Revenge (29 page)

Chapter Eighty-One

Declan Costello had been drinking heavily all day long, but he was still as sober as a judge. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get him drunk at this particular moment in time. He had really dropped the fucking ball. He should have had Michael Flynn’s back from the off. He had happily taken a good wedge from Michael, he had been expected to sort out the minor businesses as he had always done, as well as any aggravation that might cross his path – especially any that might impinge on the serious businesses. He had become lazy; he had waited on Michael’s word for everything, and that wasn’t the deal – he knew that.

The Cornel brothers should have been taken out by him quickly and quietly, and Michael should never have had to be involved personally. Michael should have been told the details
afterwards
, secure in the knowledge that a threat like them had been dealt with. Instead, the Cornels had made it all the way to Michael Flynn’s front door, and he had not even given the man’s family any protection. The man’s wife and daughter had been left hanging, vulnerable and defenceless, and that was
his
fault. The fact that Josephine had apparently turned into Bonnie Parker aside, Declan was aware that he had a lot to answer for.

He had fucked up. Michael was going to come for him, and he had no defence to offer. His brother Patrick, who had loved him dearly, would
never
have swallowed that – Declan would already be dead by now. Declan couldn’t forgive himself for the trouble he had caused.

He looked across the bar; there were only two barmaids in – the club was very quiet today. The barmaids were both good girls. Estelle was in her fifties, but she looked good for her age – she could serve three people at once, and she was also adept at removing drunks if the need arose. She was all bleached-blond hair and long red nails. The other girl was a lot younger, perma-tanned, with thick, dark hair, heavily made-up brown eyes and impossibly pert breasts; she was on the look-out for a Face with a good few quid and preferably his own home. She had given him the nod more than once, but he could never remember her name for the life of him.

‘Come on, girls, off you go. I’m locking up early today.’

Estelle had her coat on in seconds, and Declan watched gratefully as she steered the other barmaid up the stairs. He heard the door slam shut behind them.

He had sent all his workers out and about, and he was waiting patiently for Michael Flynn to arrive. He was not going to try and justify his actions, he was prepared to take his punishment. He loved Michael’s daughter Jessie as if she was his own child, and that he had not even thought to see to her safety – or her mother’s for that fact – was the biggest shame of his life. He had made two fatal mistakes – not only had he underestimated the Cornel brothers, he had let down Michael Flynn.

Chapter Eighty-Two

Hannah Flynn was worried about her granddaughter – not an emotion she had ever experienced before. Jessie, however, had managed to find her way into her heart. She loved the girl as much as she could love anyone. She saw herself in her at times. Hannah Flynn had always had a way of carrying herself – she walked tall, straight-backed, and with a natural grace. Jessie had inherited that along with her intelligence.

Josephine didn’t have a brain in her head – she had the conversational skills of a twelve year old. All she had ever been interested in was fashion, clothes and shoes. She was a wonderful cook, though, and she kept a good table. Jessie, on the other hand, was very sharp, quick-witted. She was a girl who read voraciously, and to whom learning came naturally. She was capable of so much, and Hannah knew that whatever the girl decided she wanted to do with her life, she could do it.

But today young Jessie had looked seriously ill when she called at the house. Josephine had practically thrown her out, and Hannah wasn’t going to forgive that in a hurry. She had not made it further than the entrance hall, before she was back in her cab and on her way home.

There was something going on in that house, and she would get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she ever did in her life.

Chapter Eighty-Three

Every time Jessie closed her eyes, she relived the night’s events. She felt physically ill, sickness roiling inside her belly, and breathless, unable to calm her fears.

Her bedroom was huge – bigger than most people’s front rooms. It was very beautiful and she had always loved it. The walls were covered with a pale pink silk which had cost a fortune but from the moment her mum had shown it to her she had wanted it. Her double bed had been brought over from France – hand-carved, it would not look out of place in a palace. The curtains on her windows were a deeper pink than the walls, the floor was white oak, and every piece of furniture, from her bedside cabinets to the dressing table, was hand-picked and very expensive. Until today, she had never thought about the cost – suddenly it seemed to be important to her. She looked around her, saw the bookcase with her favourite books, the pictures of her life exquisitely framed, showing her smiling so happily – and completely unaware of the real world that she was living in. Unaware that, one day, that safe, happy world would explode in her face.

She closed her eyes, wanting desperately to blot it out. Her lovely bedroom that was the envy of her friends, which she once had loved so very much, where she had felt safe and secure, was where she now felt trapped.

