Revenge (13 page)

Book Two

Pride only breeds quarrels, but wisdom is found in all those who take advice

Proverbs 13:10

Chapter Twenty-Nine

1989

‘For fuck’s sake, Josephine, anyone would think we were fucking hard up, darling!’

Michael was laughing, but Josephine knew that he was actually annoyed. He spent money like it was going out of fashion on all manner of frivolities, and she didn’t mind that; after all, he was the one earning it. But she couldn’t understand why he got so annoyed with her because she liked to budget, liked a bargain. She could see him eyeing the mound of toilet rolls that she had piled up in the utility room, shaking his head in mock despair. All of the spare rooms were filled with her bargains and bulk-buys.

He just couldn’t see that it made her feel good about herself, made her feel secure. She held her temper. She knew from experience that anything she might say would fall on deaf ears, and today she was not going to get involved in any arguments. She poured them both mugs of tea. It was her way of ending any dispute they might have, and it had always worked.

Michael smiled to himself, understanding that the conversation was now over. He was happy to oblige. ‘Thanks, darling. I need this.’

Josephine smiled gently, and Michael was, as always, taken aback at how deeply he loved his wife. It never failed to amaze him how even a smile from her could tear at his heart. He adored her, and he wished that he knew how to make her feel better.

‘You out all day, Michael?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be home for dinner though – I’m only meeting Patrick to sort out a few bits and pieces. Nothing really important. Let’s watch a film tonight, eh? Open a bottle of wine.’

Josephine laughed at his deliberate nonchalance. He was trying to make everything better and she loved him for that. ‘That sounds good to me, Michael.’

‘It’s a date, then.’

Josephine leant against the granite worktop, and sipped her tea. She was never happier than when they were like this, easy in each other’s company, and without the spectre that she felt was between then. No matter what Michael did or said to reassure her, she knew that, as much as he loved her, they were both aware of the void in their lives.

She swallowed down the sadness inside her. Michael couldn’t cope when she felt like this, and he wouldn’t leave her on her own if he thought she was obsessing about their life together and how she had let him down. He was so good to her, and she knew how lucky she was to have a man like him.

‘Go on, get yourself off, Michael. I’m cooking a lamb casserole for us tonight, so ring me and let me know what time to expect you.’ She kissed him softly, and walked with him to the front door.

He hugged her tightly to him, and she could feel the love he had for her. But instead of making her feel secure, all she felt was her failure as a wife. As he pulled out of the driveway, she closed the door and, leaning against it, she exhaled wearily. It was getting harder and harder to keep up her act.

The house was huge – much too big for just the two of them – but when they had bought it, they had assumed that they would be filling it with their children. Sons and daughters that they could love, cherish. They had meticulously planned for the big family they had both wanted. They had picked out names for the children-to-be, even chosen schools. They had never once allowed for the fact that she might miscarry each of those children, one after the other, with shocking frequency.

But she had done just that, lost every one in a blaze of blood and pain. It was so unfair. She had seen every doctor available, they had spent thousands of pounds, and they were still childless. Josephine was unable to keep a child alive in her womb for any length of time.

Now she was pregnant once more and this time she wasn’t telling
anyone
– especially not her husband.
This
time, when the child they had created was expelled from her womb, she would carry the burden alone. She couldn’t bear to look at his face again, first seeing the hope for her pregnancy then, eventually, witnessing his disappointment when it ended prematurely, seeing his pity for her, because she couldn’t do the one thing that came naturally to every other woman in the world. It was the pity in his eyes that she found the hardest to endure.

No, she would carry this baby alone, with no doctors, no family involvement whatsoever. She would just wait and see, and accept the outcome alone. The days of crying for hours on end were gone and she was not going to let Michael be hurt any more. She would shoulder this all herself. It was the least she could do. She couldn’t get his hopes up again. It was cruel enough for her – she would protect him from it this time.

