Revenge

by Martina Cole

  She noticed that the curtains were open; Michael must have snuck in and opened them while she was sleeping. She knew that if he had not opened them she wouldn’t have bothered. She liked them closed, she liked to shut out the world, the real world. Michael always argued that they had such wonderful views – all farmland and no other houses in sight. He thought that would make her feel better, make her feel easier in herself. But he didn’t understand that the view outside the windows was irrelevant, she had no interest in it whatsoever. She had no real interest in anything other than her immediate surroundings.

  She got up slowly, and went to her dressing table. Michael had left her a pitcher of fresh water, and she smiled at his kindness. She poured a glass out for herself, and then she meticulously counted out her medication. She swallowed the pills quickly, comforted by the feel of them in her mouth as she forced them inside her with huge gulps of the fresh water her husband knew she needed. She felt better immediately; she had taken her first step into the day, a day that was as fraught for her as every other day in her life.

  She went back to her chair, and settled herself down again. Everywhere she looked was cluttered – piles of photographs, newspapers, or used jars. Shoes were piled in the corners, and her clothes were strewn all over the floor. Rubbish was kept in bin bags, and she had placed them lovingly against the walls. The clutter was her armour against the world – it made her feel safe. She could look at something that she had kept for reasons known only to herself, and she could smile in remembrance of a memory long gone – a memory no one cared about but her.

  Now her Jessie was gone. No word at all, and Josephine knew in her gut that something bad had happened to her daughter.

  She opened up her make-up bags which were never far from her side and, pulling a large mirror towards her, she began the long and painstaking artistry she used to create the image that allowed her to face the world as best she could.

  Michael Flynn was tired. He had not slept properly for two days and, even though he had not believed it possible, he was deeply concerned for his daughter’s safety. She was selfish, greedy, manipulative and devoid of any real morals, and that was exactly why she never failed to turn up for her allowance. She had very expensive tastes, and she liked to be able to indulge herself; she wasn’t as low rent as she made out.

  She was never off his radar no matter what anyone else might think or what he might let them think. She was always going to be his baby. She was a girl who made it very difficult to love her, who knew exactly how to rattle his cage. It was something she had made her mission in life; hurting him was something she enjoyed so much she had even left her own son behind in her pursuit of his unhappiness. He had taken on responsibility for the child along with his wife although, to his daughter’s chagrin, it had not been a chore for them. In fact, it had been almost like a rebirth for them both, inasmuch as they had adored their grandson from the moment he had entered the world. Jessie, on the other hand, had not been miraculously changed by giving birth to her own flesh and blood, as her mother had been convinced would be the case. Instead she had abandoned her little son at the first available opportunity, and she had drifted in and out of his life ever since. Michael hated her for that, even more than he hated her for how much she had hurt her poor mother.

  Jessie thought she herself was the only person worth a day’s interest. But that was his daughter – an arrogant fucker, who had no moral compass whatsoever. She saw everyone around her as someone to be used for her own ends, and that included her own child, her own flesh and blood. Michael had been forced to accept that about her over the last few years and it had not been as easy as everyone had believed. It had been very hard for him. Because he had loved her with a vengeance. She was his baby girl, his only child. She was also a selfish, vicious, bitter, manipulative, avaricious, devious, two-faced ponce, whose only interest in life seemed to be getting drunk, drugged, laid, or a combination of all three. She had been the apple of his eye once, and now she was someone he had to live down on a daily basis. It was only his standing that stopped him from hearing the real gossip concerning her, and he knew that was a good thing because if she pushed him too far, he knew he might finally do something to get himself nicked.

  He was staring at the phones in his office, hoping that whoever had her would just ring him up and let him know she was OK. Then, once he had paid them off, and his Jessie was accounted for, he would hunt the bastards down like the fucking rabid dogs they were, and personally make sure that they never again put any other parents through such agony. He would take great pleasure in ensuring they disappeared from the world around them in as much pain and terror as physically possible.

  He was taking his daughter’s disappearance personally; whoever was behind it was trying to prove a point. This was about him. It had to be. Inside his head, he could not help wondering if his daughter was a part of it all. She was capable of anything, as he knew better than anyone. But he hoped that he was wrong. For all that had happened, he hated to think she was capable of trying to rip him off and, if she was trying to do that, he would personally make sure that everyone involved would be made aware of how irritated their actions had made him, his Jessie especially. If she was involved, that would be the last straw, and he would have to take drastic action against her.

  There were some things that could never be forgiven. Some things that could finally cause a body to turn on their own.

  Jessie woke up once more, and she was immediately aware that there was somebody else in the room with her.

  It was still pitch dark. Still cold and damp. She knew that she couldn’t be the first to speak – her dad had always told her: when in doubt, shut your trap. If you kept your own counsel, eventually the others would feel the need to explain themselves, and he had been right. She had learnt that the hard way. So she didn’t say a word.

