Revenge

by Martina Cole

  ‘Bring the bottle of wine up here, Michael. I need to get myself sorted out.’

  She looked around her, as if she had important things to do. It was her usual reaction, and Michael wasn’t going to say anything to challenge her. He got up from the bed slowly, pretending, as always, that he didn’t notice the clutter everywhere, the boxes of rubbish that she surrounded herself with. Smiling easily at his wife, he said gently, ‘I fancy a nice glass of red. You OK with that, darling?’

  Josephine smiled back, grateful that her husband was always so kind to her, so very understanding. She saw how hard it was for him. ‘That sounds good to me, Michael. I love a nice red.’ As he opened the bedroom door, she had a sudden urge to say something else. ‘I’m so sorry, Michael. I wish more than anything that I could make everything all right for us. You do know that, don’t you?’

  He turned back towards his wife and saw the sorrow on her lovely face. She was still a real beauty, still the only woman he had ever wanted. ‘’Course I know that. You’re the love of my life, Josephine, always will be. Now, let me go and get the wine. I feel like spending some quality time with my lovely wife.’ He winked at her saucily, then he left the room.

  She watched him go and sighed. She had never wanted anyone else since the first time she had clapped eyes on him. She had always put him before everyone else in her life, even her daughter, and she always would. He was everything to her, and that would never change.

  Michael came back with the wine and two Waterford crystal glasses. She followed him obediently out to her balcony; she knew he liked to see her in the fresh air. She sat down at the wrought-iron table, and took a large sip of the wine her husband had poured for her.

  ‘It’s chilly out here tonight, girl.’

  ‘I know. I was out here earlier on. It’s always cold in the evenings.’ Josephine looked at her husband; he was still a very handsome man. ‘Will you do me a favour, Michael? Will you ask our Jessie if she is really going to come on Sunday? Only Jake is expecting her, and I don’t want him to be disappointed. Waiting all day and then she doesn’t bother to show up.’

  Michael nodded. He knew only too well what his daughter was capable of. ‘I’ll ask, but you know what she’s like. She’s so fucking unreliable. The only time I can guarantee her presence is when she picks up her money. Funny how she never sleeps in on a Thursday, isn’t it?’

  Josephine didn’t respond to that; she knew how angry Michael could get over Jessie.

  Michael sipped his wine, savouring the taste. He was looking over the gardens; he had turned the outside lights on earlier, and he was enjoying the view. So much had gone into making the gardens look beautiful, but his wife didn’t seem to notice them any more. It was so sad. She took no pleasure in anything these days. How could she? All she did was sit out the days – and that was all she was capable of doing. She was unable to sleep at night, unable to enjoy her life in any meaningful way. His lovely bride, his Josephine, had gradually lost the knack for living life, and she didn’t seem to want to find it again.

  Josephine sighed; she missed her daughter so much, but there was no way Jessie was coming home again. She avoided them all like the plague, especially little Jake. Josephine blamed herself for her daughter’s actions. Jessie had needed her, and she had not been there for her daughter – she had put her husband first and done what he wanted.

  ‘Do you think we were wrong to make her have little Jake? She was so young, Michael.’ She watched her husband as he shook his head in swift and angry denial.

  ‘How can you even think like that, Josephine? He is a lovely little lad. If we had let her have her way he wouldn’t even fucking be here. For all her fucking antics, and her fucking determination to act like he doesn’t exist, the day will come when she will realise that she did the right thing by having her baby, and that we did the right thing by making sure she gave the child a chance at life. She needed to understand the seriousness of what had happened to her. She needed to learn that having a child isn’t a fucking game. As a Catholic, she had only one choice open to her. There would be no abortions in this fucking house, I made that perfectly clear to her.’

  He was getting angry, so he drank some of his wine, and willed himself to calm down. His daughter’s treatment of her son still rankled with him. ‘The worst thing is, Josephine, I actually thought it might make her grow up, you know? I thought it might make her realise that eventually everything has to be paid for. But I was wrong. All it did was drive her further away.’

