Revenge (22 page)

Chapter Fifty-Four

Lana was on her third glass of wine. She was what she called ‘merry’ and, as Josephine topped her glass up, she laughed loudly. ‘Oh, thank you, darling! This is just what the doctor ordered!’

Josephine laughed with her. This was the mum she loved, the mum she had grown up with – full of fun and mischief, always up for a good laugh. She had missed this. She hated them being at loggerheads, especially when it was over her Michael.

Lana looked at her daughter with her usual critical eye. For all her traumas, her Josephine was still a lovely-looking girl – well, woman now. She had kept her natural beauty, even after all the miscarriages and the stillbirths. The only real change had been her daughter’s quietness; with every loss she had gradually lost her natural ebullience and her lust for life. Over the last few years she had become like a recluse – she rarely left the house now.

She still shopped twice a week, and that was it. But how she shopped! Talk about bulk buying! Everywhere you looked there were boxes, all piled up on top of one another. She used to keep them out of sight – now the whole place looked like a warehouse. Who the fuck bought twenty-four cans of soup at a time? There was only the two of them. As Des joked, if the bomb dropped, they could live round Josephine’s for a year, and never eat the same meal twice. She had laughed with him, pretending everything was all right, but it worried her, as a mother. She knew that things were not OK with her daughter; her girl wasn’t right in her mind.

This house had once been spectacular. Tastefully decorated, each item of furniture had been agonised over, carefully selected, and put into place with love and pride. Now, though, every room had boxes piled up everywhere. Josephine shopped like she was feeding the five thousand. A case of this, two cases of that. What really bothered Lana was that Josephine acted like it was perfectly normal. This was a very big house, yet her daughter was having to use
every
room to store her purchases. But Lana knew better than to say anything – she was not going to rock the boat in any way now that they were finally back on track. She kept her own counsel where Michael was concerned too. Josephine was not going to listen to anything detrimental about him, but Lana knew she must have heard the rumours going round. Look at all this about Kelvin McCarthy for a start – it was the talk of the town.

There was something she needed to pluck up the courage to ask her daughter though – something she couldn’t let go. It was far too important. She gulped down her wine for more Dutch courage. It was really lovely; one good thing about Michael Flynn for all his faults – and they were legion – was he only bought the best.

‘I’m a bit pissed, Josephine!’

Josephine laughed happily. ‘I could have told you that, Mum!’

Lana laughed with her daughter, pleased to see the girl so happy for once. ‘Josephine, my love, I have to ask you this, darling, as your mum – please don’t be cross with me. Are you pregnant again?’

Josephine looked at her mother, sorry to her soul that her mum had not asked her the question straight out but had needed a few drinks to pluck up the courage. She knew that this was
her
fault. She had deliberately built a barrier between her and her mum. A barrier that had alienated her from her own mother so much she was too scared to ask her a perfectly natural question. She was nearly eight months gone now. She knew she should have told her mother already. She was an only child, she was all her parents had. She felt so guilty, and so disloyal. Her mum loved her more than anything, and she knew that without a doubt.

She was nearly in tears as she said brokenly, ‘I didn’t tell
anyone
, Mum. Neither did Michael – I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up again. That way, if I lost this baby, I wouldn’t have to face everyone, see their disappointment along with my own. I would have just coped with it myself this time. I didn’t tell you in case it went wrong again. I couldn’t bear to put you through it.’

Lana felt as if her own heart was going to split in two. Her daughter’s words were so sad. But she could understand the girl’s logic. It had been so traumatic for her, losing her babies time and time again. She had hated witnessing her girl’s pain, watching her beautiful daughter die inside a little bit more with every failure. She had held her while she cried her heart out, wishing she could take her girl’s overwhelming sense of loss and pain on herself, so her daughter wouldn’t have to experience it. But that wasn’t possible; all she could do was be there for her, and pray for the best.

‘Oh, darling, I understand. But I want to help you in any way I can. I would have kept it to myself. I’m your mum, Josephine. I know we have had our differences, but never forget that you are everything to me. All I want is your happiness, darling.’

Josephine hugged her mum tightly, relieved now that she knew what was going on. ‘I didn’t even tell Michael at first, Mum. He noticed eventually, of course, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone else about it. As mad as this might sound, I feel different this time. I feel like this time I can do it. This baby moves about a lot. I can feel it’s alive. I wish I had told you, Mum. I know I can always trust you, no matter what. I am so sorry.’

For the first time in ages, Lana actually felt close to her only child. She held her daughter tightly, marvelling at her firm, round belly, and the familiar feel of her daughter’s embrace. It had been so long since she had held her in her arms. Her knowledge of Michael Flynn had caused the rift between them, and she knew now that she could not allow her personal feelings for Michael to cloud her relationship with her only child. She had no option – her daughter needed her, and that was enough.

‘I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, darling. But I promise you, I will always be there for you, Josephine, no matter what.’

