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Similar thoughts were going through Patrick's mind as he chatted with the man who had fathered the latest addition to his family. Jambo smiled at him and Patrick saw Lil's attraction to him. When he smiled, he looked like he had the world in his pocket.

'A boy, eh? But she's good, yeah? She is all right really, Lil?' He was genuinely concerned, both for Lil and the baby.

'She's fine. Why don't you come and see them? We can run you to the hospital. They took them in, just to be on the safe side, you know. She had it in the kitchen and gave my little sister a fright, I can tell you.'

It wasn't a threat. Jambo knew that if he didn't want to go, no one was going to force him. But suddenly he wanted to go. He wanted to see this son of his. In fact, he felt proud and excited about him. If he was anything like this young man, he was going to be worth knowing. He liked Pat, he remembered him as a child and knew his father much better than any of them realised. It was how he had become friends with Lil in the first place.

'Eustace, why you not getting another drink, boy?'

Mac grinned. No one called him Eustace, most people didn't even realise it was his name.

'Wet the baby's head, yeah?'

Pat walked back to the bar again and wondered what it would be like to have a new brother at his age.

Lance was holding the baby and Lil watched him with a tired resignation. He seemed to be overwhelmed with the night's events. But then men always were, they were there at the conception and rarely there for the birth. Women, after the first baby, just got on with it. The miracle of life was actually just a fucking painful few hours when you came right down to it. The baby was the end result and that was all women were interested in.

For the first time in years, she was with Lance and they were alone and she didn't have the heart to push him away, or the inclination. She was shattered.

Pat was over the moon. He was a good kid, they were all good kids. As she thought that, she glanced up at Lance and she still didn't feel she could include him in that statement.

'Give me the baby, will you?'

Lance smiled as he placed the bundle into her arms.

'He's a real bruiser, Mum. A real brahma.'

Lil nodded. She wished her mother would come back from the canteen so she didn't have to make conversation with this huge man, a man who made her feel uneasy and inadequate.

The baby was looking up at her and she smiled with the pleasure of looking at him. He was handsome, and not just Mum handsome; she knew he would break some hearts before he was much older.

He started to cry, the high-pitched mewling of a new baby, the sound that she would hear through a hurricane and know it was her child. The crying caused the hormones to rampage through her tired body. She kissed him gently, smelling his newness and breathing in his very essence and enjoying his first few hours outside the womb. Already she felt like he had been there always, she felt as if she had never been without him and wondered how she could ever have coped without him. He was her baby, her last child, her redeemer.

Lance watched them together and the jealousy rose up inside him like a tidal wave. His mother had never looked at him like that. He knew she had never wanted him like she had wanted the others, that was clear to him. Watching her with the boy he felt the sheer loneliness of his life wash over him.

'I'd better get back to Kathleen. At least this has cheered her up a bit.'

Lil nodded again. She felt all she ever did with Lance was make head movements or gestures, anything rather than talk to him for any length of time.

Kathleen had watched the birth with all the others and she had burst into tears; she was really affected by the power of it all. The little ones had been beside themselves with excitement. Even Shamus couldn't hide his pride at his new brother, though it wasn't cool to admit it. And she was so proud of them all, especially Eileen, bless her, who had more or less delivered her new brother.

The baby was mewling once more and, as Lil looked down at him, she knew the name she wanted. Looking at Lance, she said happily, 'Shawn, his name is Shawn.'

As she said that she saw Jambo walking towards her and she placed the boy into his arms without a word being spoken.

Patrick and Mackie were both laughing and cooing over the baby, and Lil felt happier than she had in years.

'It's Shawn. I've named him Shawn.'

Jambo looked down at his son and felt a rush of love and protection. This boy was his flesh and blood.

Sitting on the bed beside Lil, he said happily, 'You did good, Lil. You did really good.'