  Josephine busied herself lighting a cigarette, even though she knew that Michael hated her smoking. She didn’t know how to react to her husband’s words. Michael was always so sure of everything, but she wasn’t as sure as he was about her daughter. She leant forward in her chair and, looking directly at her husband, she said seriously, ‘Do you know what I think, Michael? I think the night the Cornels came here ruined her. It was such a big trauma for all of us, but she never seemed to get over it, did she? She just went off the rails afterwards, and then with the baby on top of everything else, it was all too much for her. She was a mother at sixteen years old, that’s a really big event for anyone, Michael, let alone a young girl like Jessie.’

  Michael laughed sarcastically. He had no intention of making excuses for his daughter. She was the one who had got herself pregnant, and it wasn’t even as if she had known who the culprit was. It could have been anyone. Josephine’s problems had been made worse by her daughter’s actions, and young Jessie was the main reason that Josephine couldn’t bring herself to leave her home any more. There was no way he was going to sit here tonight and pretend anything different. He had seen first-hand the toll his daughter’s lifestyle had had on his wife. Tonight he wasn’t in the mood to overlook it.

  ‘You listen to me, Josephine. I don’t care what anyone says – she might have had a fright that night, and I get that – but that wasn’t any reason to carry on the way she fucking did. She had never, ever in her life had anything other than love and care from us. There are kids in this world who are living in war zones, who have seen their families murdered, and they get over it. Our Jessie’s fucking problem is that she let one fucking night cancel out all the years of love we had given her beforehand. I tell you now, and I’m being honest with you, I think she would have gone to the bad anyway. Look at how she’s living now! How she’s been living for years. Drink, drugs, fucking men. That is a lifestyle, Josephine, a fucking choice she’s made. I was talking to Tommy Ambrose the other week, six kids he has, and one of his sons is a fucking heroin addict. It’s breaking his heart but, as he said, there’s nothing he can do about it. The kid’s a fucking waste of space, end of. Tommy said a very true thing to me; he reckons it’s a kink in the boy’s nature. Nothing could have prevented it from happening. The boy was destined to be a fucking junkie. I think that applies to our Jessie. She would have found her level, eventually, I honestly believe that. She looked like a fucking paraffin lamp last week, when she came to get her money. I was so ashamed of her. Her breath was so bad, I could smell it from six feet away. Her clothes were dirty – she had obviously slept in them – her legs were scabbed over, and covered in fresh bruises, so I knew she had fallen over at some point. Then she had the fucking nerve to snatch the money out of my hand as if she was doing me a favour by taking it. I tell you now, Josephine, it took all of my willpower to stop myself from telling her to fuck off, and aiming her out the door on the end of my fucking boot.’

  Josephine had never once heard her husband talk like that about their daughter, and she knew, then and there, that he had been thinking like that for a long time.

  ‘Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry to hear you talking like that about our Jessie. But I do know what you’re saying and, as much as it pains me to say this, I think you’re right.’

  Michael laughed in derision at his wife’s words; he was angrier than he had realised. Without thinking, he found himself shouting with temper, ‘Have a fucking day off, will you, Josephine? Fo
r Christ’s sake! She’s a fucking walking nightmare. If it wasn’t for you, I would have cut her off years ago.’

  Josephine started to cry real tears then, her whole body shaking with her sobs. Michael was out of his seat and kneeling before his wife in seconds. Holding her to him tightly, he held her as she cried bitterly, knowing that this was something she should have done a long time ago. He hated himself for saying what he had. He knew that his Josephine didn’t want to hear the truth, but sometimes he really felt that she needed to hear it, needed to be dragged back into the real world, no matter how much that might hurt her.

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Declan Costello was laughing loudly; he liked a good joke, and he also liked a drink in the afternoon. The new barmaid was a real comedienne. She could make a cat laugh. Shame she looked like a fucking Russian athlete – if she had the looks he would have been on her in nanoseconds. He was getting older now, and was still overweight but that didn’t bother him too much, he had never been what anyone would ever call a looker. Many girls had tried to tie him down, but he had never let himself get caught. After a few weeks they bored him, even the really good-looking ones. He didn’t want a life partner, never had.

