Lil had been at her lowest ebb when Lenny had come to her and, although she had known he was not the best of men, she had believed he would at least care for them all. Taking on Brodie's family had made him look like he was a good man, a decent man. That he had seen them all right. But, like Patrick before him, he had seen himself all right without a thought for her or her kids. Even Patrick, the love of her life, had left her destitute. He could have made sure they were looked after, should have made sure they were looked after, and she had to admit to herself that he just had not bothered. She had not only lost her husband, the father of her children, she had also lost everything they had. She had ended up on the bash to make ends meet. They had five children, five, and he had not even had a will of any description. He had not allowed for his death, for his children's futures. It still rankled, still hurt her when she thought about it. She had loved him like she had loved no other. He had been her world and while he was there, he had looked after her, she didn't dispute that. But what had gradually occurred to her over the years was that he hadn't seen her as a soulmate, as an equal. He had seen her as his wife.

But now that Lenny had been disposed of, she felt as if she had been given another chance at life. She refused to mourn Patrick or the life she had once enjoyed any more. Her boy was home and he was taking over, like his father before him, and she hoped against hope that he wouldn't tuck her up as well.

Lil walked up the stairs and popped her head into Kathleen's room. She was lying there, her face turned to the wall and her shoulders hunched under the covers. It was a nice room, the girls had always kept their room nice. Lil looked around her then, as if seeing it for the first time. It was clean but it was in desperate need of redecoration. Patrick had weighed her out with enough money to get the place sorted and she was going to do just that. As she sat on her daughter's bed she felt her usual irritation at the girl's complete lack of anything even resembling a life. She hid it as best she could, for the most part, but seeing this beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her just lying in bed for weeks on end made her so angry; she hated the waste of a life. Or of a youth that Kathleen was too young and stupid to realise would be over before she knew it.

As Kathleen opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, Lil saw the same loneliness there that she had seen in her own eyes all those years ago, and she couldn't understand it.

Kathleen had a whole network of people who cared for her, and yet she chose to waste her life away in a bedroom, and with a sadness that made her mother sick with guilt every day of her life.

Lily forced down the annoyance and said, with as much interest as she could muster, 'You feeling better, love?'

Kathleen nodded, slowly as always, as if the movement of her head was a really complicated manoeuvre and the question she had been asked was verging on life or death.

Lil had to clench her fists to stop herself from physically dragging this child of hers from the bed and slinging her out on to the street to force her to join in with real life; whether she wanted to or not.

Lil took deep breaths. She periodically felt like this about her daughter and, when she did lose it, she was always stopped by the others and made to feel so bad about what she had done. But Kathleen seemed to enjoy her depression too much for her liking.

'Have you eaten?'

'I can't, Mum, I feel so bad.' Her voice had a whine in it that once more spelled danger to Lil, and she nodded gently before turning to leave the room.

'Mum?' The voice was stronger now and Lil turned to face it.

'What, love?' She was trying her hardest to hide her irritation; her short temper was already on a low fuse.

Kathleen looked deep into her eyes and Lil saw the black circles and the grey skin that told her she really was unwell.

'I don't mean it, you know. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be like this, so unhappy and so tired all the time. I can't help it, Mum, I just can't help it.'

Lil's anger dissolved then, and she felt the usual rush of guilt. She didn't know what to do for her baby girl who was hurting, and she didn't know what would make it better. She didn't know how to make the pain stop.

She sat on the bed and took Kathleen in her arms, feeling the softness of her as she hugged her tightly. 'I know you don't mean it, Kath, I just wish you wasn't feeling bad in the first place.'

As she tried to stroke her daughter and comfort her, Kathleen pulled away from her. 'Don't you ever hate life, Mum?'

Lil smiled then, a tiny, tired smile, and she answered her honestly, but with an edge of sarcasm to her voice: 'Every day of my life, darling, every day of my fucking life.'

Sergeant Smith was tall; tall and thin and he had a bad case of psoriasis. He spent the best part of his days scratching himself and, as he sat with Pat and Lance, they both watched him in morbid fascination. He was like a monkey in a zoo, except he had brown hair and watery grey eyes. Patrick knew he had been on the roll for a while; he was close with them all, at least he thought he was, and he was happy enough to change allegiance when he deemed it necessary. Like now, with Brewster's timely disappearance.

Like all bent filth, he was not to be trusted. If he was capable of tucking up his workmates, his so-called colleagues, he was not to be trusted any more than you would a rabid dog or a pregnant whore. That was why the people they dealt with had to make sure they had some insurance. Something that could be dangled over their heads when a point needed to be made or someone needed to be reminded of exactly who they were and, more to the point, who they were dealing with. His name was Roland and few people were aware of that. Those who knew were not brave enough to use it. He was always called Smith.

As he sat with the Brodie boys he was happy to take his bunce and assure them that he was happy enough with the change of management that had recently occurred. Smith was a shrewdie; he had a bastard of a boss who, he made sure, was never, ever, in any kind of compromising situation.

Smith had been Pat's go-between since day one and he was quite content with that. They were paid well and were rarely asked to do anything of merit. That the day would eventually come, they were both sure but, until then, they were content to go with the flow.

'Tell Scanlon I want a meet with him and I want it soon.'

Smith was suddenly unsure how to answer the young man before him; he had the look of the convict about him and that wasn't unusual seeing as how he was one. But he also had a hard edge to his voice that told the listener he was not about to take any nonsense.

'Scanlon never meets anyone.' This was said with a hint of amazement; Smith looked as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.

Pat stood up and took the money off the desk and he saw Smith's eyes widen slightly at his actions. 'You tell fucking Scanlon that if he don't meet with me, I am going to fucking go over his head, all right? You ain't the only bent filth in the game.'

He opened a drawer and dropped the package inside it. 'No meet, no dosh. Sorry, mate.'

Smith sat there for a few seconds, unsure how to react. Then Lance dragged him up bodily from his seat and bellowed, 'Well, fuck off then! Tell the skank to get his arse in gear.'

He pushed him towards the door then and Smith left as quickly as was possible without looking like he was running away.

Lance and Pat laughed at his exit.

'What a cunt, Pat.'

'He will come in handy, don't worry.'