The door opened and her mother came into the room quietly. She had a tray in her hands with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. Jessie waited for her mother to come to her and, as she sat on the bed, Jessie saw the sorrow in her eyes, and felt the deep sadness that enveloped her mother.

‘Try and eat something, Jessie. For me.’

Jessie sat up abruptly, knowing that her mother would have to move away from her.

Josephine stood up awkwardly and, when her daughter had finally settled, she placed the tray across her lap. ‘Drink the milk at least, Jessie.’

Jessie picked up the glass, and obediently took a few mouthfuls of the milk.

‘There’s a good girl. You’ll feel better now.’

Josephine was so worried about her daughter. It had only been a day, but she hated that her child had been traumatised by the events of the night before.

Jessie pushed the glass roughly into her mother’s hand. ‘I’ll feel better now, will I?’

Josephine placed the glass on the floor carefully. Then, sitting down on the bed, she looked at her lovely daughter for long moments before saying angrily, ‘No, Jessie. You
won’t
really feel better, darling.
I
know that, and
you
know that. Last night was a fucking nightmare, darling, and I would give anything to change it. But I can’t. We can’t phone the police like normal people. We can’t talk about it to anyone
ever
. We have to make sure that no one knows what happened. It’s not ideal, but it’s how things are for people like us. I’m telling you, from personal experience, Jessie, you just have to find a way to deal with it.’

Jessie knew that her mum didn’t realise she had seen as much as she had. Her mother really did believe that she had locked herself in her bedroom, and that was something Jessie needed her to believe. Her mother could never know what she had actually witnessed, and neither could her father. She actually didn’t want them to know. The less they thought she knew about it, the better for all concerned.

Chapter Eighty-Four

Michael Flynn was bone weary. He looked tired and gaunt, he needed a shave and a shower – his usual good looks had deserted him.

Declan Costello stood quietly before him, a broken and shamed man. He was also in need of a bath and a shave; his clothes, like Michael’s, were soiled and wrinkled.

Declan opened his arms wide in a gesture of supplication, as he said sorrowfully, ‘What the fuck can I say, Michael? I naused it up from the start. I don’t know what I was thinking. The Barkers were trying to do me a favour. If I’d had any fucking sense, I should have told them to deal with it. Instead, I honestly thought you would want to sort it yourself.’

Michael was so angry at Declan’s explanation that he was frightened to say anything to him until he had harnessed his anger.

Declan could see that Michael was fighting to control himself. ‘I’ll get us both a drink, Michael.’ Once behind the bar, he poured them both large whiskies.

Michael was trying to control his breathing. He had every right to be angry, and every right to exact any revenge he felt was warranted. But he knew that Declan didn’t feel any malice towards him, and that he had not expected the Cornel brothers to be such a slippery pair of bastards. Declan Costello had been guilty of nothing more than sheer stupidity and laziness.

Michael gulped his drink, savouring the burn as it hit his belly. He could feel the energy coming back into his body and, swallowing down the rest of the whisky, he placed the glass on the bar gently, before leaning his body over the counter and picking up the whisky bottle. He poured himself out another large measure of Scotch. His back was turned away from Declan, and his voice was rough, as he said disgustedly, ‘Do you know what fucking annoys me more than anything about you, Declan? That you can stand there like the orphan of the fucking storm, all sad-eyed, and ready to take your punishment, yet you know exactly what you did wrong. You know why my fucking wife and daughter were terrorised in their own fucking home. So what I want to know is, why didn’t you think this through before it got out of hand?’ He turned to face Declan, to look him in the eyes.

Declan just shrugged his huge shoulders; he was as bewildered as Michael. ‘I was already well pissed by the time Peter Barker came to see me. I can’t condone my actions. I need a day or two so I can think things through properly. Why do you think I didn’t want the partnership when you offered it to me? I can’t think on my feet. I run the same fucking businesses I did when my brother was in the big seat. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t think of the consequences. I certainly never dreamt the fuckers would go on the trot. Fuck me, Michael, they could barely stand up!’

Michael finished his whisky in one gulp. Then, sighing heavily, he brought the whisky tumbler down on to Declan’s head with all his strength, and began beating the bloodied man viciously and deliberately.

When he was finished, Michael went into the men’s rest room and washed his hands carefully, before tidying himself up as best he could. He left the club quickly; his car and driver had been waiting for him patiently. There were also two of his doormen waiting outside. As arranged, as soon as he drove away, they slipped into the club and began the job of cleaning up the mess that Michael Flynn had left behind him.

Chapter Eighty-Five

Michael had showered, and changed into a pair of black jogging bottoms and a crisp white T-shirt. As he walked across the landing from his bedroom to his daughter’s, he could hear his wife pottering about in the kitchen below. It was a good sound, the sound of a home, of normality.