Josephine could feel her mother’s tears mingling with her own. The guilt was completely overwhelming her now. She knew how much her mum loved her; never once in her life had she ever felt unwanted or neglected. Her mum and dad had lived for her, and she had always known that. She had chosen her husband over her mum, and that had been hard, but she knew she would do the same again, if needed. He was everything to her, and he always would be.

‘Please, Mum, promise me you won’t say anything bad about Michael again. I just can’t stand it. He has stood by me and loved me through everything. He was happy to forget all about having babies, just so I wouldn’t have to go through any more heartache. That is why I didn’t tell him about this baby till I had to. I love him more than anything, and he loves me, Mum, I know that.’

Lana sighed gently. ‘I won’t say a word about anything or anyone. I promise.’ She had learnt her lesson as far as all that was concerned. That her Josephine had chosen Michael over her had given her a reality check. She wasn’t going to lose her daughter again, that was for sure. Michael Flynn was not someone she wanted in her daughter’s life, she knew him for the man he really was. But her daughter didn’t see him as anything other than her knight in shining armour, and she knew she would never disabuse her of that notion. It was pointless to even try. But she would watch him like a hawk, and pray every day that her Josephine would eventually see him for what he was.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Michael was watching Declan eat; the man was a veritable force of nature. He could consume his own bodyweight in steak, and still have room for a dessert. He was like a machine; he ate with a dedication that was almost inspiring, he enjoyed his food so much.

Michael was at the head of the table, of course, Declan was sitting to his right, and the other eight seats were taken up by people they worked with who were important enough to join them for dinner once a month. Declan couldn’t see the value of it at all. He just saw a big bill at the end for Michael to pay. These people worked for them – surely
they
should be paying the bill? They gave them their earn, for fuck’s sake! Yet Michael insisted that they wine and dine them. In Declan’s mind, this was completely fucking ludicrous. But he couldn’t see the money that they were bringing into the firm on a regular basis – Declan only saw the money they earned personally. He couldn’t see the big picture – that these men brought in far more than they earned. But then, Declan didn’t really understand the economics of the big earns. Michael made him come to these dinners, because he was his business partner. He had tried to educate him on the finer points of the businesses he ran, but Declan genuinely had no real interest whatsoever. Michael knew that these dinners were worth every penny. The men around him were all good earners, and they appreciated that he singled them out and showed them how much he valued them. He knew that, to keep people onside, you had to make them feel a part of everything, give them your time and, better still, your interest. It was a good night out for everyone concerned as well – good food, good wine and good company.

He sat back in his chair, feeling very relaxed. He had imbibed a few glasses of red wine, and he was enjoying the company. Jeffrey Palmer was on his left, in pride of place. He was always a good bloke to have around; Michael liked him a lot and, since the removal of young McCarthy, Jeffrey Palmer had done everything possible to show his appreciation. He was grateful to Michael Flynn for taking care of a very awkward situation for him, and he would never forget that.

Michael couldn’t tell him that the main reason the boy had been dispatched was because he had dared to pull a gun on
his
premises. He could not let that go – no matter who might be involved. He would have taken out anyone, no matter who they were or who they worked for. It was the principle.

‘What a great night.’

Michael smiled easily as always. He was good at that. ‘I like it here, Jeffrey. It’s a great place – a delicate mixture of bankers and wankers!’

Jeffrey laughed with him. ‘That is a great analogy, and very true! But listen, Michael, I want to run something by you. I had a visit from an old mate this week. He did a big lump in the nick, but he has been out a good while. He now lives in Spain. He has a couple of nightclubs in the ’Dorm, and he has the contacts to procure any drugs required – in any quantity.’

Michael Flynn sipped his wine; he was not going to join in this conversation until he had to.

Jeffrey Palmer knew the game, but he had downed a few drinks, and he felt secure. Michael Flynn had done him the favour of a lifetime and he wanted to return the favour. He grabbed Michael’s arm roughly, pulling him closer. ‘Look, Michael, from what he tells me, he can undercut anyone.’

Michael pulled his arm away roughly. Leaning forward, he looked into Jeffrey’s eyes, as he said sarcastically, ‘Well, fuck me, Jeff. Let’s ring him now, shall we?’

Jeffrey Palmer was taken aback at Michael’s reaction and, as far as Michael was concerned, so he fucking should be.

‘Listen, Jeffrey. We deal with people who are well under the plods’ radar, who can supply very good gear, and who have always proved themselves to be very reliable. Never once have we ever had even the threat of a tug. Yet you want me to wipe out a friendship
and
a business partnership that goes back fucking donkey’s years – a partnership that I have recently given to you, remember, and for what exactly? An ex-fucking-con who lives in fucking Benidorm of all places – the arsehole of the world. What the fuck are you on?’

