Revenge (23 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

A very pretty girl carried their coffees into the spacious office that Michael used when he was in Canary Wharf. This was where the legitimate businesses were located, and where some of the more exotic business was also conducted. They were luxurious, and they were private. There was a whole workforce here who actually worked for their living.

Declan Costello was tired out and he sipped his coffee carefully.

Michael Flynn watched the big, overweight man opposite him with affection. Declan looked like a social worker, his suit was a tad too small, and his shirt was cheap. His whole look was unkempt and slightly soiled. But Michael trusted him. Declan Costello was a man who looked like an affable fool, but was actually a dangerous fuck when crossed.

‘I need your advice, Declan. I know I can trust you, so please tell me what you think.’

Declan sighed. He knew that Michael was in a quandary; he had surreptitiously listened in to his conversation with Jeffrey Palmer and, like Michael, he had been mortified. More so because it had been Jeffrey Palmer talking such bollocks, a man who should have known better. But it was always the chosen ones who overstepped the mark.

‘I did try and warn you, Michael. Patrick always said, the more you give people, the more they want. He was on the money. Why do you think he recruited you? As young as you were, he trusted you from the off, but you also had the added advantage that Patrick actually liked you. He saw your potential, and he was right. I know he made you prove yourself to him, prove that you were capable of what he asked of you – that was his way of sounding people out. But, on reflection, he brought you in out of nowhere, didn’t he? He didn’t bring up someone from the ranks, someone he knew, he had already worked with. He brought you straight in over all their heads.’

Michael digested the man’s words; there was a logic there that couldn’t be denied.

‘You need to think long and hard about the people you put in place, Michael, and eventually you need to find yourself a number two. I’ve said this to you before. It’s a big fucking responsibility for one person.’

Michael listened carefully. He respected Declan’s opinion. He had a lot more going for him than anyone realised. Patrick used to joke that Declan was like a tree who didn’t quite manage to reach the top branches, but he was a lot shrewder than people gave him credit for.

‘I am aware of all that, Declan, but I’m asking what do you think about Jeffrey Palmer? I can’t believe he opened up to Charlie Carter! The man’s a fucking card-carrying, paid-up moron, who now knows
who
we deal with,
how
and
when
we deal with them, and
what
we earn from them. That is a dangerous fucking combination. What was that cunt thinking? I would have laid money on him having the nous to keep his fucking business to himself.’

Declan laughed. ‘He was thinking about
money
, Michael. What else? You might guarantee him a good fucking wedge, but I bet Carter can offer him a better one. They are mates as well, and that is the danger, see? Jeffrey can’t see that he is dealing with people you chose, who you know are safe, who have proved their worth over and over again. Jeffrey Palmer doesn’t know anything about them, he’s never even heard of them. He can only see his mate, and the benefits of working with someone he knows well. He has been told he can earn a lot more money if he can persuade you to change suppliers. It’s the old story, Michael. Though I have to say, Charlie Carter will swallow a tug. He is a man who knows when to shut his trap.’

Michael sighed heavily. ‘I know all that, Declan. You are hardly giving me a fucking lesson in life are you? What do you think I should do about it? That is the fucking question.’

Declan smiled lazily. ‘You want me to suggest you take out Palmer, Carter and anyone else who you think needs to be silenced? Well, I won’t, Michael. I think you need to give Palmer a good fright, and Carter as well. After all, they aren’t going to confront you, or try and usurp your position, are they? I bet they are at panic stations already. But, remember this, if you stay your hand now, Jeffrey Palmer will never forget how close he came to dying. It’s a learning curve for him.’

Michael laughed. ‘If Patrick were here they would all be in blindfolds and smoking their last cigarettes.’

Declan shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. Patrick would have used this against them, and guaranteed their loyalty for life. Unless, of course, he was on one of his fucking mental half hours, then he would have killed everyone anyway, whether they had fucked him off or not.’

They laughed together then, knowing how true that was.

‘Fucking hell. He could turn on a coin, could old Patrick.’

Declan nodded his agreement. ‘You’re preaching to the converted here, Michael. I lived with it all my life, remember? That is why I am telling you to think about this carefully. Patrick was a hard man, and he had a lot of respect, but he made a lot of unnecessary enemies over the years. He took against people on a whim, for no real reason, and that caused us untold aggravation at times, believe me. Ultimately,
you
had to take him out for the greater good.’

Michael closed his eyes; he hated to be reminded of his part in Patrick’s death. Declan was right in what he was saying but, even though Michael knew all that, and agreed with everything the man had said, he still felt, deep down, that Jeffrey Palmer had crossed a line, gone too far. But he kept his own counsel; he had asked for Declan Costello’s opinion, and the man had given it to him.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Josephine was looking at herself critically in the mirrored wardrobes; she had a bump, but not a huge one. She caressed it instinctively, but the baby had not moved for two days, and now she was starting to feel panic rising inside her. Although she was eight months pregnant – the longest that she had ever carried a child – she was feeling nothing but dread. If this child had died, she knew she would never have another.

