by Martina Cole
Michael bowed his head. ‘That’s the plan, Father. She is everything to me.’
As they sat side by side in the church, Michael felt a peace settle over him. He loved the church and the solitude that it afforded him. He had often come here as a child to sit and think. For him there was nowhere else in the world where a body could be so utterly alone as in a Catholic church.
He was a believer, of course, in his own way. He had a deep respect for his religion, and he knew that it was something that would always be a part of his life, even if there were a lot of the teachings he couldn’t help question. That was just part of growing up; all in all, he still needed the stability it afforded him.
Josephine shared his beliefs and it was something they would pass on to their children. It was important that they learn that they were a part of something so big and powerful, that would be with them for their entire lives.
‘You ready to make your confession, Michael?’
‘Yes, Father, of course.’
Michael knew he had to make a good Act of Contrition before his marriage. He wanted to be able to take Communion on his wedding day without any blemish on his soul whatsoever. A Catholic marriage was a blessed sacrament. There would be no divorce; his marriage was for life and for the life thereafter. Michael knew how serious it was.
Father Riordan wished with all his heart that he had more young men like Michael Flynn in his parish. Decent young Catholics were getting rarer by the year.
‘Come on, then.’
Michael followed the priest into the confessional box. He knelt down immediately, appreciating the softness of the leather beneath his knees. It was quite dark inside. He knew that the priest was now his conduit to the Lord Himself, and it was something he had never taken lightly. This was so powerful a thing that even the laws of the land had no authority in the confessional box. Whatever he told the priest could never be repeated and, as long as he was truly repentant, his sins would be forgiven and his soul would be once more without blemish.
He blessed himself quickly, wanting to get this over as soon as possible. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been over two years since my last confession.’
Father Riordan blessed him, taking his time over it. He always enjoyed hearing confession. It was such a personal, private thing, the opportunity to talk to God Himself in person. You could unburden yourself of your sins and worries, and ask His forgiveness, knowing He would not refuse you. He would not stand in judgement of you or turn away from you. Father Riordan believed that this was the mainstay of the Catholic religion – the concept of the power of forgiveness and the knowledge that if you made a good confession you would be cleansed of your sins. You would be without stain, have a pure soul – for a short while anyway. You could take Holy Communion with a light heart, knowing you were in a state of grace. It was a very powerful thing to the true believer.
Michael bowed his head, and he started to speak quietly and respectfully. ‘I have sinned, Father. I have used profanities, taken the Lord’s name in vain. I have also had bad thoughts, terrible thoughts. I have not always honoured my mother.’
Father Riordan had expected as much. He smiled to himself. He had heard much worse than that over the years. ‘Go on, my son.’
‘I have also taken Josephine into my bed on more than one occasion. I know that I should not have done that. I should have waited, treated her with more respect. And I will do that now. I will wait until we are married in the eyes of the Church. I will make sure that our children are born in holy wedlock.’
Father Riordan already knew all about this. Josephine had been confessing that sin regularly for a long time, and she had not felt the urge to stop doing it. He understood that the weakness of the flesh was the scourge of youth, but he kept his own counsel. He was more astounded at Michael’s honesty. The lad was being far more truthful than he had expected. He was also being so humble and painfully honest, that it was making the priest feel almost as if he was eavesdropping. It was years since he had heard such old-fashioned terminology; it was as unexpected as it was welcome. He could hear the total commitment in Michael’s voice as he promised to wait until his wedding night so he could take his bride without sin.
There was a silence then. A long silence. But he could hear Michael’s breathing – it was shallow and fast.
‘I also have to confess to something else, Father. A mortal sin. A sin that I know will be difficult for you to understand.’
There was an edge to Michael’s voice now. Father Riordan could feel a distinct change in the air around them. He knew, immediately, that whatever Michael was going to say to him, he did not want to hear. But he had no choice. He had to hear the confession, it was out of his hands. He was filled with a sense of trepidation, of the fear that always accompanied the unknown. He felt hot suddenly, sweaty. He knew he had to do his duty, to listen to Michael, and not judge him – no matter what he might say. He took a deep breath to steady himself before saying, ‘You can say anything in here, Michael. Remember, you are not talking to me, you are talking to the Holy Father Himself. You can tell Him anything. I can never repeat anything I hear in the confessional. You know that. It’s not for me to judge. I can only offer you an Act of Contrition.’
Michael sighed gently. Then, lifting his head up, he said softly, ‘I have killed, Father.’
Chapter Seventeen
Patrick Costello was tired. He had been up since early morning, and now he was knackered. His anniversary party was about to start and he was fed up with it already. He loved his wife dearly, but she was what was known as ‘high maintenance’. If anyone else gave him the grief that she did, he would have shot them in cold blood without a second’s thought. Luckily, Carmel was a good girl, a great mother and, he had to admit, he loved her. But she had been on his back for the last few days about their wedding anniversary. It was like talking to the Antichrist; everything he said was wrong. She had decided that he had insisted on having an anniversary party, and he had been intelligent enough to go along with everything she said without a word. She could make him feel that he was in the wrong even when he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was totally in the right. If truth be told, he actually admired her for that. She was one of the few people in his world who was not scared of him, and that was why he loved her so much. If she had feared him, he would have walked all over her. They both knew it. Declan had hated her since day one, but he had accepted that she was what his brother wanted. As Carmel also hated Declan with a vengeance, it had made no odds.