  He was waiting for Michael. It was Thursday, and that meant Michael would meet him in the private club they owned in East London by one o’clock at the latest. It was something they had done for years. Michael always liked to hear everything that was going on first-hand, and Declan was more than happy to oblige. He always gave Michael the lowdown on everything and everyone he dealt with. After Michael had nearly murdered him all those years ago, no one had been more amazed than him when Michael had brought him back into the fold, treating him as if nothing untoward had happened between them. It had been a real learning curve for him, and he had never forgotten it. Michael had only ever mentioned their contretemps once, on the day he had come round to his house just after he had finally left the hospital. After enquiring about his health, Michael had looked at him sadly, before saying, ‘I never want us to fall out again, Declan. All I want is for you to keep your eye on the ball in the future. You were supposed to have my back, you were supposed to be making my life easier.’

  Declan had been so grateful to be given another chance, he had sworn to prove himself worthy of Michael’s kindness. He had never once forgotten his role, and he relished his position, realising how easily it could be taken from him if he ever fucked up again. His laziness, combined with his refusal to think for himself, had nearly cost him not just his livelihood, but also his life. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make a second time.

  He took a deep gulp of his beer, enjoying the icy coldness as it slipped down his throat. He was a very happy man, and that was something that he really valued these days. He had lived through the humiliation of Michael’s attack, and that had been very hard for him; without Michael Flynn he was basically worth nothing.

  He held up his empty glass to the barmaid, and she took it quickly, filling it up once more for him. The bar was empty; they had just had the whole place decorated, and it was odd to see it so clean-looking. But it still had the old-fashioned vibe to it; the men who frequented this place would not be comfortable otherwise.

  He glanced towards the stairs. He had heard the door opening, and he watched Michael Flynn walking down the stairway slowly. He was still a very handsome man. Michael had never put on any weight, he still had a good body on him. He would get better looking as he got older, the jammy fucker; some men were lucky like that.

  ‘All right, Michael.’ It was a greeting, not a question.

  Michael smiled. ‘All right, Declan. You’re looking good, mate.’

  Declan grinned with pleasure. ‘I feel fine anyway. That’s the main thing. Drink?’

  The barmaid took the order, and Declan was amazed to see Michael Flynn drinking a large whisky so early in the day. ‘Are you all right, Michael?’

  Declan’s voice was genuinely worried, and Michael swallowed his drink down in one before answering him. ‘It’s my Jessie. She didn’t turn up for her money. I know it’s silly to worry, but she’s never missed a Thursday before.’

  He motioned to the barmaid for another drink, and she took his glass from him without a word. She refilled it and placed it on the bar in front of him. He smiled his thanks, noticing she wasn’t the usual eyeful they employed.

  ‘I don’t know, Declan. It’s not like her. I’m worried.’

  Declan knew how fragile Michael’s situation was regarding his only daughter. He suspected that young Jessie was probably shacked up with some piece of shit lowlife somewhere, but he knew better than to say that. Instead he took a drink of his beer, before saying easily, ‘I’m sure she will turn up. You haven’t got anything to worry about there, mate. She probably had a late night.’

  Michael looked at his old friend. Declan was ageing before his eyes. It didn’t help that he dressed like a fucking Nigerian refugee. He always looked like he had got dressed in the dark. ‘I suppose so. But Josephine wanted me to report back to her, and how can I do that now? I’ve sent someone round to her gaff. She won’t like it, but who gives a fuck? I need to know she’s OK.’

  Declan didn’t say anything. Jessie Flynn was notorious in their world. Her name was a by-word for whoring. She had used up all her brownie points with her uncle Declan years ago. She disgusted him now. If she was his daughter he would have crippled her many moons ago, put a stop to her gallop then and there. She had slept with everyone they knew.