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Shawn was a big child and he was also a happy child, everyone in his orbit doted on him. Even Kathleen, who had finally been diagnosed as schizophrenic, enjoyed his company. In fact, he seemed to cheer her up and made her forget her voices for a few moments. It was hard dealing with her condition but with the help of drugs she kept it pretty much under control. Other than her occasionally outlandish thoughts on the world in general, she was much better than she had been for a long time.

It made life easier for everyone when she was happy; everyone in the house felt her depression when it descended on her. In fact, it affected them all in different ways, even little Shawn felt the difference; he was quieter somehow, more clingy.

Annie was enamoured of the boy and that was the most amazing thing as far as Lil was concerned. Lil knew her mother had a streak of racism running through her, as her husband had. The fact that Annie had not said a word was, to Lil, the most amazing thing of all. Shawn was not really black as such but he was dark enough so there would be no question of his parentage. His eyes alone were to die for, huge brown orbs, surrounded by long, silky black lashes. The girls were jealous of them, as they were of his coffee-coloured skin and his soft musical voice. Shawn was adored, and he knew it.

A friendly child by nature, he seemed to attract people wherever he went. And Lil and the others couldn't imagine their lives without him in it. Even Patrick took him out in the car with him and Shawn loved it. He loved cars and he loved his big brothers. Colleen and Christy took him to the park, Shamus taught him to swear and Eileen and Kathleen fought over who was going to put him to bed.

Lil had gone back to work three weeks after his birth and now, two years on, she ran all the clubs and oversaw the debts. Jambo was a regular visitor and they all liked him and accepted the way he wandered in and out of their lives at will.

Lil believed that Shawn's birth had been the catalyst for her luck turning. She knew it was stupid to even think it, but that was how it felt to her. Since his arrival, everything seemed to go smoothly for once. Everyone seemed to find a piece of happiness to call their own. He was her lucky charm, the child for her old age as Janie had once referred to him. All the bad things were behind them, she was convinced of that. In fact, she could go days without thinking of Patrick or Lenny. Somehow, when she thought of one she thought of the other. It tainted her memories of her husband and she knew she still harboured resentment at the way he had left them all with hardly a penny to call their own. She still found herself getting angry over it even though she knew it was completely irrational. The past was the past. It had happened and there was nothing she could do to change it.

Pat was in the office, as always, on a Monday night. Monday was when they worked out the debts, collected any rents owed and decided who was going to be where for the rest of the week. It was their busiest day and Lance was now sitting opposite his brother and waiting for the lecture he was sure would be arriving at any moment. It was boring. Pat thought he was some kind of fucking film star the way he carried on.

'Listen, Lance, you are starting to get on my fucking wick. Do you think I won't hear what you're doing?'

Pat was so annoyed it was all he could do not to lamp his brother there and then.

'What, what is it now, Pat? Did I breathe wrong, what?'

The sarcasm was heavy and Pat sat back in the padded leather chair, forcing himself to relax.

'You beat up a fucking working man. He's got three fucking kids and you've nearly crippled him. How's he going to fucking earn a crust now? How are we gonna get our poke? The poke that is
so
important that you nearly crippled him for nine hundred quid. Nine hundred fucking quid and you beat him with a tyre iron…'

Lance shrugged, as always, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

'He was two weeks late, what was I supposed to do?'

'You cunt. You knew he was on holiday, he's always had an account with us and his credit is fucking exemplary. He always pays on the nose, you fucking stupid, arrogant little shite.'

Pat was out of the chair now and Lance flinched. Despite himself he was worried.

'Three fucking kids and a fucking life and you destroy it all without a fucking thought, you…'

Pat was hovering over him now and the urge to hammer him was so strong he could almost taste it.

'I ain't having it any more, Lance. This is your last chance and I mean it.'

'It was an accident…'

Pat walked away from his brother and stared out of the window at the pavement below.