  She could hear the shallow breathing of whoever was now in the room with her and, more to the point, she knew that they could also hear her breathing. They would know that she wasn’t asleep any more. She was very much awake. It was a terrifying experience. She had never once, in her whole life, needed to worry about someone else’s reactions to her or her antics. No matter what had happened to her, no matter what she had said or done, she had always known that her father would be in the background, and the reason why she would ultimately be safe no matter what she did. No one was willing to confront her because that would mean they would have to deal with him. That was something no one in their right mind would even consider. It was her get-out-of-jail-free card, the reason she pushed everything as far as she could. It was why she had been able to fuck her father over again and again. He had always made sure that she was untouchable. She had thought she was invincible because of her father – it was something she relied on. No matter what she did, no matter how much trouble she had landed herself in, her father had always made sure that it had all gone away. It was something she had seen as another of his weaknesses, as another reason to do whatever she wanted. After all, no matter what she did, he bailed her out. He made sure that her actions did not infringe on his lifestyle in any way and that was what it was all about. She knew his reputation was everything to him. Well, she was his daughter, his only child, and she had made damn sure that his reputation as a parent was worth nothing. She had enjoyed that, enjoyed the knowledge that her actions had undermined him, and made him see that he was not worth anything really.

  But now she didn’t know what to think. She would have to play this one by ear. She was in serious trouble. Whoever was behind this was not someone who cared about her or her family name.

  She was so scared. She wasn’t alone in this darkness, and she knew that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  Josephine Flynn looked at her little grandson and smiled. He was beautiful – dark-haired and blue-eyed – his grandfather’s double. He even had Michael’s mannerisms. It was uncanny considering Jessie had no idea who had fathered him. Josephine believed that Michael�
��s genes were so strong they had cancelled out any that the culprit contributed. She hoped so, for the child’s sake; his father could be anybody – that was the honest truth. Jessie had only had the child because an abortion was out of the question as far as her father was concerned. It was also the only thing that would make her mother turn against her daughter. Still, Josephine liked to think, in her lighter moments, that her daughter wouldn’t have been capable of doing something so heinous.

  Jessie knew how she had struggled to have her. She had lost all her other children – some even after Jessie’s birth. A child, Josephine believed, was God’s gift, and to refuse such a wonderful offering was beyond forgiveness. So Jessie had calmed down, stopped her drinking and drug-taking for a while, and she had brought this handsome gorgeous boy into the world. Jessie had then walked out of her own child’s world when he was two days old; she had given him over to her parents without a backward glance. That had hurt Josephine more than anything else her daughter had done, even if she was happy to take him on. Jessie had only been sixteen, and Josephine had hoped that giving birth might have made her daughter grow up, start to understand that all actions had their own set of consequences. But she had been wrong, very wrong – if anything, it had just made her daughter worse.

  Jessie had not even bothered to name her own child, and that, for Josephine, summed up the whole situation. So she had named him herself – Jake – and Jessie had not voiced an opinion either way.

  Jake was six years old now, but he wore clothes for an eight year old. He was bright as a button, already reading and writing well beyond his years, and showing every sign of being academic. Well, he had not inherited that from his mother! Jessie had always been a poor student – not because she wasn’t clever, but because she was lazy. Jessie had always taken the path of least resistance. Josephine blamed herself; they had waited so long for Jessie to come along, and she had ruined her from day one. She regretted that now. Her mother had been right all those years ago. She had warned her that Jessie was a girl who needed to be chastised, who had a strong will that needed to be curbed.

  Michael, in fairness, had allowed her free rein with Jessie’s upbringing. He had never forced his own opinions on her where the child was concerned, even when she had known he had every right to call the shots. Michael loved her too much – he always conceded to her and her wants. He adored her, and she loved him all the more for that, because she knew that her problems would have made a lesser man run away as fast as his legs would carry him. But her Michael had never once made her feel anything other than cared for and cherished.

  She watched as her grandson looked around her cluttered bedroom, and she waited for what she knew was coming.

  ‘It’s very dark in here, Nana. Why don’t you come into the garden with me? You could push me on my swing if you liked.’ The hope was in his voice, as always.

  Josephine smiled sadly. ‘That’s what we have Dana for, Jake. She’s much younger than Nana and she can run after you. How about after your swing, we have dinner with Granddad, and then we can all play a game together?’

  Jake Flynn shrugged; it was no more than he had expected. ‘OK. Will my mummy be coming to see me soon?’

  It was a loaded question, and one he asked occasionally when he remembered he had a mummy. Josephine swallowed down the sadness inside her as she answered him brightly, ‘You’ll see her soon. You know that she is very busy. But as soon as she gets some time off from work, she will come straight here to see you.’

  Dana O’Carroll was a good nanny – she knew when to intervene and, grabbing the child’s hand, she said loudly in her thick Irish brogue, ‘Come on now, Jake, let’s go and play, shall we? Your nana needs to sort out a few things.’

