Then she understood, and for the first time ever, she knew how fear could bring you peace of mind, and how fear could change your life for the better. As long as it wasn't your own fear of course.

And as she had lived in abject terror for the best part of her young life, this feeling was wonderful, it was like being released from servitude; she knew that no matter what happened, this man would never frighten her again. He looked smaller already, somehow pathetic and old; his body was hunched over and she knew her own body was now straighter. Patrick had given her respect inside this house and for that alone she would love him to the day she died.

She had the power now, and it was all thanks to her Patrick, Patrick Brodie, the man she was going to marry.

She scooped up her wages from the kitchen table and placed them in her overall pocket. Then she took out her packet of cigarettes and dared to light one in front of her parents and, puffing deeply, she said quietly, 'Tea would be lovely, thanks.'

Her stepfather motioned to his wife and she actually poured the tea then, her mind racing on overtime at what had befallen her daughter and ultimately, she hoped, had befallen herself.

Patrick Brodie was a byword these days, and she knew that if her daughter had managed to snag a fine piece of manhood like him then she had to take the proverbial hat off to her.

Even as the jealousy kicked in, she was, like her husband, looking for ways to utilise the relationship for her own benefit.

This time the tea had sugar as well as milk, and as Lily Diamond lit another cigarette she hoped and prayed that Patrick didn't tire of her, because if he did, these two would slaughter her without a second's thought.

'You having me on?' Billy Spot was laughing, but the laughter was with the subject of his humour, definitely not against him, nor his notoriously flimsy pride.

Since taking out Barry Caldwell, this young man had become an overnight sensation and Billy, being Billy, was waiting to see if this lad's new-found status was going to be a fixture. He had seen them come and go over the years, he knew the score in their game. It was how you survived, you either outlived, or you out-boxed your opponents. At the moment, Pat was the dog's knob and he would worship at his altar if that was what it took to keep himself in the running. He was a follower, not a leader, he knew that better than anyone. But he knew Barry's death had caused ripples through their world and he also knew that retribution was on its way. He had funded it himself, along with a few other cronies. He could afford to be friendly, but he had no intention of giving up his pavement without a fight.

'She seems a nice girl though.' The laughter was gone now, he was all respect and feigned interest.

Pat smiled then. 'She is.'

Pat actually liked Billy and he saw his Lil as on a par with Billy's old woman. She was also a civilian and had never been inside any of her old man's clubs, and had no reputation to speak of. She produced children with the minimum of fuss and she lied to the Old Bill as and when the occasion warranted it. In short, she was a good bird and Billy worshipped the ground she walked on.

Like Billy, he too wanted a brahma, a good girl. He wanted someone he could trust even if he got himself a twenty. And his instincts told him that all these attributes were possessed by the young girl he had become besotted with. And he was besotted. He had not wanted another woman for weeks, and for him that was like not wanting a drink or a deal.

In short, it was unheard of.

He had other things on his mind and once they were dealt with, he could relax and court his girl in peace. He was making himself a decent living so that once he was married he could live like a king.

Unfortunately, that involved stepping on more than a few toes, but he was prepared for the fallout and more than eager to take up any reins that might come his way.

He was a chancer like his father, but unlike his father he liked to make sure that anything he accrued stayed close by. He guessed that Billy, like Barry, was not allowing for his acumen in this new world of skulduggery. Respecting your elders was a luxury these days, and the sooner the silly old fuckers realised that, the better off they would all be.

'Do you have a problem with me outing drugs, Bill?'

Billy shrugged, and Patrick was impressed at the way the man acted so nonchalantly when they both knew the score; he was taking Billy's businesses over gradually and irrevocably. Billy Spot's workforce were now all working in some way for him.

It was a checkmate situation and Patrick hoped that Billy would understand that and not grieve too much over times gone by.

He had heard the rumours about retribution for Barry and he watched his back, but he also accepted it as part and parcel of their choice of career.

Billy's day was long gone, he had made the mistake all powerful men make; he hadn't been on the actual street for years. He was told only what he wanted to hear and he couldn't cap anyone himself, relying on heavies to do his dirty work. He was an embarrassment to all and sundry.

Pat knew the man was waiting to see whether he could keep up this dangerous façade, and if he could, he knew he would have a partner, if not in crime, then at least at the local drinking establishments. He had been willing to use Billy even though he knew the man and his cronies were putting up pound notes to bring about his demise. None of them had liked Barry as such, but none of them wanted to be Barry.

He understood that, except if he had been in Billy's shoes he would have been dead by now.

'You jammy little mare!'

Constance White looked at the young girl packing cigarettes expertly into boxes beside her, and her grin was friendly and amiable. 'Fuck me, girl, you got Pat Brodie! Most of his amours end up calling him Glenn Miller and that's because he normally goes on the missing list.'

Everyone laughed, and Lily went bright red with embarrassment.

At twenty, Constance was already married and had two children; her husband was a no-neck with acne scars and the conversation of an African elephant. So she envied this little piece even as she admired her. Many women had tried to snag Brodie, herself included, but he had slipped away like an oily chain. Good-looking girl though, and men like Brodie liked the innocent look, in a wife anyway. Like all men he wanted to be sure that any children carrying his name were actually his. No cuckoos in the nest for him. He was thirty if he was a day and she was fifteen; he must think all his Christmases and birthdays had come at once.

But it was the change in Lily that amazed Constance. The girl had grown into herself overnight, had started walking tall, she spoke before she was spoken to and she had the flushed cheeks of a girl ripe for the marriage bed.

Connie, as she was called, knew that this child, and she was a child for all her mature looks, was not going to be one of Brodie's usual shack-ups. He wanted this one to breed with, and she had a feeling Lily would amaze them all.

Lily smiled happily; thanks to Pat she was set for life, and this factory and all it entailed would be a thing of the past soon. As soon as she hit sixteen she was gone.

Thunderclap Newman came on the radio and she sang along with her workmates; there definitely was something in the air.

Patrick affected her in so many ways, and as she packed her cigarettes she dreamt of his body touching hers, and longed for the kisses she was sure to get once the night drew in and they were alone in his car.

Billy Spot was standing outside his nightclub in Soho with his girlfriend on his arm. A redhead called Velma, she had all his usual prerequisites; big tits, nice teeth and long skinny legs. Billy was wearing his customary attire: black Crombie overcoat, pin-stripe suit and an expensive cigar.