'Accident, my arse. You are on a fucking final warning, you vicious, vindictive
cunt.
How can I trust you now, eh? Even Spider and Mackie think you have gone too far this time. You're making enemies and your enemies eventually become mine.'

Lance knew that this was serious. Normally Patrick went off on one and that was that. After all, their reputation for collecting money so quickly had been built on the fact he didn't take any prisoners. If the money didn't come to them at the designated time then the person was made to see the error of their ways. This was normally achieved with brute force and his unerring instinct for knowing what frightened the person involved the most, and using that knowledge without pity.

'This is too far, Lance. You have finally gone too far.'

Pat was still on the verge of taking a tyre iron to Lance himself. See how he liked being beaten over the head and back with a heavy object. The thought of hammering him was so fucking tempting, just to vent this colossal anger. And all this over less than a grand in cash, it was laughable.

He knew Lance's strong points and he used them to his advantage, he admitted that. But this attack was a reminder of what he was dealing with on a daily basis. Lance was slowly becoming a liability and he didn't know how to rein him in without them falling out big time.

If he was honest, he was beginning to loathe the sight of Lance, and yet once they were outside of work, his brother was a different person. It was as if he was proving something all the time. But what that was, exactly, he had no idea.

Pat looked back at Lance. He was a strange cove, there was no doubt about that. From his ill-fitting suit to his scuffed brogues, he looked like Worzel Gummidge's little brother. Even his hair wasn't cut in any kind of style, he often needed a shave and he looked like he was a bit simple. But he wasn't. That was another one of his strengths, people believed he was a fucking retard and he wasn't. Lance was sharper than a samurai sword when he needed to be. He acted like a mong and kept away from the pubs and the clubs, rarely venturing out unless it was to harm someone. He was a fucking weirdo and he knew that something had to be done about it. Other than Kathleen and little Shawn, Lance had no care for anyone or anything and it bothered him.

'Just go, Lance. Fuck off out of my sight…'

Lance still sat there, his heavy body slumped in the chair and his sarcastic half-smile in evidence, as usual.

But Lance knew he had gone too far this time. Pat was distancing himself from him and he wasn't sure that he even realised what he was doing himself. They were spending less and less time together and it hurt him. Lance wanted to be his brother's best friend but it was impossible. Pat was happy to be friends with anyone and Lance couldn't be like that, no matter how hard he tried, and he had tried. He knew he made people uneasy. He knew that for some reason he didn't gel with anyone. He knew he looked odd and that made people uneasy and it wasn't deliberate, at least not at first.

Now he admitted that sometimes he used his personality to his own advantage. When he turned up on a doorstep at five in the morning with his smile and a blunt instrument, people tended to pay him what he asked without question. He was also asked by outsiders to collect particularly difficult debts on occasion and he was very well-paid for it. In fact, he had a reputation as the best collector in the Smoke. He was admired for the simple reason he collected them alone; Pat had not been out collecting with him for a long time and he very rarely used anyone else. He had a few people he might ask to collect a small debt but not the big ones. Not the important ones. He preferred to collect those personally.

Why he had gone over the top this time he wasn't sure. In fact, he had known at the time that it was too much. But he had not cared, he had never liked the man. He was a clean-cut type with well-ironed shirts and a penchant for a flutter now and again. He was a fucking drone, a fucking suit. He was nothing to him and why Pat was so upset about it all he couldn't really understand. But he was, and he had to show some remorse to make Pat think he was sorry about it.

'Look, Pat, he fucked me off…'

Pat turned on him again, shouting angrily, 'Don't fucking
lie
to me. That bloke couldn't get the hump if he was Quasimodo. You were out of order
again.
This ain't the first time, is it? A few months ago you broke Jackie Tenant's fucking legs and he still can't work. You are the reason people have stopped betting with us, did you know that, eh? Punters are frightened you are going to turn up all guns blazing for a fucking drink, the equivalent of a fucking giro.'

Pat poked a finger in his brother's face.