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Patrick smiled, a smile that crinkled up his face and was a rare sight outside of this house. 'All there is it, son? You didn't have a dip?'

Pat Junior looked scandalised and was suddenly flustered as he said, with total honesty, 'I wouldn't, Dad, never…'

Patrick grinned again. 'I was winding you up, son, don't take things so seriously.'

He ruffled the boy's hair and pushed the biscuit tin towards him once more. Taking out a chocolate digestive, Pat Junior dipped it in his tea.

'How's everything here?'

'The usual, Dad. Mum is very tired lately and the twins are hard work. But me and Lance do what we can. Nanny Annie is a pain in the you know where, but Mum can sort her out. I make sure the rubbish is put out and any errands are done.'

This was all said with a matter of factness that made Patrick want to laugh, but he didn't because he knew his boy had a lot of dignity.

'What about school?'

Pat Junior was less forthcoming about that, as his father knew would be the case.

'No more fighting?'

'I wasn't fighting for me, was I? It was Lance I was defending. For all his bulk he can't really have a row and yet he talks a good fight, as you know.'

Indignation was threaded through the words and, once more, Patrick was reminded of his son's total honesty.

Lance was a chancer. He was a nice enough lad, but he had the weakness of the Brodie grandparents running through him like a stick of Southend rock.

'Did you talk with your brother about it?'

Pat Junior nodded. 'Course I did, but he don't listen, does he? But he don't mean it, Dad, he just doesn't know when to shut up. I ironed them out anyway, they won't be going near him now.'

Patrick looked at his little son and felt an urge to hug him close but he didn't; he knew the boy was trying to be a man and he knew that he had to treat him as such. It was a hard road to manhood and he wanted his boys to be well able for it when it finally arrived. Lance was going to need his older brother because he didn't have the cunning this little lad had in abundance. Pat Junior was his father's son and Patrick knew he had a worthy successor for his business.

'You been to mass this week?'

'I am serving as an altar boy, Dad. I ain't had much choice.'

Their quiet laughter was broken by a scream that was as terrifying as it was loud and they both sprang from their seats and ran upstairs. Kathleen was hysterical and her mother was trying to calm her down. Eileen was sitting up in bed wide-eyed and white-faced. Lance was at the doorway surveying the scene with his usual lack of interest.

'What the fuck is wrong with her, Lil?'

Lil was cuddling the crying child to her and shook her head.

'What did you see, Lance? You were first on the scene, so to speak.'

Lance shrugged nonchalantly. 'She was dreaming, I think.'

Lance walked towards Kathleen but she shrank away from him. 'Go away.'

Kathleen slipped from her mother's arms and climbed into her sister's bed. Eileen automatically made room for her and the boys looked at each other and shrugged. This was not an unusual occurrence for the girls; they often slept in each other's arms, even though they went to bed separately. Everyone put it down to them being twins; they even talked to one another in their own language.

Calmer now, the girls snuggled down to sleep, although Kathleen still had the wary eyes of a frightened animal. The twins' hair was now all tight curls and a bronze colour that enhanced the deep grey of their eyes. They had Patrick's mother's eyes but, unlike hers, the twins' eyes held only love and innocence. His mother had the hard eyes of a woman who had known too many men and lost too many dreams.

Now the drama was averted, Patrick kissed his daughters and led his sons back to their bedrooms. He could hear Lil talking to the girls, reassuring them, and he smiled once more. This house was better than a theatre; there was always a drama of some sort or another. Four kids guaranteed that much but, all in all, they were good kids and he was inordinately proud of them.

He winked at Pat Junior as he tucked him into his bed. Pat Junior's bedroom was messy; it had
Boy's Own
annuals and Airfix kits everywhere. A real boy's room, it was cluttered and smelt of football boots, Germolene and crisps. It had wallpaper that was covered in pictures of WW2 planes and tanks. Patrick loved this room; it was filled with everything he had never had as a child and he felt at the pinnacle of his success just breathing in the aroma.