Chapter Thirty

Patrick Costello had been up half the night fighting with Carmel, and he was tired out. These days he was really feeling his age. His Carmel could keep a row going for fucking hours – she relished every second of it. Years ago he had too – the passionate fighting, followed by the even more passionate making up. Then it had been about making love for hours on end, picnics together in bed, champagne cocktails he would make for them, followed by more sexual gymnastics, and protestations of their undying love for one another. It was another lifetime.

Nowadays, as he tried to explain to his wife, he could only manage one or the other – the fucking or the fighting. Unfortunately for him, his Carmel was a born arguer, and she loved nothing more than a knock-down, drag-out fight on a regular basis. It had been nearly three in the morning before she had finally let him sleep and, the worst thing was, he
still
didn’t know what the fuck they had been arguing about. He had to smile though, she was a game old bird, there was no doubting that. She never ceased to surprise him. She could pick a row with a deaf mute if the fancy took her. That had been what had attracted him to her deep down. Sure, she was a smashing-looking bird and good in the kip, but the fact she had never been in awe of him had stood her in good stead once upon a time. He had respected her for that. Now, he hated that she needed to have a tear-up on a regular basis; to prove that he still loved her he had to fight with her. He loved her as much as he was capable of loving anyone, but that didn’t stop her getting on his nerves. Her constant need for attention was wearing thin – the dramatics that had once been so exciting were draining him.

As the mother of his children, Carmel would always have a hold on his affection. His daughters were not exactly kids to be proud of, though. They were such a disappointment to him, even though he loved them dearly. They were both lazy, lacking in intelligence, and unable to understand the concept of hard work, let alone the importance of actually getting a job. He had trusted her with the girls, and couldn’t help feeling she had failed them.

He sighed, deciding not to think about any of that now – it already took up too much time, and it was a pointless exercise.

He glanced around his new offices; they were a bit over the top for his tastes, if he was being honest, but it was all about top show these days. He resented weighing out for it; he had eventually bowed to Michael’s wishes, as he had known he would. The boy was more often right than wrong. But it still galled him – he paid more for these offices a year than he had paid for his first house. It was fucking mental but he accepted that to be seen as legitimate, they needed to
look
legitimate. That meant they actually had to run everything from the offices from which they ran the more legitimate businesses. It was sensible, but it was also against his natural inclinations. The fact that the businesses they ran from here were all very lucrative made no difference to him; Patrick was a born thief which was never going to change as long as he had a hole in his arse. He would always crave the illicit pound. He could have had a legal earn if he had chosen that route in life, but where was the real fucking profit for anyone with that old shite? Paying fucking tax for a start, employing accountants, and all the other old fanny that would have entailed.

This wasn’t a country that had ever encouraged free enterprise. As soon as a profit was made, the government slaughtered you with taxes, and then they taxed your workforce to boot! The whole fucking concept of tax went against his beliefs. Nevertheless, Patrick was a realist, and Michael was right about making sure the legit businesses were seen to pay the taxes required of them and, more to the point, visibly profitable enough to explain away the cars they drove and the homes they lived in. It was a different world now; it was hard to launder the dead money – it needed to be absorbed into real businesses and, he had to admit, the lad had a knack for doing that. Times had changed all right, but he still bitterly resented every penny that he paid out to the government.

Michael breezed into the offices and, seeing Patrick Costello’s dark countenance, he laughed loudly. ‘For fuck’s sake, Pat, you look fucking knackered, mate. Sorry I’m late. Traffic.’

Patrick smiled despite himself; only Michael would have the front to say that to him. ‘Don’t start me off. Carmel had the urge for a fucking all-nighter. If any man had a fucking reason to find a new bird, it’s me.’

