Revenge

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Mum, give me a break, will you? All you ever seem to do lately is moan. I can’t be doing with it. Fuck the priest! Why would I give a flying fuck about what he thinks of me?’

  Hannah Flynn watched her son warily. She had heard the gossip about him, and about his growing reputation as Patrick Costello’s right-hand man. Part of him had been gone from her a long time ago – Josephine had seen to that. But now the Costellos had him too and, between the lot of them, there was nothing left for her.

  She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, trying her hardest to keep her temper under control.

  ‘I’m just saying Father Riordan is a good man who’s always liked you, Michael. So I know that somehow you must have offended him for him to be avoiding you. He hasn’t said anything outright, but there’s clearly something radically wrong between you two. You must have said or done something to upset him and I’m telling you now, Michael, I don’t care how hard you think you are, you will always be my baby, my only son – that will never change – but I want to know what you’ve done.’

  Michael was just as annoyed. Father Riordan had no right to react in any way about something said to him in the confessional – that was supposed to be between him and God. The priest was irrelevant, he had nothing to do with any of it.

  His mother, on the other hand, needed to be placated, and sooner rather than later. She set great store by the Catholic Church, and she saw the clergy as above everyone else because of their great faith. He actually agreed with her about that; it was something to be in awe of. To devote your life to Christ, and the good of others, was something he would never, ever understand, but that didn’t stop him from having complete and utter admiration for the people who were willing to do it.

  ‘Father Riordan caught me on a bad day, Mum. I might have fucked him off. I’ll sort it out, OK?’

  ‘Well, you’d better. I thought I had brought you up better than that. He’s going to conduct your marriage ceremony, a holy sacrament which will bind you to that girl for the rest of your life. There’s no such thing as divorce for us, remember.’

  Michael nodded his agreement. ‘I have no intention of ever getting divorced from my Josephine, Mum, so you can rest easy about that much anyway. And I will see the priest and apologise to him, so wind your neck back in, will you? He shouldn’t be so fucking touchy anyway. I put more than enough poke into his bin, as you know yourself.’

  That was true. Her son gave a lot of money towards the Church’s charitable causes. He was more than generous and, until now, Father Riordan had been very vocal in his praise of her son’s contributions to the parish.

  Hannah was almost placated, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of worry. The marriage was going ahead, and she had no option but to accept it. It was out of her hands, and her son had made his opinion very clear about that. He was besotted with the girl, and Josephine Callahan – soon to be Flynn – was as besotted as he was. Hannah should be pleased that her boy was settling down. If only her future daughter-in-law didn’t irritate the life out of her.

  The doorbell rang and she watched as her son nearly broke his neck to answer it. She could hear Josephine’s voice in the hallway – it was like nails on a blackboard to her – but she plastered a smile on her face, and prepared to greet her son’s intended with as much warmth as she could muster.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lana Callahan had heard the talk about the Barbers’ untimely end; she knew enough about the Life to understand that, for the Costellos, the talk about the men’s violent deaths could only enhance their reputation.

  It was common knowledge that the Barbers had brought it on themselves; everyone knew that their bodies were never going to be found – not in this lifetime anyway, if ever. They were long gone, but the story of their demise continued to be whispered about. The police might have their suspicions, but there was nothing concrete for them to pursue – not that they would feel comfortable accusing the Costellos of anything anyway. Considering the Costellos paid the London Filth very generously to be left in peace, it wasn’t in anyone’s interest to rock the boat. Even the Serious Crime Squad had expressed little or no interest in the Barbers’ sudden disappearance. Ultimately, they had wanted them off the streets and they weren’t in the least bit bothered how that had come about.

  But Lana was now finding herself becoming increasingly worried about her daughter’s beau – and wondering exactly what he was capable of. She liked Michael Flynn a lot and she knew that he loved her daughter, but she couldn’t help wondering how much her daughter really knew about the man she was marrying.

  She herself hadn’t fully comprehended, until this had happened, that he had another side to him. He hid it well, but it was there nonetheless. He had a kink in his nature, she knew that now for a fact. He had the capacity to completely disengage with anything that he felt was necessary to his own wellbeing, his peace of mind.

  Her husband had told her, on the QT, the true story about the Barber brothers’ final hours but, unlike Des, who seemed to think that Michael’s part in the brutal murders was something to be applauded, she couldn’t help worrying about what kind of a man her daughter was tying herself to.

  Since Des had regaled her with their soon-to-be son-in-law’s violent exploits, she had found herself watching him carefully. She’d observed him smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened – as though he had not a care in the world. He was still carrying on as normal and, in her heart of hearts, she felt that was wrong – very wrong. She understood that violence was a part of his life – it was a part of life for anyone in the criminal world. For people like the Costellos, violence gave them the edge, made their names and guaranteed them their place in society. She’d found it easy to accept until it had suddenly appeared on her doorstep.

  She had been so pleased that Josephine had found a man like Michael, who could look after her, provide for her and give her a good life. Now she wasn’t so sure. If only she didn’t know so much about him; but Des had been proud to tell her how her daughter’s husband-to-be had proved himself to Patrick Costello as a man capable of anything. He had seen it as an achievement to celebrate, something to be admired. He thought Michael Flynn was a high flyer, and he was over the moon that he was going to take their only child to the top with him.

  It felt wrong to her now; violence should not be treated so matter-of-factly. Michael actually frightened Lana. He was marrying her daughter, and Josephine might think she understood what she was getting herself into, but she didn’t. Josephine was a kind, trusting, loving young woman; Lana was convinced that if she ever knew the real truth about Michael it would destroy her. She was madly in love with him, and Lana knew that, even if she told her what she knew about Michael, Josephine wouldn’t believe any of it.

