This was fine on paper but, as Jimmy was proving with every visit, all the police checks in the world could not stop messages or even orders being exchanged between the prisoner and their visitor. Freddie knew this and it had been his idea that Jimmy be the go-between, but Jimmy had become aware that his cousin was not too happy about the situation now.

However, that was something he could do nothing about. Ozzy called the shots and that was that. He understood his cousin's feelings, he was after all the man who had set this up. Freddie had been put in Parkhurst after he had been deemed unable to rehabilitate. This was due to the fact that he had maimed and fought guards and prisoners alike. He had not taken kindly to being locked up, and his natural anger had been unleashed at the littlest provocation. It was only on the unit that he had felt at ease, and in a way it had done him the world of good. He had tasted serious skulduggery and he had loved every second of it.

His six weeks in Shepton Mallet acclimatising for his release had been fantastic since Ozzy's arm was long and it was respected everywhere. Freddie had been given a hero's welcome and he had also had a single cell, a few quid and as much drink and fags as he could manage.

Now, though, he was starting to resent Jimmy being the only means of communication with Ozzy. Freddie being Freddie couldn't help thinking that he wasn't being told the whole story, which in fairness was often the case. It was hard for Freddie to accept that Jimmy was a doer, he was a thinker and worst of all he was liked.

It had suited Freddie when people pretended to like him. When he was younger he had seen it as a form of respect, but now he was seeing another side to life, which was being shown to him by a young man who was beneath him, not only in age but also in stature.

A young man who owed him not only his daily bread but his whole life. He had made Jimmy into the man he was, and the fact that he was doing so well should have made Freddie happy. He was ashamed of his jealousy, but nonetheless it was still there.

Jimmy understood that, he knew Freddie better than he understood himself though Freddie for his part didn't know him at all. Freddie never really tried to know anyone. As long as they were useful and toed the line, he was happy. At least he had been until now.

Jimmy knew he had to tread warily, because as much as Freddie loved him he was too competitive for his own good. Even more so now he was making gigantic fuck-ups left, right and centre.

'Come on, Freddie, you know the score. If you want to get someone else to schlep to the Isle of Wight and listen to Ozzy, you go, boy. You're the one who made me go in the first place.'

Jimmy sounded contrite enough to stop a war, and he was looking worried enough to placate the man he loved more than any other on the earth. This was becoming a regular mantra, and it was starting to get on his nerves. He worked hard and if Freddie couldn't see that, he was a fool. Jimmy carried him a lot of the time, though that was never mentioned. Jimmy was walking a fine line and as he was getting older and more involved in everything, he was starting to resent it all. He implemented a lot of Ozzy's demands because it was easier than waiting for Freddie to get around to it. But he had to do it in such a way Freddie felt that he was doing the legwork. Freddie was lazy, always had been and always would be, although he was great at the threatening, at the bully-boy end of the business, because he enjoyed it. But the day-to-day matters got on his nerves, Freddie would let things slide, and all because he couldn't keep off the gear and off the birds.

Jimmy was sensible enough to know that his own particular forte was the fact he could placate, he could talk people down, and he could avoid a lot of the confrontation that their job entailed. From the robbing to the collecting, the dealing, right through to the clubs, the pubs and all the other sundry businesses that they were supposed to oversee for Ozzy, it was Jimmy who kept it all running smoothly.

Freddie was aware of this, but his personality could not, and would not, allow for anyone else being in the frame. Jimmy was quicker than him at the mathematics of the jobs, at the scheduling of the workforce and at liaising between the different people who worked for them. He was his blood and he was good at what he was doing, but it galled him, even though it was because of his cousin's acumen that he could breeze through each day.

He stared at the younger man before him, and saw, as he always saw, himself if he had only been granted a small modicum of sense. In his heart of hearts he knew he should sort himself out before it was too late, cut down on the drinking and the drugs, take more of an interest in what was going on around him, but that was easier said than done.

And as he looked into Jimmy's face he felt the familiar shame wash over his thoughts. The kid was good and he was the only person Freddie Jackson really loved, other than himself. He grinned then, the affable, raffish grin that had got him into more beds and more fights than he could count.

He leaned across the beer-stained desk and grabbed Jimmy's chin. It was a painful grasp but Jimmy swallowed it, though deep inside he wanted to tell this man who he revered and adored the truth of his situation. But he didn't, he couldn't.

'You clever little fucker, Ozzy must think all his birthdays and Christmases have come at once with you!'

Jimmy pulled his head from Freddie's grasp. 'I only tell him what he needs to know and I relay his messages on to you, Freddie. Why do you do this to me?'

It was a plea, and they both knew it.

Freddie knocked back his drink in one gulp and then shrugged. 'Just don't ever think you can overtake me, all right? Never try and mug me off.'

Jimmy smiled then, the most difficult smile of his life. 'Why would I try and do that to you?'

The question and the answer hung in the air.

'Oh shut the fuck up, Jackie, and come here!'

Her pretence at cleaning was annoying Freddie. She had been walking in and out of the room, emptying ashtrays and tidying around in general, trying to attract his attention. Now he was ready to give it to her.

Freddie was smoking a joint and listening to Pink Floyd on the stereo; he had been singing 'Wish You Were Here' to himself for two hours. Unlike his friends Freddie liked his music low and interesting.

Freddie watched as Jackie waddled over to him. She was a lump this time, so big even he was getting worried. 'You sure there ain't about four kicking away in there, girl?'

Jackie was laughing now. She loved it when he took notice of her, but the backache she had been suffering from all day was starting to interfere with her pleasure.

Her long dark hair was cut to perfection and brushed to a sheen. Thanks to Maggie's obsession with hair-dressing the women of the family had never looked so well groomed.

As Jackie slumped down on to the brown Dralon corner unit, Freddie pulled her into his arms and said gently, 'Your hair looks triffic.'

He knew the compliment would please her, and it was true, her hair did look nice. It was the rest of her he had a problem with. She was so scruffy looking, as was the house.

'You always had a lovely barnet, Jack, and it looks nice like that.'

It had been cut into long layers and backcombed within an inch of its life. She was thrilled with it, more so now her husband had not only noticed it, but had admired it.

He had also once said she looked like the poor man's Joan Collins on PCP, but no one had ever had the heart to pass that remark on to her.

'A woman's crowning glory, I remember that from school when I was a kid. It's the first thing a bloke notices, apparently.' He was a tit man personally but he knew better than to say that to her at the moment. Her sense of humour had been on the missing list for a while now.