"Happy birthday, Michael." Rita handed Mickey a small box wrapped in blue paper.

"How'd you afford this?" Mickey asked, unwrapping the paper to reveal a small jewellery box.

"Billy helped out." Mickey looked at his stepfather, who was drinking a beer in the corner.

"Cheers," said Mickey.

"You're only 18 once," said Billy with a shrug. He was in a good mood, but you never knew how long that would last.

Mickey opened the box and lifted out a gold chain with a tiny crucifix on it.

"A cross?" He smiled, not wanting to seem ungrateful. "You know I don't believe in all that, Mum."

"Wear it for me then," she said. "It'll keep you safe, when you're out pounding the beat."

"I dunno why you wanna join the filth anyway," said Billy.

"You would say that after all your dealings with them," said Mickey.

"Not today eh, boys?" There was a warning note in Rita's voice.

Mickey fastened the chain around his neck. "Thanks, Mum. I'll wear it all the time, I promise."

And so he did, until the night he found himself face down on a table with Delaney standing behind him.

His mum was wrong. The cross didn't protect him at all.