He walked into Lance's room. Lance's fastidious ways made him smile. Unlike Pat's room, it was all neatly folded clothes and horror comics. Lance loved the occult and anything to do with vampires. His walls were covered with posters from Hammer Horror films: women with copious amounts of bosom on display being attacked by vampires or werewolves; Vincent Price grinned down from alongside Peter Cushing and Lon Chaney Jnr. The room smelt of Parma Violets and Bazooka Joe bubble gum. Lance had also had a fine collection of porn that his mother had found and confiscated. It was odd, but if it had been Pat Junior with the copies of
Penthouse,
he wouldn't have been so bothered but there was something wrong with Lance having it and he didn't know why. Kissing Lance's tousled hair, he closed the door quietly and went to the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Lil was already back in bed, her long hair spread across the pillows and her white breasts straining against her nightdress. She looked good enough to eat and Patrick fought down the urge to take her there and then. He knew she was not on top form and he was sorry for that in more ways than one.

As he lay beside Lil, he snuggled into her and she laughed at the erection pushing against her thigh.

'You are like those batteries they advertise on the telly. Ever-readies!'

'You know me, girl. Shag a fence I would!'

Patrick grinned and grabbed at her playfully. Lil pushed him away, good-naturedly but firmly.

'I'm sorry, Patrick. I am just about cream crackered.'

He yawned and kissed her gently. She knew he had a hard-on that was so rock-solid it could stop a speeding bus, but the fact that he didn't push it made her love him even more. She was bone-weary and hadn't been sleeping because she was worried about where he was. Now he was beside her and she could settle down and drift away in peace. If only men understood how vulnerable women felt when they were heavily pregnant, especially when it wasn't the blooming and exciting kind of pregnancy the first few had been. This one was bad enough to make sure this child would be the last. She had no intention of going through all this again.

'Night, darlin'. Sleep well.'

Lil smiled in the darkness at his soft words; now that he was beside her, that was exactly what she was going to do.

Pat was thinking about a little redhead who had been giving him the come-on for a while now. He needed to slake his urge and she was just the girl to do it.

'Babe, I might be late again tomorrow night, OK?'

Lil was half-asleep. 'What about the party, I thought we would start sorting that out?'

Patrick tutted at her and Lil realised she had annoyed him with her domestic chat. But it was her son's tenth birthday and she wanted it marked properly.

'Who are you fucking tutting at?'

She was wide awake now and Patrick could have kicked himself. He felt guilty enough as it was because he was already planning what he was going to do to the redhead.

'I wasn't tutting. I'm tired, that's all.' He was trying to sound hurt to stop any kind of argument because now he really was dog-tired and his Lil could row for England when the fancy took her.

'I want you to help me make the boy's day a bit special, Pat. If that's too much for you, then you let me know and, as per usual, I will do it on me own.' She was steaming now; she knew that he was wrong-footed and she was making the most of it. The sleep had left her faster than a bank robber in Barclays Bank.

'Look, Lil, for fuck sakes…'

She punched him none too gently in the shoulder. 'No,
you
look, Patrick. I spend my days here with the kids while you swan around being the big fucking I am. And I want your eldest son's tenth birthday to be something to remember all his life. I never had one party, not fucking one, and you were all for it until tonight. Well, fuck you. If you have more important things to do, then do them.'

She lay back down. Her breathing was heavy and his conscience was even heavier. He was wide awake now and she knew it.

'Please, Lil. I was just tired, that's all. You can do what you like for the boy; you know I'm useless at all that party stuff…'

Lil leant up on her elbow and he could see her in the dim light from the lamppost outside their window. She was stunning in her anger; when she defended her kids she was like an Amazon to him. But at this moment in time she was being a pain in the fucking ring. He forced a smile as he said, with as much aplomb as he could muster, 'You know the shit I have had to deal with this week…'

She turned away from him and sighed heavily; a calculated sigh that she knew would make him feel guiltier than ever. She knew what he was up to when he wasn't with her and tonight she didn't even care about that any more. If someone else was giving him his due, then good luck to them. At this moment in time all she wanted was a good night's sleep and for her son's party to go off with a bang. Anything else was not on her radar. He was beneath her notice but she was not going to let him off without a fight.

