by Martina Cole
They were taking him over, and that he was letting them was apparent. Michael acted like he was already a member of the Callahan family, he spent so much time round there. Hannah didn’t know how she could compete but even after nearly four years, and a wedding all planned and paid for, she still couldn’t accept the girl as a permanent fixture in her life.
Instead, she was determined to spoil him while she could. She was on the offensive now, cooking for her son and giving him the benefit of his Irish heritage herself. ‘You’re enjoying that, son. I can see that.’
Michael smiled, his mouth full of stew. It was rare for his mum to cook something so delicious. Other than Christmas dinner, his old mum wasn’t known for her culinary skills. Breakfast had always been cereal and cold milk – winter or summer. She’d never once made him a packed lunch – just given him money to go to the local chippy. He never complained; what he didn’t have he couldn’t miss. But the Callahan family had opened his eyes and he liked the way they lived. Meals were something to be enjoyed in their house, something to be shared together as a family. It was an alien concept to him at first, but now he found that he looked forward to it. The way they talked about their day, and sat there when they were finished eating, just enjoying being in each other’s company, was something he wanted for his children.
‘It’s lovely, Mum. I was absolutely starving as well, so it’s much appreciated!’
Hannah was suddenly struck with pangs of guilt. Michael wasn’t averse to cooking for himself if the need arose. Eggs and bacon were his forte. He had cooked that for them both most Sundays after they had been to Mass. She had let him do it – eventually, she had even expected it. Now she was sorry. She had always prided herself on her feminist beliefs, even though, if she was truthful, she was just lazy. She had not even bothered to get up and see him off to school once he was old enough to look after himself. He had been quite happy so she had always felt that it was pointless both of them getting up when she was so tired. After all, she had always worked so they could live. She had expected him to do his bit from an early age, and he had never questioned her methods. Until now. Hannah realised her son was very old-fashioned in some respects. He liked having a decent meal waiting for him when he came home; he expected his laundry to be hung up in his wardrobe, crisply ironed. That was how things were done in the Callahan household. He didn’t even bother to give her a thank you for her trouble any more; he seemed to think it was expected of her. It was as if he had taken a step away from her; she was frightened that, if she wasn’t careful, he would step away from her for good.
She gazed at him, still amazed that she’d produced such a handsome man. He was really a looker, he could actually have been a male model if he had been that way inclined. There were plenty of them now, on TV adverts and in all the magazines. They were real men too – not like the nancy boys of old. Her Michael could have been in films, he was that fecking handsome. He had the rugged good looks that most men would kill for. He could have any girl he wanted, yet he had eyes for no one except Josephine Callahan. He was throwing himself away, but he could not see that. He was obsessed with her.
She decided to change the subject. ‘How’s it going with the Costellos, son?’
Michael shrugged as usual. She knew he was not going to give her bell, book and candle. He never discussed anything with her any more.
‘Great. There’s a party at Patrick’s house tomorrow, why don’t you come? It’s his wedding anniversary. It will be a great night, Mum. Plenty of drink, great food, and a live band as well. You should really think of coming along with me and Josephine.’
Hannah grimaced. She had known about the party for weeks, but he’d said not a word to her about going with him. ‘Oh, you and young Josephine wouldn’t want me with you.’
Michael shook his head. His mother was such a bitter pill these days. He knew that Josephine had asked her to come with them ages ago but, as usual, she had totally blanked her.
It was starting to irritate him. She still treated Josephine as if she was no more than a casual acquaintance of his, even though they were on the verge of getting married. He had tried to keep the peace, tried to pretend that there wasn’t any problem, but it was getting harder and harder to keep up the pretence. His mother went through stages of acknowledging Josephine existed. Then she would revert to ignoring her, and Josephine would allow her to treat her like shit. It wasn’t on. He had really had enough.
‘Josephine would love you to come with us, Mum, as you know.’
Hannah sighed and, looking at her son quizzically, she said haughtily, ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s really the case now, Michael, do you?’
Michael hated her when she was like this. She had always acted as if everyone that he liked or he wanted to be involved with had something chronically wrong with them, and as if he was too young or too stupid to see that for himself. He had always backed down, feeling guilty for wanting other people in his life. His mother had been enough for him when he was a kid, but he saw that he had never made friends unless his mother had given them her seal of approval. Now he was a grown, successful man, but she still expected him to choose her over everyone else in his life.
‘Why do you do this, Mum? Why do you always have to try and make everything such a fucking drama? You were invited, you know that.’
Hannah could sense the anger that her son was trying so hard to contain. She had pushed him too far. If only she could stop herself, enjoy his company while she had it, without trying to force him to prove that she was the only person he would ever love. But she couldn’t do that. He was hers, her only child, her only boy, and she was not able to let him go. He owed her. The few years with Josephine were nothing compared with the lifetime with her. He would see that at some point.
‘Josephine is forever inviting you out somewhere, Mum, and you are always saying that you can’t make it. Well, listen to me. One of these days she’ll finally take the hint and blank you, and who could blame her, eh?’