Tonight, Patrick had to entertain everyone in his world, and make sure that they enjoyed themselves. It was part and parcel of being the main man; every person he had invited into his home was not only grateful to be a part of his celebration, but the invitation conveyed the message that they were doing a good job. Patrick had always understood the need to make everyone on his payroll feel that they were appreciated. Declan might be who they dealt with on a daily basis, but Patrick made sure that everyone in the firm knew that he was aware of them and what they did. It was important to remind people that they were valued.
He poured himself a large brandy from the bar in the room he’d commandeered as his hideaway. It was the only room in the house that his wife had not been allowed to decorate. It was a man’s room. The walls still had the original wood panelling and the flooring was a dark oak. He liked wood – it was honest, uncomplicated. He had two chairs – one on either side of the original Adam fireplace – both battered looking. They were as old as the hills, but the antique leather had cost a small fortune. The only other piece of furniture was a large bookcase he had picked up at an auction, which doubled as a bar, and there was a set of French doors that led out to the garden. He had no photographs or knick-knacks, nothing of a personal nature, but he liked it like that.
He settled himself into a chair, waiting for Michael and Declan to arrive; they needed to talk before the party got into full swing.
Declan arrived first
; he was dressed to impress, and Patrick could not help laughing at him. He was wearing a bespoke suit, dark-blue with a pale silver pinstripe, a deep blue shirt, and hand-made shoes. For the first time ever, Declan actually looked smart.
‘Look at you!’
Declan grinned, but he was clearly embarrassed. ‘I know! I went to see the bloke that Michael uses. He is a fucking magician I’m telling you, bruv.’ His big head was bright red, even his ears were flushed. Patrick felt a rush of affection for his brother. He was pleased to see him looking so good.
‘I can see that. I have never seen you look so smart! Fuck me, I never thought I would see the day!’
Declan went to the bookcase and busied himself by pouring a drink. ‘I see Michael has already started on a new earn. He has a real knack for sniffing out the money shots. I only heard about it through one of my blokes. He mentioned that he had seen Michael over in Ladbroke Grove. He was drinking with that Winston Oates – he’s the main man where drugs are concerned, as you know yourself. I assume he is making a point to the Barber brothers as that’s their turf, so to speak.’
Patrick was startled; he had heard nothing about Michael having a new earn. He had always prided himself on knowing everything about everyone around him – even his brother Declan was not immune. He had always believed in the adage that knowledge is power. Now he was wondering if he was getting lax in his old age, if his affection for Michael was clouding his judgement. He had not even asked about the boy’s movements recently; he had trusted him implicitly. Patrick had always been in possession of a healthy but suspicious nature – it was something he had always prided himself on. He trusted no one, and that was why the Costello brothers were so successful. But it seemed that Michael Flynn had achieved the impossible. For the first time ever, Patrick had not thought to have one of his main earners watched. He couldn’t believe that he had been so remiss. He trusted Michael – of course he did – but large amounts of money could be a terrible temptation to even the most loyal of men. History was filled with examples of how money – second only to a seriously good shag – could turn the most level of heads.
Declan observed his brother’s reaction and couldn’t help feeling a small twinge of satisfaction; it was very rare that he knew something of interest before his older brother. He had only found out about Michael’s meeting by accident but, unlike Patrick, who had a pathological fear of taking anyone on face value, he really did believe that Michael Flynn was as straight as a die. He hoped that he had not caused the boy any unnecessary aggro – he knew from bitter experience that Patrick could turn on a coin if he felt that he was being mugged off in any way. He was dangerous was Patrick, especially if he felt he had been overlooked in some way. He always had to be the fucking main man. He decided to backtrack.
‘Listen, Pat, I might have that all wrong, mate. I heard it from Cecil Thompson and, let’s be fair, he was never the sharpest knife in the fucking drawer, was he? His wife had more cocks than a geriatric chicken, and he never had a fucking clue – it was only when his youngest came out blacker than Nookie’s knockers that he suspected there might be skulduggery afoot!’
Patrick laughed and the tension eased. He knew that Declan was trying to smooth it over, sorry that he mentioned Michael. He sussed out that Declan enjoyed telling him something that he was not aware of – it was a rare enough occurrence and, for Declan, it was like winning the pools. Still, he was on his guard now.
‘Michael will be here soon. Let’s just see what he has to say, shall we?’
Chapter Eighteen
Josephine was wearing a cream-coloured silk dress that fitted where it touched and, even though she had no skin on show other than her arms, it showed off every curve she was in possession of to its full advantage. She looked stunning and she knew it.
