Janie nodded. Taking the proffered cigarette, she lit it and said, 'He could have killed her, Lil, and it was that which brought me round here. I don't want any trouble and you know that. But my kids are mortally afraid of him. Not a day goes by but he is at them…'

She was crying again now. The sympathy that was in Lil's eyes made her break down.

'Where was my Pat while all this was going on?' She was suddenly afraid that her eldest son was a part of it all.

Janie shrugged and wiped at her eyes with a grubby tissue, the cigarette stains on her fingers showing just how bad her nerves had become. Looking at her with the cigarette dangling from her lips and the tear-stained face that was blotchy and swollen, Lil saw her own life if she wasn't careful. Lance was capable of making her into the wretch she saw before her and she was determined not to let that happen.

'He puts a stop to him if he catches him. He's a good boy, Lil.'

The words were like a balm to Lil and she sighed again, heavier this time, before bellowing once more at the top of her voice, 'Don't you dare go up to him, Mother…'

She got out of the chair again and, as she walked from the room, Janie could hear Annie Diamond arguing with her in hushed tones.

Janie looked around her at the lovely home that Lance lived in and she wondered at a boy who had everything laid on a plate and who still was going to the bad. The carpet was new and reached all the walls, the furniture was expensive and comfortable, and even the ashtrays were coloured glass, shaped like big blue fishes. A colour TV stood in the corner and velvet curtains adorned the windows. It was like something from a magazine or a shop window. Yet she wouldn't trade places with poor Lil for all the money in the world.

'I mean it, Mum, you leave him to stew in his own juices.'

Annie was agitated and upset. Lil was amazed at the way her mother felt for this child of hers, considering the woman had never once shown her so much as a scrap of affection while she had been growing up. No Christmases, no birthdays, nothing; it was as if she had not existed. Now she was willing to argue for a boy who had thrown a six-year-old child off a moving bus. As she pushed her mother none too gently down the stairs, she said in a deep whisper, 'Fuck off home, Mother, and leave me to sort this out.' Annie was beside herself as she said quickly, 'You ain't going to tell Patrick are you?'

Her voice was high with fear and Lil was aware that she was shaking with emotion; her mother, on whom she would have bet her last penny that no real emotion had ever existed inside her body.

'Fucking right, I am telling Patrick. That child needs sorting out once and for all and I am going to make it my business to see that happens.'

Annie was shaking her head like a wet dog, and then she shrieked: 'He was only being a boy. All kids do silly things, Lil. Please don't tell Pat about this. Pat will kill him; you're bad enough but Pat don't know his own strength…'

^'Go home, Mother. Leave me and my family alone. And while we are talking about Pat, he will blame you for all this anyway, so make yourself scarce before he aims you out the door once and for all.'

Lil went up the stairs then and looked in on Lance, he was lying on his bed sobbing and alone and she was reminded of how little he was really. But his plight still didn't move her in any way. He was looking at her now with his big blue eyes and she saw the cunning behind them and shivered. He was a vindictive little bugger and she wondered where he had got that from. It had to be from her mother. Annie could be cold, she knew, and she was going to make a point of curtailing the time she spent with him.

When this baby arrived, she was going to take control of the reins once more, and she was going to watch him like a hawk. She never wanted to hear another story about him and his hate-fuelled antics ever again. This all stopped today. She was determined to make Lance finally appreciate that all his actions had consequences.

Closing the door on the sobbing boy, she went into Pat's room where the wide-eyed girls were sitting on his bed holding hands tightly as Pat Junior read them a story.

'Is he all right, Mum?'

Lil nodded. She was unable to trust herself to speak to a boy who was worried about his brother even though all his troubles were self-inflicted and even though it would ultimately make his own life easier if he didn't have to look out for him constantly. Pat Junior's loyalty was astounding really, considering who he was wasting it on.

That her children had been frightened by her actions was evident in the quiet around her and the fact that the girls didn't run to her as usual for a hug; they just stared at her as if she was a stranger in their midst.

Going back downstairs, she made a cup of tea for her and Janie; and a friendship was born that day that would last the two women a lifetime.

If Lance had done nothing else in his short life, he had brought these two women together as friends.

Cain was watching warily as Patrick circled him holding a chair leg in his hands he had retrieved from the debris of the office. Cain had been beaten to within an inch of his life and he had put up a good fight; in fact, Patrick and his cohorts were secretly impressed. The place was a shambles but Cain was taking it like a man and that stood him in good stead with his protagonists. His defence had surprised them somewhat with its ferocity, after all the drugs he'd taken.

As Cain sat watching them through swollen eyes he waited for the next assault that he knew would be forthcoming sooner rather than later. The weight of the weapon in Patrick's hands was evident in the way he was handling it; it was cumbersome, and the straight edges could do a lot of damage to skull and bone. And even though Cain was out of the game in comparison to the three men around him, he was with it enough to know that he was still in for a rough night. He was running on pure adrenaline now, unsure of exactly what was going on; he had no idea why Brodie was even there. Cain was unable to function properly, he couldn't even remember what this was all about.

The ketamine was kicking in once more and he felt the sweat envelop his body. He could smell it, a dank staleness that, until his foray into the world of the drug user, as opposed to the drug dealer, would have made him feel physically ill. The tannic taste of blood was in his mouth and the cocktail of drugs in his system was making him feel invincible. He was once more of the opinion that he could fight his way out of the room. The ketamine, a powerful horse-tranquilliser, was once more rushing through his system and mixed with the amphetamines he had been snorting with it for the past eight hours, it was confusing him. His mind was raving once more and the paranoia was creeping up on him. The sweat was running down his face and blurring his already limited vision. He could see the men looking at him, could make out their features as if he was looking through water; they were talking to each other and he knew it was about him. But he couldn't understand what they were saying. They were cunting him though, he was convinced of that, taking him for a mug and they expected him to sit and take it?

Cain shook his head and laughed at their foolishness, that they thought he wouldn't punish them for their outrageous insults to him? That he would swallow this kind of treatment? He screamed and, using his considerable strength, he jumped up from the seat and launched himself at Patrick Brodie. He was almost feral and his teeth were bared as he attempted to bite his face, tear off an ear or rip off his nose. The attack was as fast as it was unexpected and Patrick brought the chair leg down on his head and body over and over again until he finally stopped trying to rise up from the floor. He lay there, a bloody mess, his mouth open as he gasped for breath while still attempting to mutter obscenities and threats at his attackers.