Michael had heard it all before. Patrick had always been very vocal about his wife’s ability to fight him on a whim, and at any hour of the day or night, by all accounts. It sounded so tiring to Michael – he could never have lived a life like Patrick and Carmel Costello. She was a raving nutbag, and that was being nice about her. But she was not a woman who endeared herself to the people around her. She was arrogant for starters. She looked down her nose at basically everyone around her, and she treated the people who worked for Patrick and Declan with such obvious disdain that it was impossible for them not to see it. He would
never
have tied himself to a woman like Carmel, he knew that much. She had delivered Patrick’s children with the minimum of fuss, but that was as far as her usefulness had gone. That Patrick was not as enamoured of his wife – or her tantrums – as he had once been, was more than evident lately. But Michael knew better than to give an opinion either way. That was the easiest way to destroy a good friendship, and the easiest way to get himself killed. Women like Carmel were inclined to cause as much trouble as possible if they felt they were being ousted from their position.

‘Well, that’s your business, mate.’

Patrick laughed once more. He was well aware that Michael loathed his Carmel, and always had. She had that effect on most people. The only person his Carmel had ever liked was Josephine Flynn, and that was only because poor Josephine actually liked his wife.

‘You’re a diplomat, Michael. So, tell me, how is everything going?’

Michael was all business suddenly, glad to be away from the personal – and the dangerous. ‘Well, it’s good news about the mortgage businesses. I told you they would be a lucrative earn, and they are. Serious money is coming in now, Patrick, and best of all, it’s being encouraged by the government. Buying your own house is available to everyone these days, and our brokers are doing well. It’s such an easy fucking earn. It’s also a good way of laundering money, Pat. Buying a house for cash and then remortgaging it, means the money from the mortgage company can then be put into legitimate bank accounts. It can be moved about, buying and selling other properties, for example, investing it into businesses, clubs, whatever. I’ve been moving a lot of the money into Spain, investing in the property market in Marbella and Benidorm. The good thing about Spain is there’s no extradition so, for a lot of our investors, that’s a fucking added bonus. They can get out there easily – it’s a lot closer than South America, put it that way.’

Patrick Costello already knew everything that Michael was telling him. It rankled with Michael that, after all this time, Patrick Costello should still feel the need to keep an eye on him. But he would never change; Michael had no choice but to accept it. All of that aside, Patrick Costello still trusted him more than he had ever trusted anyone. It was just the nature of the beast.

Patrick was happy with the news. They were coining it in, making real money, getting a fantastic return for their initial investments, and that was only because of Michael Flynn.
He
had the foresight to see the opportunities that Spain and Portugal had to offer long before anyone else. He had been adamant about investing not just money, but their time and effort, into the new ventures. He had insisted, from the start, that they needed to not just make their mark but, more importantly, they needed to ensure that they put their own people in the key positions ready for the future.

It was already paying off big time – plus they had guaranteed for themselves the foothold that ensured that anyone else who might feel the need to invest out there had no other option but to talk to them first. Patrick Costello knew that this lad had sewn up Spain and the surrounding areas. He had also done it legally.

‘The Spanish don’t give a fuck about anything, Michael, they just want people to bring their money out there. Tourism has already fucked the economy. They are far too reliant on it already, just as you predicted. Whole communities are now dependent on the hotel industry. You were right about that, mate. I bow down to you, you’re a fucking genius, son. But I always knew that, didn’t I?’

Michael accepted the man’s praise as his due. He loved Patrick Costello; he had been very good to him, and Michael had made sure that he had earned not only his trust, but also his respect. That was why knowing that Patrick still felt the need to spy on him rankled. It offended him and his sense of loyalty. But he couldn’t say a word – that would be tantamount to mutiny.

Michael could never admit to Patrick that he was aware of it. His position in the Costello family gave him not just a serious earn, but also guaranteed him a place in the London underworld that he could never have occupied without Patrick Costello taking him under his wing and giving him his personal attention. He could never, ever forget that; he would always be grateful for the man’s interest in him, and the opportunities he had been afforded because of it.

‘Listen, Patrick, I think we should go and have a couple of drinks, a bit of lunch, and discuss a few business opportunities that I think might be in our interests.’

Patrick Costello was more than game. He always enjoyed listening to the lad’s ideas – Michael Flynn had the knack of sniffing out an earn before anyone else. But, more than that, Patrick Costello genuinely enjoyed his company. ‘Lead the way, my son. I’m up for all that.’