She was naked except for her dressing gown, a long flowing silk affair that had cost a small fortune, and it looked good on her. It was a pale pink colour, and with her thick blond hair and deep-blue eyes she knew that it suited her complexion perfectly. Even pregnant, she still wanted to look good for Michael. She took a step closer to the mirror and pulled the dressing gown around her, tying it loosely. Her face was pale, gaunt; she could see fear reflected in her eyes.

Turning away, she walked to her bed and, picking up the clothes she had laid out earlier, she slowly started to dress herself. Her doctor had told her that if she felt she needed to see him at any time all she had to do was call. Michael had made sure of that. He had probably offered the doctor what he would call a ‘sweetener’, but which was, in reality, a very large amount of money – hard cash and tax free. She wasn’t complaining though. She sat on the side of the bed and, bending over carefully, she slipped her maternity knickers over her feet. Michael called them her ‘passion killers’. She stood up and pulled them into place.

She was putting her bra on when she felt a stabbing pain shoot through her abdomen. It was so sharp that it immediately took her breath away. She waited for it pass, then she slipped her dressing gown on again. Sitting back on the bed, she waited nervously to see what, if anything, was going to happen to her next. She was not going to ring Michael or her mum or anybody until she knew what was going on. She would finish getting dressed, ring the doctor, and then she would drive herself to the hospital. She was determined not to panic; she was going to keep herself as calm as possible. Her doctor had told her that this was a normal pregnancy, and she was to treat it as such. There had been no bleeding or cramps, no feelings of illness or nausea. She had not felt her usual fragility, as if the child inside her womb was already too weak to go full term. There had been nothing untoward this time, and she needed to remember that. But until she held a baby of her own in her arms, she would not take anything for granted. She had suffered that kind of disappointment too many times before.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

‘I hope she manages it this time, though why it was such a big secret I don’t know. Let’s face it, Michael, you could have told me! Anyone would think I was a stranger on the street instead of your own mother the way you treat me these days. I suppose the house is piled up with baby powder and nappies again. If she had a squad of ten, she couldn’t use half the stuff she buys. It’s ridiculous.’

Michael had heard enough. With Hannah, it was a constant barrage of complaints – then she wondered why they didn’t want her around. Her snide remarks about grandchildren broke Josephine’s heart. She made him feel guilty because he didn’t seek her out every day, even though it was her own fault. She was so fucking bitter and twisted. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with in his life without listening to her going on.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mum! Will you give it a rest!’

Hannah shut up. Her son’s voice was full of anger and irritation. She pursed her lips together tightly, so she wouldn’t react. Her son was worried about his wife, and that was natural. But he should still remember who had reared him, fed him, clothed him all his life.

Michael felt the urge to throttle his mother. She could make a saint swear. She was sitting there now, acting like butter wouldn’t melt, while his poor Josephine was being examined by the doctor.

He made his way back to his wife, wondering why on earth he had bothered to go and update his mother on Josephine’s progress. It was a complete waste of time.

He walked into Josephine’s hospital room, a bright smile nailed to his face. He couldn’t let her see how worried he was. If it went wrong this time, she would never get over it – he knew that much.

Lana was holding her daughter’s hand, and he was pleased to see that Josephine was laughing at something her mother had said to her.

‘Hello, Michael. The doctor said that everything is going fine! We heard the heartbeat, didn’t we, Mum?’

Lana grinned. ‘We did. Strong as an ox by the sounds of it.’

Michael sat on the bed. ‘How long do they think?’

Josephine shook her head, and shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Don’t know. Still waiting for my waters to break. Could be here for ages!’

She would happily stay there for days if necessary and he knew that. All she wanted was for everything to be all right.

‘Is your mum OK?’

Michael rolled his eyes. ‘Same as always, Lana – about as much fun as a broken back.’

Lana laughed at him. ‘No change there then!’

Josephine was watching her husband sadly. She knew how much he loved his mum, but she was not the easiest person to be around. Josephine was well aware that Hannah had never liked her much, but it had not mattered at first. If she had given her a few grandchildren, it would have made a big difference to their relationship. ‘She doesn’t mean it, Michael.’

Michael waved his hand impatiently. ‘Sod her, Josephine.’

The midwife came in, and Michael automatically stepped away from his wife. He watched as she smiled and nodded, as always eager to please, to do the right thing. He prayed once more that this time God would bless them with a living child. He wanted a baby, of course, but if it wasn’t meant to be, then, for him, that was that. He couldn’t watch her go through this again. This time it seemed to be going normally but, with their track record, he wasn’t going to let himself get excited about it.