Jeffrey Palmer knew that he had just made a major fuck-up. He had listened to his friend’s spiel and, as he had been promised a much bigger margin on what he was shifting on a weekly basis, it had seemed a far more lucrative venture for all concerned. He had foolishly assumed that Michael Flynn would bite his fucking hand off. But now he understood that he had not only discussed his dealings with an outsider but, to compound his offence, he had been willing to step over the man that Michael Flynn had introduced him to, who he had offered him a partnership with. A partnership he had accepted, and he had been so grateful for the opportunity. He was earning a fucking fortune, more money than he had ever earned in his life, and he was throwing it back in Michael Flynn’s face. That was not a good move. He could see the disgust on Michael’s face, and felt physically ill.

‘I am a bit miffed, Jeffrey. To be brutally honest, I can only assume that you have discussed our arrangements with your fucking “friend” from Benidorm, and told him all our business – times, dates and, more importantly, weights. That’s all private business, as far as I am concerned. I thought you understood the importance of loyalty and secrecy. I can’t see any reason to discuss our business with anyone outside of our little circle. But from what you just said, you have obviously told your mate, Mr
fucking
Benidorm, everything about us, from delivery to distribution. Otherwise, how would he have known he could undercut us?’

Michael was absolutely fuming. Of all the people on his payroll, Jeffrey Palmer was the last person he would have believed capable of something like this. He sat back in his chair, concealing his fury, and smiled amiably at the men around him. The waitresses here were stunning-looking girls, and they were waiting for the dessert orders. The girls who waited on them knew they were guaranteed a big tip. The bigger the tits, the bigger the tips – it was another reason why they got such wonderful service.

‘I think some cheeses for me, and a nice glass of vintage port. I’m not a dessert man, as you all know.’ Michael was laughing and joking as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Jeffrey Palmer was devastated. He had ruined, in less than a few minutes, a reputation that had taken him years to build. He waited a moment, watching the men at the table laughing and drinking, before leaning towards Michael, seizing his opportunity for another private word.

‘Look, Michael, I am so sorry. I just saw the money, I didn’t think it through properly. My mate is a straight arrow, though – safe as houses. He did a sixteen. You probably know him – Charlie Carter? Out of Notting Hill?’

Michael shrugged his annoyance. ‘Like I’d fucking care about all that. I couldn’t care if he was Saint John the fucking Baptist. He still had no right to be told my business.’ Bending forward once more, he looked into Jeffrey Palmer’s face, searching it as if he was looking for another weakness.

‘Look, Jeffrey, I am so fucking outraged, I can’t believe what you said to me. It’s not just the fucking disregard for everyone you are working with – me included – it’s the knowledge that you felt comfortable telling a stranger how we all work. That is almost like grassing. Telling someone else about our business practices. You are a fucking liability. Can’t you see that? I brought you in, trusted you, and paired you up with a man I have worked beside for fucking years. You were
my
replacement, for fuck’s sake. You seem to have overlooked not just me, and what I gave you, but also the reaction of the people you have been dealing with on my behalf.’

All around, the men were telling jokes, and Michael sat back in his chair ready to join in. He had given Palmer enough of his time. He wasn’t going to let him have another say now. As far as he was concerned he could go fuck himself.

Garry England, a young up-and-coming money launderer, was holding court. He was a really funny man – he could tell a joke like a professional comedian. Michael ignored his cheese board. He had lost his appetite. He busied himself lighting a cigar instead. He gestured to the maître d’, and the man brought a bottle of Remy XO to the table, returning to place a brandy snifter in front of each of the men. The maître d’ knew that the brandy that this lot would drink would cost more than the food. With the good wines and the aperitifs, this would be a serious bill. Michael Flynn was a valued customer in more ways than one. It gave them status to have Michael Flynn dine there on a regular basis. He was a good tipper, always made sure that everyone who waited on him got a decent wedge at the end of the night. He also made sure that none of his guests ever caused any disturbances, no matter how much they might have drunk.

Michael opened the bottle of brandy, and poured himself a large measure. Then he passed the bottle on to Declan. Michael sipped the liquid, savouring the taste. He did like a nice brandy. Patrick Costello had educated him, explaining the finer points of a good brandy and a good wine. Patrick Costello had told him, in confidence of course, how he had paid a mad French bloke – a sommelier from one of London’s leading hotels – to teach him about wines, and how to appreciate them. Patrick had admitted to him that he had been amazed at the man’s knowledge, and at how much he had learnt from him. And Patrick, in turn, had enjoyed passing his knowledge on. Michael would always thank him for that.

Garry England was telling everyone at the table a funny story about when he was a kid and he had gone with his mum on a visit to Parkhurst to see his dad. Declan was already giggling like a teenager; he had heard the story before. Michael couldn’t concentrate though, he was still reeling from the shock that Palmer had actually attempted to replace the man he had introduced him to, a man he had worked with for years, who he trusted implicitly.

Jeffrey Palmer had been his choice. He had recruited him personally to be his replacement. He had trusted him to take over. That was the real bugbear – he had trusted a man who had not understood the enormity of what had been offered him, who had not had the intelligence to understand exactly what he was dealing with. It was a real melon scratcher, as his mum would say.