  She wished Des had kept his big mouth shut; he might think Michael was the dog’s bollocks but now, thanks to him, she thought Michael was a dangerous fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Father Riordan could feel the sweat dripping from every pore in his body as Michael Flynn watched him closely. He knew that he had no right at all to stand in judgement over another human being, but the knowledge of the young man’s crimes was something he couldn’t forget about. It was on his mind every waking hour. He had listened to adulterers and wife beaters, he had made himself listen to people’s deepest, darkest secrets, and he had always been able to tell himself that they had not told him – they had been confiding in the Lord God Himself. But not this time. This was something he couldn’t find it in his heart to overlook. This was murder. It could never be rectified.

  Now here was Michael, with young Josephine Callahan, listening to him eagerly as he talked about the importance of the marriage vows, about it being a blessed sacrament, and how they were expected to always remember that they had been joined together in Holy Matrimony by God Himself, when all the time he knew that Michael Flynn was a killer. Even worse, thanks to him, Mi
chael had no guilty conscience about his act. It was over with, he had been forgiven. And Father Riordan had been the one to hear his confession. It was torturing him.

  ‘Are you all right, Father? You look a bit peaky.’

  Josephine seemed genuinely concerned about him and, as the priest looked into her lovely face, he saw the kindness there. This was a girl who was going to marry a man he knew was a murderer. He forced himself to smile at her and act normally.

  ‘I’m not feeling too good to be honest, Josephine. I think I’m coming down with the flu.’

  Josephine was instantly contrite, sorry that they had bothered him when he was obviously feeling unwell. ‘Oh, listen, Father, we can do this another time. You get yourself off to bed. You know that we are both more than ready to be married. It’s not long now, is it? I can’t wait.’

  Father Riordan was still smiling. ‘You’re right, Josephine, I shouldn’t be here at all tonight. The last thing you two need is the flu! I’ll see you both soon, OK?’

  Michael stood up slowly and, grinning happily at Josephine, he said jovially, ‘You go on, darling. I want to talk to Father Riordan in private for a minute.’

  Josephine nodded, then she kissed the priest gently on his cheek. As she left the pew, she blessed herself before the altar, and the two men watched as she walked sedately out of the church.

  Michael Flynn looked at the priest for long moments; he could almost feel the man’s fear emanating from him. He was annoyed that Father Riordan, his confessor, his parish priest, was acting so oddly.

  ‘What exactly is your problem, Father?’

  The man didn’t answer him – he couldn’t even meet his eyes. This was an outrage as far as Michael was concerned. He had confessed his sins, as required by his Church, especially before his wedding day. Who the hell did Father Riordan think he fucking was? The cheek of him.

  ‘You can’t stand in judgement of me, Father, and we both know that. You’re acting strangely, and I really don’t like it. I confessed to you so I could get married free and clear. That’s the Church’s teaching, not mine. I’ve repented for all my wrongdoings and, as far as I’m concerned we are square, mate. But if you don’t sort yourself out, we are going to have a serious problem.’

  It was a threat, and Father Riordan knew it. He had never thought for one second that his chosen life in the priesthood would eventually make him question not only his faith, but everything that he had ever believed in. This handsome young man, who came to Mass every Sunday, gave generously to the parish, who looked like any decent God-fearing individual, was about to marry a lovely young girl, and live happily ever after, was a devil in disguise. He had made a choice. He had known that he had committed a mortal sin, and he had only confessed so he could put it behind him and get married with a clear conscience. Father Riordan was well aware that Michael Flynn felt no real sorrow for what he had done – he was playing at being repentant. But true repentance was the whole point of the confessional – without being truly sorry for your sins, it was meaningless.

  ‘Are you listening to me, Father?’

  The priest looked into Michael’s eyes; whatever he did now would lay the foundations for the future. He prayed silently for the strength that he needed.

  ‘I’m listening to you, Michael. But I don’t feel that I can see you again. I know that I am failing you as a priest, but I have to follow my own heart, my own conscience.’

  Michael was very quiet. He could see that Father Riordan was serious. Michael knew that he wasn’t being awkward or deliberately obtuse. This was a real dilemma – for both of them.

  ‘I trusted you, Father. Now I feel that was a big mistake on my part.’

  The priest shook his head vigorously. ‘No, Michael, you didn’t make a mistake. Anything you might have told me in the confessional is sacrosanct. I can never repeat it to a living soul, and I wouldn’t, I can assure you of that. But I can’t act like it never happened, Michael. I have to go away from here.’

  Michael sighed; he liked Father Riordan, he was a decent enough man. ‘Look, Father, I’m sorry if my actions have caused you problems but, as far as I knew, I wasn’t talking to you, was I? Anything that I might have said, was between me and my God. I think that you are overreacting. I mean, for fuck’s sake, this is exactly what you lot sign on for, isn’t it?’

  The priest stood up. He could never hope to make this man understand how confused he was feeling, or why he felt the need to leave not only his parish, but his home and his whole life. Michael would never understand that just because he could live with his own actions, it didn’t mean that everyone else could. It was a waste of time.

  ‘Michael, look after young Josephine – she loves the bones of you. I’ll talk to Father Barry. He’ll be more than happy to officiate at your wedding. You’ve both known him since you were little children anyway.’

  Michael nodded sadly. He held out his hand and Father Riordan shook it heartily. He didn’t know what else to do.

  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.