So he sighed heavily, saying, 'Well you can ask anyone you want, OK?'

Lance nodded, feeling bad now. He knew Pat Junior was at the end of his considerable patience so he smiled and, as always, it changed his whole face; he looked handsome and innocent. The way he would have looked all the time if he wasn't always on the look out for slights or what he saw as insults.

'Thanks, mate. I'll think about it, all right?'

Pat Junior nodded.

And then they both sat down and watched Jackanory together in what was, for once, almost a friendly silence.

Lil walked in and saw her two sons together and smiled at them. They were both so alike and even Lance seemed happy for a change. As she sat down herself and sipped at a cup of tea, she wished that she could feel this contentment more often. But it was so difficult for her because she knew she couldn't.

Lance was watching her warily from the corner of his eye and the guilt that she felt because of him rose up inside her as it always did and made her feel so bad about herself that she almost cried. She tried as hard as she could with him, but the urge to slap this child of hers was overwhelming.

She watched as Patrick Junior glanced at his brother and then slipped his hand into Lance's, all the while acting like there was no atmosphere in the room and there was nothing to be worried about. It was the way that Lance grabbed at his brother's hand as if he was saving him from drowning that was the worst thing of all. Because she knew that Patrick was, as usual, acting as a wall that kept her and her second son as far away from each other as was physically possible and she did nothing to stop him.

Lil appreciated her eldest son's help and loved him all the more because she knew he was doing it all for her; she knew that he had no real time for Lance either.

Like her husband with Dennis Williams, who had eventually worn out his welcome, her son had the same attitude with his brother. Unlike Dennis Williams though, Lance had the sense to keep on his brother's good side.

Lil was worried though. Dennis had nearly brought trouble to her door and even though Pat had sorted it, she was still smarting from it. No matter what Pat said or, more to the point, didn't say, she had her mother to rely on where gossip was concerned.

The Williams brothers would always be trouble to them, she was convinced of that much at least.

Dave was nervous and he wondered what kind of reception he was going to get in Patrick's office. He hoped against hope that he would be alone, that he didn't have to talk to him with an audience of any kind. He felt Pat owed him that much at least but he couldn't demand it; his days of demanding anything were long gone.

The fact he was invited to the club was a touch because he knew that if Pat Brodie was going to do anything to him it would not be where he could be seen or heard. He needed to know the score, not just for him, but for his brothers who were waiting for him to let them know if they were safe or not. The family had been divided and all he could do now was to try to iron out their differences as best he could. If that meant swallowing his knob then he was willing to do it like a professional hostess. Dave was more than aware that anything he was given now would be the dregs and he had to accept that and work his way back into Pat's good books. He had to try to salvage something of their working relationship so that his brothers and himself could at least earn a crust of some sort.

He was also worried about what had happened to Dennis. He knew Jimmy had been on board, so he knew that it wasn't going to be anything he wanted to hear, though he would listen to the gory details if necessary and accept it with as good a grace as he could.

At the end of the day, he had to keep reminding himself that, no matter what, he had to do what was best for the rest of the family, himself included. That the old days were dead and gone. He had to take what was offered with as much pride and dignity as he could muster, and eventually it would all blow over.

At least that is what he kept telling himself.

As he parked his car and walked slowly through the evening bustle that was Soho, he felt the sickness rising inside his chest. This had once been his stomping ground, had once been the epitome of everything he had ever wanted or indeed ever achieved but now the streets were cold and unfriendly and he didn't feel a part of it all any more.

The flashing neon lights and the garish posters with nude women and their strategically placed stars, were alien to him. Sex was on sale everywhere, but underlying that was the stench of pimps and the Brodies, all out to take whatever they wanted.

The smell of Chinese food mixed with pasta was sickening and the grey-skinned women who only seemed to come alive at night looked sinister; their make-up and cheap clothes suddenly showing him just how false the world he had inhabited for so long really was.

Soho was all top show and if you scratched the surface you were reminded that it was all built on lies and pretence; he had been part of that pretence once and now he was being forced on to the sidelines. It was a very cruel lesson and one he would remember all his life.

No one acknowledged his existence any more. There were no friendly waves or the humorous shouting he had become used to. He saw people deliberately turning away from him, as if he was diseased, and in a way he was. He was now an outsider looking in and it felt worse than anything he had ever experienced before in his life.

As Dave walked into the warmth of the club, he was left with no illusions about his status in the community where he had once been a leading player.

The head girl, Lynda Marks, looked him up and down with obvious distaste before saying archly, 'I'll let him know you're here, shall I?'

Her whole demeanour told him just how far he had fallen and it was this more than anything that really hit him where it hurt.

If the hostesses felt they could talk down to you then you really were about as low as you could possibly get.

But he knew he had to take whatever was dealt him, because he had fucked up big time. It would be years before he was even accepted back into the lower echelons of the world he had come to see as his own; let alone be trusted. He had to make sure that Patrick Brodie understood that he was here today, cap in hand and with all the humility he could muster, in the hope that he could salvage at least something from this debacle. At least get a living for himself and his brothers. He needed to find out whether Dennis was alive or dead and if they at least had something left to bury or whether he had to tell his mother there were no remains to cry over, nothing tangible to grieve for. As he waited for his audience he was sweating with nerves and dry-mouthed with fear.

'Look at that pair of maggots!' Annie's voice was soft for once and, as was her wont these days, it was the sight of her twin granddaughters that was the cause of it.

'Lovely ain't they, Mum. I hope this one's a girl and all.'

Lil put her hands under her large lump and lifted it carefully; this was the biggest she had ever been before and everyone assumed she was either carrying a boy or failing that, another set of twins.

She wanted another girl though. She liked the girls and since Lance's birth, she was frightened of another son, of having another boy that she would not be able to love.

The twins were lying side by side once more and talking their own language. It was fascinating to watch them. They were like mirror images of one another and unless you knew them really well, it was difficult to tell them apart.

Her mother's obvious love for them had melted even her heart and their relationship had been easier because of that, easier than it had been for a long time. Annie was always trying to build bridges and helping her out and she appreciated that. As Lil looked around her cluttered front room, she felt the tiredness and the excitement of the new baby acutely.