  ‘Daughters, eh, Declan? A breed apart!’

  Declan laughed gently. ‘I wouldn’t know, Michael. I never wanted kids, or a wife, come to that. You know me, mate. I never felt the urge to reproduce.’

  Michael was laughing despite himself. ‘I can’t say I fucking blame you for that. Anyway, what’s the score? I heard about the aggro in the lap-dancing club.’

  Declan groaned theatrically, pleased to be changing the subject. ‘If you had seen the bloke who caused it, you’d freak out. He was as old as the hills for a start, and the girl was all of nineteen. He had made the fatal mistake they make, of course – assumed that because he had been giving her money all night he owned her. Then, when her shift was over and she tried to leave, he kicked off. Typical city type, thinks the whole world owes him allegiance. Well, he got a fucking slap in the end – there was no talking to him. He’s barred now, the wrinkled up old ponce.’ Declan motioned for more drinks before saying craftily, ‘I had to laugh, though, he was two grand down, and drunk as a coot, but he was a game old fucker, I’ll give him that.’

  Michael was laughing with him now. ‘It always amazes me that they just don’t get it.’

  Declan picked up his fresh pint, drinking deeply, enjoying it. ‘’Course they don’t get it, Michael. If they did we wouldn’t earn a fucking bean!’

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Hannah Flynn was listening to her arch enemy with interest. Lana wasn’t her favourite person, but she did oftentimes have a good insight into her daughter’s life.

  ‘I tell you, Hannah, my Josephine is getting worse. If it wasn’t for that little boy I don’t know what she would do.’

  Hannah nodded slowly in agreement. Her daughter-in-law was not a bad girl; as the years had gone on, she had become quite attached to her. Josephine was weak, that was her problem. She had no backbone. Jessie’s antics had been the last straw really. Her pregnancy had knocked them all for six, but it had broken Josephine. She had never recovered.

  She had made her way round to Lana’s because, for the first time ever, Jessie hadn’t turned up at her house for a late lunch. She always came to her on a Thursday. Jessie saw her dad first, picked up her cash, and then she came straight to her nana’s. Hannah made them lunch, and they chatted together. It was the highlight of her week. But today she hadn’t shown up; that wasn’t right. Jessie never missed their lunch together. She had tried her mobile over and over again, and nothing – it had just rung. She had come round to Lana’s house in the end, ho
ping to find out something about her granddaughter. But it was obvious Lana knew even less than she did.

  ‘Has anyone seen Jessie today?’

  Lana shrugged. ‘Not that I know of, Hannah. When does anyone ever see the mardy bitch? I could smack her face at times.’

  Hannah sipped at her tea. She was aware that Jessie didn’t really bother with her mum’s family, and that pleased her usually. Nevertheless she still felt uncomfortable about Jessie being a no-show. As unreliable as Jessie could be, she always came round to her house on a Thursday. It was their little secret.

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Jake was so boisterous and loud, Josephine could hear him even through the tightly shut French doors in her bedroom. He was tearing around the gardens as usual and, smiling to herself, she made her way out on to her balcony to watch him. His nanny, Dana, was chasing him, and he was easily getting away from her. She could see the glee on his face as he laughed loudly. Jake had such a lust for life. She saw him standing on the lawn, his hands on his hips. He looked so much like her Michael, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She thanked God every day that her grandson didn’t look like whoever had fathered him. It would have been very hard to look at the child if he had nothing of his family in him.

  Josephine sat down on the nearest chair and wiped a hand across her mouth. She hated to think like that, but she couldn’t help herself. Jake meant the world to her and, even though she couldn’t bring herself to do much with him, she made sure that inside the house he spent quality time with her. He was already questioning her lifestyle, asking her why she never took him to school, or went for a walk with him. He was always asking about his mum; he knew she should be around more, that his friends’ mums were always there. He didn’t have his mum, and he didn’t have his nana there for him either. She couldn’t be there for him – she couldn’t leave the house, not even for her grandson. Jake was getting to an age where he was noticing these things.