Hannah wanted to explain that she could not help herself. Josephine was like a thorn in her side. The day he had met that little bitch had been the beginning of the end for her and her son. Now with the wedding nearly upon them, she knew that she would have to accept her, at least on the surface. She had no choice. But it was so hard. Josephine Callahan was like a big balloon; bright and beautiful on the outside, but if you popped the fucker with a well-aimed dart, just hot air inside. Why could her son not see that? Josephine was not woman enough for a man like her Michael. He would tire of her eventually, that was a given.
‘Listen, Michael, I don’t accept her invitations for the simple reason I don’t want to spend a whole day looking in clothes shops! Jaysus, Michael, you tell me one time you ever knew me to go shopping for a whole fecking day! I’d rather boil me own shites.’
Michael had to laugh; in fairness, she was telling the truth. But it wasn’t about that – it was about showing willing, about accepting Josephine as her future daughter-in-law, as a part of the Flynn family. She knew that as well as he did.
‘But you have money to spend now, Mum! You’re not that old, you still look pretty good. Shopping is what women do these days, Mum, they like to keep themselves looking nice. Lana looks fantastic for her age, she dresses so well that sometimes people think that her and Josephine are sisters!’
Hannah laughed in derision. This was too much for her now. ‘So who thinks that then, eh? Did this person happen to have a white stick and a fucking dog by any chance? Sisters! Now I’ve heard fecking everything.’
Michael pushed his plate away angrily, knocking over his glass of Guinness in the process and revealing the bitterness he tried so desperately to keep in check.
‘Do you know what, Mum? Josephine’s right about you. You are so fucking negative. No matter what she tries to do, no matter what she says, you never give her a chance. She got tickets for that West End show you said you wanted to see, and you turned her down flat. You actually sneered at her as if
anyone wanting to go was a fucking moron.’
Hannah shook her head in self-righteous denial. ‘You are wrong there, son, I’m telling you.’
‘I was there, Mum, remember? I saw the way you reacted and I swallowed my knob because Josephine asked me to. I was all for having a fucking straightener once and for all. I tell you now, Mum, if it had been left to me, this would have been over a long time ago.’
Hannah was watching her son wide-eyed. She was aware that she had to try and rein herself in, but it was too late. Michael was so angry and disappointed in her, she had no option but to let him vent his spleen.
‘Then she got tickets to go and see The Dubliners, and you still fucking blanked her. I grew up listening to you telling me how The Dubliners were the greatest Irish band of all time. You have every album they have ever made, yet you passed up the chance to see them live. I thought you would have snatched her hand off, but, oh no, you were too busy making sure she knew her place in your fucking world. The Dubliners were the soundtrack of my childhood, Mum. I know every word to “Danny Boy”, “Boolavogue”, “Four Green fucking Fields”, “Kevin Barry” and “The fucking Galway Shawl”. The one chance you had to go and see them in the flesh, and you said no because poor Josephine asked you to go with her. She is a nice girl, Mum, because anyone else would have told you to get fucked years ago. You sit round her mum and dad’s, and everyone knows you don’t really want to be there. You act like you are doing us all a favour or something. Well, don’t bother in future. If you can’t get along with my wife, then I have no option, do I? If I have to choose between you, I’ll choose my Josephine.’
Michael could see the genuine hurt on his mother’s face. He was all she had, but that had been her choice – she had never wanted anyone else. And, even though he loved her with his entire being, he knew he had to put a stop to this. She’d had it her own way for far too long. Josephine had done everything physically possible to try and find some kind of common ground, find something that might bring them closer. It was clearly never going to happen. He could see that now. His mother was just too Irish, too focused on him and too proud. If she had her way, he would still be living at home with her when he was forty-five.
Michael was a man in his own right, a man to be reckoned with. He was not a kid, and he was not going to humour her. It stopped now.
Hannah just stared at her son, unable to believe that he had said such awful things to her. She knew he had meant every word. She had asked for the majority of it – even she could see that. But he was her only child. She had reared him single-handedly, and devoted her whole life to him. What else did she have?
The doorbell rang loudly, shattering the silence that lay between them. She felt the urge to scream in anguish, to give her pain an outlet, make her son understand how much he was hurting her, see his disloyalty before it was too late.
Michael was out of his chair like a bullet out of a gun, evidently relieved to get away from her. It was as though he wanted nothing more at this moment in time than to be as far away from her as physically possible.
Hannah was fuming. She knew who it was. Trust Josephine Callahan to turn up now. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she had planned it.
Chapter Fifteen
Jonny Barber was nearly sixty years old. He had pretty much looked that age since his early forties. At only five feet eight inches, he wasn’t tall; but with his barrel-chest, and bow legs he made quite an impression. His thick black hair had started to go grey in his late twenties, and he’d worn it as a steel-grey crew cut ever since. It was the only haircut that suited him. He was not a handsome man but his eyes were unforgettable. Like both his brothers, he had inherited his mother’s big blue eyes framed with long, dark eyelashes. These were so striking that people always gave him a second look. He couldn’t blame them – he knew they were wasted on him. His eyelashes were the envy of many a woman, and they also explained why he had been married three times. His eyes had the power to make a certain kind of woman forget about the rest of his face, though his reputation and large bankroll were also a great help.