She had added cream leather high heels, and a thick black belt that emphasised her tiny waist to complete the outfit. Michael liked her to look good, because he loved showing her off. He was proud of her and appreciated how she looked after herself, and he especially loved it when she dressed herself up like this. There was no cleavage on show – just as he wanted it – nothing that could be seen as provocative, yet she looked sexier than if she was wearing a micro-mini skirt with thigh-high boots.
Her hair fell down her back; it was lightly curled and lacquered. It looked natural, even though it had taken her hours to perfect it. Her eye make-up was not too heavy, but she was wearing a deep wine-coloured lipstick as her only splash of dramatic colour, which finished off her whole look perfectly.
She was pleased to see the reactions from everyone at the party as she’d walked into the room with Michael. He wanted her to be noticed and she was more than happy to oblige. She loved getting dressed up, it was something she knew she was good at.
Michael handed her a glass of champagne, and she took it from him carefully. Michael was considered an important man, and she had to make sure that she was seen as worthy of his attention. After all, they were going to be married soon, and that fact alone guaranteed her respect from the people around them. Still, a man like Michael was seen as fair game by most of the women in their world, but she had sworn to herself that she would make sure that he never had any reason to look anywhere else for attention. She herself had seen the women who had married their men, had a few kids and then let themselves go, got fat and frumpy. They stopped wearing make-up and taking care of themselves. It was easy to let your guard down with a wedding ring on your finger and believe that having a man’s kids was enough to keep the man of your dreams beside you, loyal to you because you had produced their flesh and blood.
As if! It was the seventies, and the power of marriage was slowly being eroded. Divorce was no longer for the rich and famous, it was now becoming a part of everyday life. Josephine was determined that her Michael would always see her as the girl he had met and married, not as the woman he had tied himself to. She would not become a whining, overweight baby-maker who lost the knack of enjoying the life that was on offer. Those were the women she secretly despised. She believed she was too shrewd to fall for all that old fanny.
For now she intended to warn off any women who saw themselves as contenders for her position as Michael’s girl. If she had to fight them off physically, if that is what it took to keep him beside her, she would, though she hoped it never came to that. Instead, she was making a name for herself as a beauty, as a fashion plate, and she wanted everyone to remember how good she looked each time they saw her. She was going to make sure that nothing interfered with them or their lives together. Still, she’d be a fool not to be a bit intimidated by just how important he was becoming, and how his status would make him even more attractive to certain women. Her mum had made sure she understood the ways of their world. There were pug-ugly men who, without their status as hard nuts, would be hard pushed to pull a muscle – let alone anything else. She knew that a lot of those men had walked out on their families for the lure of youth. It was pathetic, but it was a fact of the life they lived with. But it was not going to happen to her. Michael loved her and, if she used her loaf, that would never change.
She gulped her champagne down quickly, suddenly gripped by a feeling of anxiety. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Calm again, she lapped up the attention, which served to remind Michael of just how good she was for him, and how wonderful their life together would be.
She saw Patrick’s wife Carmel beckoning her over; as usual she was surrounded by the other women at the party. Patrick’s wife was never alone. Carmel’s so-called ‘friends’ agreed with everything she said and waited for her to take the lead on all matters. It was almost embarrassing to watch at times. Carmel Costello loved being the queen bee, and she played the part to perfection. If she decided to dance, then they all danced. If she drank shots, they each followed suit. And if she decided that one of the girls had offended her in some way, they immediately became persona non grata to everyone, pushed out of her circle brutally and very publicly. Carmel
Costello made her wishes very clear.
It was childish really, but Josephine knew that she had to follow suit and do what was expected as Michael’s wife-to-be. She already had a level of security because of Michael’s position in the firm as Patrick Costello’s boy wonder. Michael was not going to fuck that up; he’d worked hard to get where he was and he would do whatever was needed to keep himself on the up and up.
This was the game they were both having to play. Josephine had joined a group of women whose husbands’ livelihoods were dependent on the Costello brothers, and that was something none of them, Josephine included, could ever forget.
Chapter Nineteen
Colin Dawes was a man who went out of his way to avoid trouble of any kind. He wasn’t a coward – he could look after himself – but he had never seen the logic of going out and actively looking for trouble. In his experience, it eventually found its way to your door anyway. Now, he was in a quandary as he stood outside Jonny Barber’s office. He had known Jonny since they were little kids and, as big a bastard as Jonny could be, Colin couldn’t stand aside and see him taken out without giving him a heads up of some description. It was only fair.
The problem was, Jonny wasn’t a man who encouraged friendly conversation; he had no time for anyone other than his brothers so approaching him wouldn’t be easy. But Jonny had seen him all right in the not-too-distant past, and that counted for a lot where Colin was concerned. He was a decent man, or at least he tried to be anyway. He knew he had to do the right thing and he owed Jonny Barber.
Colin took a deep breath and pulling himself up to his full height – just over six feet one inch – he rapped loudly on Jonny’s office door, before walking in to face him. He consoled himself with the fact that he was doing what he would want someone to do for him if the need ever arose.