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and swearing to himself that she would pay for not keeping her trap shut.

7
    Kieron Delaney stood shivering at the side of his brother Tory’s grave. Summer had given up for the day and was drenching the funeral party in cold rain. The weather suited their business here. His mum and dad were standing like statues beside him.
    He stole a glance at them.
    His mother was devastated, her white curls and floods of tears hidden by a thick black veil. His father seemed to be swaying on his feet, as if he would fall at any moment. Kieron was appalled to see how much weight his father Davey had lost. Suddenly, big strapping Davey Delaney, founder of the family firm, looked his age. Kieron saw his older brother Pat clutch at their dad’s arm to steady him.
    ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ intoned the priest, dropping dirt on to the coffin in the hole.
    He held the box out to Redmond, who took a handful and slung it in. Then Pat. Then Orla, who was tearless and composed. Then Kieron. Then their mum and dad.
    Kieron tuned out the rest of it. He thought of Tory Delaney, his big brother, carrying him on his shoulders when he’d been tiny. He remembered the soft feel of Tory’s curly golden hair beneath his little fingers, remembered the booming Irish laugh of this man who was now nothing more than a corpse being buried in the dirt.
    They’d drifted far apart over the years. Kieron was the youngest of Davey and Molly Delaney’s five children, and he had benefited from the family firm’s wealth without ever having to get involved in it.
    He’d stuck his head in the sand and refused to acknowledge the sort of dodgy business his siblings were engaged in. He’d gone to art college and then had a year travelling. Ignorance was bliss. But in his guts he’d known that his dad had been into all sorts in his time, including a spell in Strangeways, and that Tory, Pat and Redmond had built the firm up from that base into what it was today.
    He knew damned well his brothers were racketeers, thugs, criminals; he knew they ran girls and were into the ‘heavy game’, their term for armed robbery.
    Live by the sword, die by the sword , he thought.
    ‘I wonder you bothered to show up,’ said Pat when it was over and they had moved away from the grave.
    Kieron looked at Pat. There had always been a sting of animosity between them. Kieron thought Pat a stupid bully, and Pat thought Kieron a fairy. The two were never going to happily co-exist, so Kieron had been glad to get away from home and see the back of his thuggish older brother. But it was clear to see that nothing had changed between them despite time and distance.
    A few years back, Kieron would have flown at Pat in a rage. Today, he merely smiled.
    ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
    ‘Brought your sketch pad, did you?’ Pat sneered.
    ‘Padraig!’ said Molly sharply, coming up to them and touching Kieron’s arm.
    ‘It isn’t a crime to have a talent,’ said Kieron.
    ‘It’s a gift from God,’ said Molly, patting his arm. She looked back towards the grave where Davey her husband was still standing, supported by Redmond. ‘This is going to kill your father,’ she predicted with a tremble in her voice.
    ‘No it isn’t, Mum,’ said Orla, hurrying over and embracing her mother. ‘Dad’s a tough nut.’
    A year away had given Kieron a new perspective. His sister Orla was a lovely young woman now, no more the freckly girl. Her red hair was long and sleek, and her green eyes were gorgeous. She was tall and slender, like Redmond her twin, and the black of mourning flattered her pale skin.
    ‘Tory was a tough nut too,’ said Molly. ‘And now look.’
    The priest was striding back towards the vestry for his tea and biscuits. The crowds were dispersing and there were many sad faces.
    Things would change now.
    If Tory was no more, then who would take over the manor? The Carters were chipping away at them day by day. It would be down to Redmond, the eldest, to take over the firm,