These days, Jonny was a worried man. He had heard that his youngest brother Rob had been making a nuisance of himself as usual. Only this time it seemed he had been foolish enough to take his anti-social personality outside his home turf and all the way across London to the East End. He had decided to go and pick a fight with young Michael Flynn, a lad who had a good reputation and never looked for trouble, but was more than capable of looking after himself if it should find him. He was also one of Patrick Costello’s workers. Patrick, as everyone knew, let his brother Declan run the main business, while he dabbled in everything and anything that was illegal and lucrative. He wasn’t only talking drugs. From acquiring prestige cars for the booming Arab markets, to firearms of any kind, including sawn-off shotguns for the bank-robbing fraternity, and army-issue heavy artillery, you named it, Patrick Costello could get it. Jonny Barber had even heard a whisper that the man could procure Semtex if the price was right.
Over the years, the Costellos had made a good name for themselves; they out-classed the Barbers in every way, and that they had never once encroached on the Barbers’ turf was something Jonny really appreciated. The Costellos had integrity. They still lived by the old code, and that meant that you never trespassed on anyone else’s pavements. Jonny knew that if they had wanted to procure his family’s turf, they were more than capable of doing it. The Costellos had the manpower and the money. He should have followed their example, but he had never bothered to look outside of his own front yard. Now it was too late.
Dicky had tried to take them on years before, and failed dismally. Declan Costello had hammered the fuck out of his brother, and there was no way he could have retaliated. Dicky had been in a pub in Woolwich, drunk as a skunk. He had eyeballed Declan in the same drinking establishment and, in a moment of utter fucking alcohol induced lunacy, had challenged him.
Jonny was well aware his brother Dicky could have a row – there was no doubt about that – but Declan Costello was another matter. Once riled he had no off button. However many times he was knocked down, he got back up, and kept coming. Not that he had ever been knocked down by a single man – it took a good few to achieve that. Declan could take on the entire British Lions rugby team, and still be the only one standing at the end of the fight. No one who knew Declan would ever be stupid enough to take him on. Even Roy ‘Pretty Boy’ Shaw, the bare-knuckle boxer and a seriously hard man, had joked that he would fight any man alive except Declan Costello.
Jonny had heard at the time that Declan had tried everything in his power to get out of having the fight, but Dicky, being Dicky, had been like a dog with a bone. Eventually, Declan had lost his cool. The rest was history.
Now Rob had seen fit to pick a fight with Michael Flynn, a man who everyone knew was destined for greatness, who always treated the people around him with the utmost respect, but who had proved himself on more than occasion as a vicious fucker if roused.
Jonny sighed in exasperation. This was not something he had expected. He had assumed that even a fucking moron like young Rob would have had enough sense to keep away from someone like Flynn. With relatives like his, who needed fucking enemies?
He had to take action so he’d called a family meeting. As usual his two brothers were late. It was a fucking farce. He might as well be pissing in the wind. Dicky would take Rob’s side, he was prepared for that. But he was going to make sure that his brothers were left in no doubt that, if they didn’t comply with his demands, he would personally take them out himself. He was the head of this family and he was fighting for the whole firm – for everything that they had worked for. They were not strong enough to take on the Costellos. So they were just going to have to use their powers of persuasion to try and defuse the situation before they found themselves in the middle of an all-out war.
Chapter Sixteen
Father Riordan had always liked young Michael Flynn. He th
ought of him as a kind-hearted lad. Considering the fact that he had been brought up by that Hannah, a woman who had the face of an angel and the personality of a Doberman pinscher, he thought the lad had turned out very well. He was delighted to be performing the wedding ceremony for young Flynn and his lovely fiancée Josephine Callahan. He thought they made a wonderful pair.
Oh, he had heard the gossip, of course. Michael Flynn worked for the Costellos, both of whom were regular churchgoers and men who were generous to a fault. Father Riordan had only to mention the missions and they were putting their hands into their pockets. He wouldn’t mind a few more like the Costellos in his parish, if he was to be brutally honest, as long as he didn’t know too much about what they got up to. They were like so many of the second-generation Irishmen – they did what they needed to feed their families, and who could blame them? It was a hard world, all right; he knew that himself.
‘So, Michael, are you excited about the big day?’
Michael grinned happily. ‘I can’t wait, Father. It can’t come round quick enough for me.’
Father Riordan was thrilled at the lad’s devotion; so few wanted the church ceremony these days. When he looked around the church on a Sunday he nearly fainted at the sight of the young girls, dressed like whores, with no bras, thick black eyeliner and faces liked a smacked arse because they had been dragged to the service by their parents. Parents who were as bewildered as he was by this new generation. It wasn’t Ireland, that was for sure.
‘Well, not long now, Michael, and Josephine will not only share your name, but she will share the rest of your life with you. The sacrament of marriage is a serious event in anyone’s life. It’s pledging your love and your allegiance to each other in the eyes of the Lord God Himself.’