  Josephine watched them as they left the room, and she closed her eyes in distress. Pulling herself from her chair, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror that Michael had bought for her all the way from France. It was very old, and had cost a small fortune. She loved it. She saw a very beautiful woman, well dressed with perfect make-up, and sad green eyes. She didn’t look her age, and her figure was still to be envied. Her thick blond hair had to be coloured now; a girl came every month and saw to that, her nails, and her waxing. She had always been a woman who had looked after herself in that respect. She suspected she could still turn a few heads – that’s if she ever left the house, of course – and she knew that Michael was proud of her. He had always made her feel like the only woman in the world, and he still treated her like a queen.

  If only Jessie had tried to understand him, meet him halfway even, she knew they would not be in this situation. But Jessie always had to have the last word, and had understood that, because of her mother’s problems, she had the upper hand. Jessie hated that her mother’s world was so small, and she blamed her father for everything that had happened. No matter how hard Josephine had tried to explain the truth, Jessie had not believed her. Now she was terrified that her daughter had taken up with someone who had harmed her, hurt her little girl in some way.

  Jessie had a knack for finding that type of person – men who used her, who treated her like she was nothing and discarded her without a backward glance. Men who she sought out, and who she paid for, bankrolled with her father’s money, and who she knew would make him angry because she was throwing her life away just to hurt him. Now, it seemed she had finally picked the wrong one – a man who she couldn’t control.

  It had been too long. Her Jessie never went a day without talking to her – whatever she thought about her father, she loved her mother. They were very close, and it was only the knowledge that she would find it hard if she didn’t see or hear from her little girl, that had stopped Michael from sidelining his Jessie for good. He felt it would do her good to have to earn her own keep, and see what the world was like without his name to protect her; Josephine had argued that if he did that she would be in danger of losing her altogether. Her real fear was that Jessie would end up on the streets, selling herself to whoever for enough money to get stoned. Now she wondered if he had been right all along, and a short, sharp shock, as he put it, might have done Jessie some good.

  She picked up her favourite rosary. It had been a present from Michael on their wedding day – it was not expensive, it was very plain, made from olive wood, but it meant the world to her.

  She kissed the Cross of Christ, and blessed herself quickly. Then she walked from her bedroom into her large sitting room. There she knelt down before the crucifix that dominated the room, and she began the first decade of the rosary. She normally enjoyed the Joyful Mysteries but, since Jessie’s disappearance, she was now concentrating on the Sorrowful Mysteries. She could feel the despair that Mary, the Mother of Jesus, must have felt when her son had been taken from her. All she wanted, all she was praying for, was a phone call. Just something to let her know her daughter was safe.

  ‘Is he fucking sure? How are we supposed to plot his daughter’s last movements? I mean, in all honesty, where would we start? She could have been literally anywhere.’ Marcus Dewer was genuinely perplexed. He was also feeling worried – like many of Michael’s workforce, he was guilty of having known Jessie Flynn in a biblical sense. If he was honest, on more than one occasion. Now she was on the missing list, and he was terrified that Michael would find that out. Like most people, he believed she was on the nest somewhere, drugged out of her brains and oblivious to all the aggro she was causing.

  Jamie Gore shrugged. ‘It is what it is, Marcus. She likes this part of Brixton because she can score here. So let’s get parked, and start asking round.’

  Marcus sighed, and parked the BMW neatly. He looked at the photo of Jessie; she was a pretty girl, there was no doubt about that.

  ‘This is fucking stupid! Everyone knows there’s a price for information on her. The whole of the Metropolitan Police are scouring the Smoke. So what we are supposed to find out I don’t know.’

  Jamie Gore secretly agreed with his friend, but he was too shrewd t
o say that. ‘Marcus, do me a favour, will you? Shut the fuck up, and do what the man is paying us for. Who knows – we might stumble on to something accidentally. In fact, I think we should poke our heads into a few skag houses. You know what junkies are like – the fucking Third World War could erupt and they wouldn’t even notice until they ran out of heroin. So there’s a chance, albeit a very slim one, that they might not know about her being missing. And don’t forget, Marcus, if we find out something important, we will be greatly rewarded.’

  Marcus nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. He was more worried that they would be the ones to find her, overdosed and dead as a doornail. That wasn’t the kind of news he would relish giving Michael. It was what the majority of people believed had happened to Jessie Flynn – they were waiting for her body to turn up, and no one wanted to be the one who found it.

  Jessie was weak. The man who was holding her only gave her the minimum of water; she was always thirsty, although the hunger wasn’t so acute any more. She couldn’t work out how long she had been down here in the darkness. She seemed to sleep a lot, so she guessed that he was putting something in the water to keep her sedated. At least he had untied her hands although she was still manacled around her ankles, and the chain was attached to an iron hoop on the wall behind the mattress. She was still in darkness – the only time there was any light was when he brought her water. He had a torch, but it blinded her, so she covered her eyes. She had a feeling he wasn’t interested in her seeing him anyway. She played the game – that was all she could do.

  He had still not spoken to her, and that frightened her more than anything else. She had threatened him, abused him, told him that her father would be searching for her, and he had not reacted in any way. He had shone the torch and shown her an old chamber pot where he expected her to do her business. She had railed at him, cursed him, but there had been no reaction.