'Fuck you. Do you know what my life is like, Pat? Backache, a weak bladder and four kids who can't fucking sleep through the night without a bastard drama. On top of that, I have a husband who stays out all night on a regular basis and I am expected to believe that it's work even though I worked the clubs with him and I know the score better than he does. I just asked you a perfectly simple question, that is all. I wanted to know about
our
son's birthday, but I forgot that we ain't interesting enough for you any more, are we? Oh no, you are more interested in what you get up to, night after fucking night, while I stagnate here like a fucking pet monkey!'

Patrick would not have even attempted to interrupt or argue with her until she brought up about the clubs and now he was as angry as she was. Guilt was eating at him and he was determined to throw her off the scent. Attack was the best form of defence; his old man had proved the truth of that one.

'What are you trying to insinuate, Lil? That I am dipping my wick elsewhere?' It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it even as he was saying it.

She was out of the bed with the lamp on quicker than a pimp in a power cut.

'You said that, not me. What's the matter, your conscience playing you up, is it? I am here day in and day out with four kids and another one cooking inside me and you are like a fucking single bloke. You waltz in and out of your children's lives like a fucking ghost. All I ask is that you be here for one bastard night to sort out your son's birthday and you act like I am trying to pin you down for a court date. Well,
fuck you,
I will do it meself, as I do everything by meself lately.'

In the lamplight she looked demonic and Patrick was sorry that the night had deteriorated into this. But he was also wondering if this was a good opportunity to go on the trot and hunt down his redhead. Lil was getting him going again; her anger made him want her all the more. He knew she had every right to confront him. He had been out a lot lately and he could have come home except he had been enjoying himself, but he had been sorting out a lot of aggravation too. Her condition made her stroppy for the slightest reason and, not for the first time, he was going to exploit that. Looking at her now though, like a woman demented, he saw his chance. Climbing out of bed, Patrick started to get himself dressed. He was all subdued anger and righteous dignity. Every action was exaggerated and overdone.

It was an act and they both knew it. Patrick was wide awake and he had an itch that had to be scratched and his wife had just given him the perfect excuse to leave the house and get it scratched thoroughly by a little redhead with a pretty mouth.

'What do you think you are doing?'

It was a question she knew he had no intention of answering with any kind of truthfulness.

He sneered at her instead.

'What does it look like, Lil? You're the expert, you tell me.'

He pulled on his socks and, slipping his feet into his shoes, he carried on in the same sarcastic tone.

'I am going back out because it is obvious to me that you ain't going to let me sleep tonight so I might as well be out on the fucking town. I might as well give you something to moan about.'

Lil was nearly in tears, not because she was upset, but because her anger was overwhelming her.

'You are going to walk out because I asked you about your son's birthday and you think that is reason enough to go to your whore?'

Patrick's anger abated at her words. 'What whore? I
ain't
got a bird, Lil, not a real one, and you know that. I take a flier now and again, but that is it.'

He walked around the bed half dressed, running his hands through his hair in consternation, and, pulling her into his arms, said softly, 'You are one fucking awkward bastard, Lil, when you are cooking a chavvy. I am tired of this. You know what has been happening lately with the Williams brothers.'

He was looking into her eyes and his sensible head was telling him to stay home and make her happy, but his cock and his newfound energy were telling him to go out and have a good fuck. Get all the tension out of his body that only a faceless, uncomplicated fuck could do for a man.

Women didn't understand men and strange: it was nothing personal, it was about shagging, that was all. They were there for the taking, and you took. Simple as that; it wasn't rocket science. With strange you just
did
it. You didn't worry about them enjoying it too much and you didn't have to be nice to them before or after, though he was; you just bought them a few drinks and had a laugh. If you saw them again you smiled and that was just about the extent of the relationship. If they had delusions of grandeur, you put them in their place with a few choice words and a gentle hand on their backs as you walked them out the door. Now Patrick had the scent of strange in his nostrils and his wife was making him feel like a fucking intruder in his own home: a perfect recipe for him to justify going back out and not feeling too much remorse for his philandering.