The midwife was a heavyset West Indian woman, with a loud voice, and an infectious laugh. Josephine loved her, and he watched as the woman examined his wife, while chatting and joking with her, putting her at her ease. He was glad that he had paid to go private, it was worth every penny. Only the best for his Josephine. He loved her more than life itself.

‘Did you hear that, Michael? My waters have broken! It’s all go now.’

Carmen Presley was pleased with her charge’s progress; the girl had been so unlucky in the past, and no one was taking any chances. But everything seemed to be going as planned.

Michael smiled happily, but he was relieved when Lana said pointedly, ‘Get us a cup of tea, Michael, will you, darling?’

As much as Lana disliked her son-in-law, she felt sorry for him. She could see that he was terrified, and she knew that it was fear for her daughter. Whatever he was, she believed he loved Josephine.

As he left the room, she clasped her daughter’s hand, and said another Hail Mary. Like Michael, she wanted this baby for her daughter more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Declan Costello was in the top bar of their newest nightclub, The Gatsby. He was holding court, and enjoying every second of it. His latest amour, Sinead, a petite blonde with huge breasts and delusions of grandeur, was by his side. She was pretty enough, green-eyed with high cheekbones and full lips but, unfortunately for her, she had about as much personality as a tadpole. It had only been a week and already Declan was getting bored with her. The only women who lasted for a while with him, had one thing in common other than being good-looking – a sense of humour.

Declan looked around him. Everyone, from Jeffrey Palmer to Jermaine O’Shay had turned out to wet the baby’s head. Even the Notting Hill lads had come over to the East End – an almost unheard of situation. But Michael Flynn was popular and everyone wanted to congratulate him on the birth of his first child. Christ Himself knew they had waited long enough for it.

Jermaine was drinking whisky and, as usual, he had women lining up to talk to him. Tonight, though, he wasn’t interested in the strange around him; he just wanted to share Michael’s night with him.

The club was packed out, and the music was loud and pumping, the beat resonating through the floor.

Michael Flynn finally arrived just after midnight and, as he walked up the stairs to the top bar, Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ came on. Laughing excitedly, Michael made his entrance by dancing erratically, and singing the lyrics at the top of his voice.

‘Fucking hell, Michael! You pissed already?’

Michael was so happy, it was almost painful to watch him. After all these years, poor Josephine had finally managed to produce a child for them.

‘Drunk? Am I fuck, you cheeky bastard! I’m happy. Get me a large Irish, mate.’

Everyone was clamouring to congratulate him; he was shaking hands and hugging people all around, his happiness infectious.

‘So, come on then, what did she have?’

Michael looked at Declan in disbelief. ‘Didn’t you tell them?’

‘No, I kept schtum. That’s for you to know, and for that lot to find out! It’s your news, mate. Not mine.’

Michael felt almost tearful at Declan’s generosity of spirit. He understood how big this moment was for him and, even though he would not have minded Declan telling the people around them his news, he appreciated that Declan had left it to him.

‘Come on then, Michael, what you got? It can only be one or the other!’

Michael was laughing once more. Then, standing up straight and clearing his throat theatrically, he announced, ‘Jessica Mary Flynn was born today on the tenth of September nineteen eighty-nine weighing in at six pounds, five ounces. She is her mother’s double, and she’s fucking gorgeous.’

The cheer that went up from everyone was so loud it drowned out the music. Declan pushed a glass of whisky into Michael’s hand, and he downed it in one go. Then, giving Declan his empty glass, he shouted, ‘More!’

Michael had already noticed that Jeffrey Palmer was there with some of his crew, looking very sheepish. He had clocked Jermaine O’Shay too. Michael smiled at the people there; it was a great crowd, and he knew that they were there for him, to celebrate his good news with him. Almost every Face in London was in this bar tonight and, as he looked around him – at young Danny, as always telling jokes and making people laugh, and at Orville Cardoza, a Rastafarian of advanced years who was capable of extreme violence at the least provocation – he suddenly felt at peace with himself, and with his life. His little daughter was a miracle. She had arrived with the minimum of fuss, and he had never seen Josephine more beautiful – the look of triumph on her face had said it all. She had finally achieved the one thing she craved more than anything else in her life. As she had cradled her daughter in her arms, he had closed his eyes tightly and thanked God for finally answering their prayers.

He had another large whisky put into his hand and, once again, he swallowed it down quickly. ‘Keep them coming, boys. Tonight I am going to get fucking plastered.’

The men around him were cheering him loudly. Arnold Jameson, a young Jamaican guy with a bald head and a taste for outlandish shirts, hugged him tightly. ‘I remember getting my first baby. Your own flesh and blood. It’s a real trip, ain’t it, maw?’

Michael hugged him back. Until now he had not thought of it like that. His little girl, his brand spanking new little baby, was his flesh and blood.