He tapped gently on his daughter’s door, before walking into the dimness of her bedroom. Her TV was on, providing the only light, but the sound was down. She was lying in her bed and, as she turned to look at him, he forced a smile on to his face.

He knelt down beside her bed. She could smell the shampoo and soap that he always used – it was a familiar scent, something that had always comforted her until now. She looked up into his face, as she had so many times before, only this time it was different. He wasn’t the dad she had loved and adored any more. He was a stranger to her. This was a man she didn’t trust.

‘You all right, Jessie?’

She nodded. He put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. He could feel the stiffness in her slim body, knew that she was still traumatised by the events of the last twenty-four hours. He relaxed his hold on his daughter and, settling her back on to her pillows, he sat beside her on the bed. He could see that the fright lingered, and he knew she was never going to forget what had happened. But he continued to smile down at her, as she watched him warily.

‘Listen to me, Jessie. That was never supposed to happen. It was a complete one-off. I swear that to you, darling. Burglars! Fucking creepers! They are the scum of the earth. Anyone who wants to nick someone else’s hard-earned cash is filth. Never forget that, my little darling. But they weren’t banking on your mum were they, eh?’ He was trying to make light of everything, make a big joke of it. ‘Did you see her, Jessie? With my shotgun! She looked like Calamity Jane!’

Jessie didn’t answer, and that bothered him. She had always been able to say what she wanted to him – that was part of their closeness.

‘She was only trying to protect you, darling. There are some bad people in the world, and sometimes bad things happen. But it’s over now. It’s all sorted out. Daddy’s here.’

Michael could see his daughter’s sad face, still full of fear. It was ridiculous. He was with her now – she had no reason to be scared of anything.

‘I want to go to sleep.’

Michael watched his daughter closely. Her voice sounded different, there was no inflection in it, no emotion whatsoever. She had been truly affected by the Cornels. If he could, he would happily murder the fuckers all over again for that.

‘OK, baby. But promise me you will try and put this behind you. You’re a Flynn, and that means nothing or no one can ever hurt you.’

Jessie could hear the cold arrogance in her father’s voice as he said his name and, without thinking, she said sarcastically, ‘The name Flynn didn’t seem to do us much good last night, did it?’

Michael was almost as shocked as she was by her words. He stood up quickly. She could see the anger she had caused, but she didn’t care any more.

‘There wasn’t any burglary, Dad. No police were called either – I know that much.’

Michael didn’t answer her for a while. Then, smiling sadly, he knelt down beside her bed once more. ‘You’re nearly fifteen. When I was your age I knew a lot more than people gave me credit for. So I’ll say this, Jessie – me and your mum love you more than anything in this world, and everything we do is for you. Never forget that.’

She looked him straight in the eye as she said quietly, ‘I won’t.’

He stood up slowly. Something had changed between them, and he knew that it wasn’t for the good. ‘If I could change the last few days I would, Jessie. You know that, darling.’

She did. He would do anything for her – last night’s events proved it.

‘But you can’t, Dad. No one can.’

She saw the mask slip from her father’s face; he was still very angry, she could see that as plain as day. He looked like he was going to explode, but within seconds he was smiling at her once again. The smile that she had always coveted, that had been such a big part of her daily life.

‘What I
can
promise you, though, is that I will
never
allow anything like that to happen to you or your mum again.’

She was watching him carefully, and he sensed that she was still not convinced by his promise to keep her safe. She was so beautiful – she was Josephine all over again, from the thick hair to the arched eyebrows. It was uncanny, the striking resemblance between them. But one thing he realised now, was that she didn’t have her mother’s nature. Jessie was not as warm or forgiving as the woman who had birthed her. There was an underlying steeliness in his Jessie that was reminiscent of
his
mother. He could be wrong; after all, the poor girl had just been through a terrible ordeal, and he mustn’t lose sight of that. But there was something else going on here, he could feel it. He bent down and kissed his daughter lightly on her cheek, aware that she didn’t respond.

‘You try and get some sleep.’

Jessie watched her dad as he left the room. A part of her wanted to call him back, wanted to tell him that she knew what he had done to that man, and she still loved him. But another part of her was reeling from what she had seen him do. At least her mum had tried to be honest with her. Her lovely mum, who looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly, who everyone thought was as soft as soap, but who was far stronger than anyone would have believed. Her whole world had been stripped bare, and she had been left with nothing. Her life had been a sham, built on nothing more substantial than lies and deceit.