys was the dope; it was almost their only business and he knew it was the thing that interested them most. They were all stoned and they were getting on his nerves.

He saw Jimmy Brick come in and he waited a few minutes before joining him. The man was in the same boat as he was and, like him, he didn't know where the fuck he stood any more either. And, like him, he couldn't gather any information; it was almost as if they had been singled out for ostracism. They were getting closer by the week and it was not going unnoticed. They knew everything was reported back to the powers that be. How times had changed and it was hard admitting that you were past your prime, past your best, especially when you felt stronger than ever.

Lil was tired. The doctor was back once more for poor Kathleen and they were trying to get him to see her properly. When he went into the room, Kathleen acted so normal, so together even Lil wondered if she was imagining the rest of it. But she had talked the doctor into pretending to leave and then sneaking back up the stairs and listening outside the door of her bedroom so he could hear her talking to herself.

Lil knew he thought she was the nutter but she also knew that he had to make sure that what she said wasn't true. Kathleen had developed black eyes and bruised arms and they were not caused by anyone in the house. She had to be hurting herself. And, as much as it pained Lil to admit that, she knew it was true.

Kathleen didn't eat and she didn't sleep. She refused to leave the house and she refused any kind of company. Even Lance was hard-pushed to get inside the room and he was the only one who seemed able to get through to her. Pat was welcome occasionally and every so often Kathleen was chatty with her; it was seldom though and she did most of the talking. Lil's growing belly seemed to attract her. She was interested in the coming baby, as were Colleen and Christy, they couldn't wait for it to be born.

As the doctor stood quietly on the landing listening out for her beautiful, troubled daughter to begin talking to herself, Lil wondered at how a life could be so plagued with problems and worries. She prayed that this child would have an easier time of it than her other children, that it would know at least a modicum of peace. This was her last chance to get it right and she knew it. She was focusing all her energy on this baby and the three younger children. She only hoped she wasn't wasting her time.

She heard Kathleen's voice then. She heard her talking to no one, but over the last few months she had listened intently and she knew that Kathleen thought there were at least two people with her.

She didn't really understand the conversations but Kathleen seemed to get some sort of benefit from them. She seemed happier somehow and that was what was so terrible. Lil just didn't know what to do and if the doctor didn't sort it out soon she knew that Pat was going to force Kathleen into a mental hospital. He was of the opinion that she should have been carted off ages ago, but he also knew that Kathleen's biggest fear was
being
put away. Of being perceived as mentally ill.

She had such a strange take on life; sometimes she washed everything she possessed and yet she wouldn't put any of it in the wardrobe or chest of drawers. Everything was hung on doors or folded up on the bed; it had to be in plain sight. She was not yet fifteen, and she was already being written off.

The doctor had heard enough and as he walked quietly back down the stairs, Lil followed him, her heart sore because she knew what he was going to say.

Eileen was in the back of her boyfriend's van. It was a warm night and her latest boyfriend, a thirty-year-old docker with brown eyes and a penchant for schoolgirls, was trying to talk her out of her top. She was happy enough with the kissing but somehow this was going a bit too fast for her now. He had her bra unhooked and her top up and she was having difficulty controlling the situation. As she pushed his hands away once again, he grabbed her wrists and, grinning, he pinned her arms to her sides. She lay back in her seat and looked at him warily. She had met him in a pub in Essex a few weeks earlier. He was a grown man and he made her feel like an adult. He treated her like a woman and now she was finding out exactly what that entailed.

'Listen, lady, don't prick-tease. I ain't hearing the word "no", do you understand me?'

Eileen was trying to force him away from her, trying to bring her arms up from where he had pinned them to her sides and he was laughing at her, he thought she was funny.

'Please, Nick. Please, let me go.'

He was watching her with interest; she was so young and so naive, just how he liked them. She was sweating with fear and he could see it glistening in the half-light. But he was not worried, she would give in, they always did. This was the excitement for him, the chase itself. She was so perfect, so innocent and her make-up just made her look younger, like a little girl dressing up in her mum's clothes. Her fear was making her pant and the sound was making him hard. A bead of sweat dripped from her chest and on to her belly; she was fighting to keep her modesty and attempting to pull down her top. But Nick Parks was an expert at this; he had popped more cherries than a fruit picker on speed.