by Martina Cole
The sound of cars screeching to a halt on the gravel drive was loud, and she saw the relief on her mother’s face. Then she heard her dad’s voice.
Her mother opened the front door quickly, and her father was inside the house. She could hear the sounds of his men’s feet as they scrambled around. He was holding her mother to him tightly, kissing her hair and talking to her in a low voice, calming her down, making her feel safe.
Jessie watched silently, aware that none of them had even noticed her. She moved quickly and quietly, so she was out of view, tucked behind the banisters at the top of the stairs, and hidden by the darkness. She heard her father ask where she was, and her mother tell him she was locked in her bedroom. She saw him sigh with relief.
‘Who are these people, Michael? What are they after?’
She saw her dad take the shotgun from her mother’s arms carefully.
‘I’m so sorry, Josephine. This was an accident. It should never have happened, darling. You didn’t call the police, did you?’
Jessie saw her mother shake her head quickly. ‘’Course not. But I tell you now, another ten minutes and I would have. They were nearly inside our home! Our home, Michael! Jessie was terrified. I was fucking terrified.’
Michael was holding his wife tightly once more. Jessie could see the love they had between them, and she felt the tears come. It was so powerful to see them like that, holding each other so tightly, so attuned to each other’s needs, and looking so perfect together. Then she heard her father chuckle, and she knew that the danger was over, that everything was going to be OK.
‘You’re a fucking diamond, Josephine, and no mistake. Fucking shotgun primed and ready to use just like I taught you. I am so proud of you, darling. Defending your home, your baby. I always knew I had picked a good one, and this proves it!’
Jessie was astounded to hear her mum laugh shakily at her father’s words. ‘I was scared to death, Michael, I can tell you that much.’
‘I know that, darling. Now you go up and sort out our little Jessie. Tell her it was a robbery gone wrong, and it is all fine now. Bless her, she must have been terrified. I need to shoot out for a while, but I will leave some blokes here, so don’t worry. This is a one-off, darling. A fucking complete outrage, caused by two fucking imbeciles known as the Cornel brothers who, for some reason, got the breaks they needed by complete accident. It should never have got this far! After I have dealt with them – and, believe me, they will rue the day they travelled down south to front me up – I will then deal with the men in my employ who let this fucking abomination happen.’
Jessie ran back to her room quickly and, locking the door behind her, she went to her bedroom window, watching as the men her father employed forced the two culprits into the back of a Range Rover. She could hear the two men protesting, and see the way they were being punched and kicked violently. She was still shaking with fear as she watched her dad walk over to the Range Rover, and take a piece of lead piping from one of his men, before dragging one of the robbers out of the Range Rover, and on to the driveway. She watched the man’s head burst open as her father struck him over and over again with such force she could see the man’s skull and his blood spraying everywhere.
She could hear her father screaming in anger, ‘You dared, you dared to come to my home! My fucking home! I will kill you. I will fucking kill you stone dead!’
The other men just stood there, watching her father as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The violence was so matter of fact, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to deal with it. The whole driveway was lit up like Battersea Power Station, so she watched it all in glorious technicolour.
She was still vomiting into the expensive porcelain sink in her beautiful en-suite bathroom when her mother banged on her door, demanding entry.
Everything she had heard about her dad was true. She had finally seen it for herself. But it was her mother’s actions that had really shocked her. That had made her realise just how little she knew about the people she lived with. Suddenly, she felt she didn’t know anything any more.
Chapter Eighty
‘Listen to me, Jessie. I know exactly how this looks, but you’re too young to understand the reality of what happened here tonight.’
Josephine was heartbroken. She had never wanted her daughter to have to experience something so frightening. She had made coffee for everyone, left them clearing up downstairs, and then brought her daughter into her bedroom. Locking the door behind them, she had tried to explain as best she could that sometimes things happened, and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent them.
Jessie was staring at her mum, her lovely, quiet, kind-hearted mum, who everyone thought was as soft as shit and treated with kid gloves. Her entire life, she had believed that her mum was weak. Jessie had always felt that she needed to be protected, and Jessie had been willing to do just that. But it had been a lie. Her lovely mum, who had her ‘problems’, was actually capable of literally anything. Her mother obviously knew all about her dad and his business. Jessie knew her mother would have shot those men without a thought if the need had arisen. She had handled that shotgun like a pro. She was a liar; like her dad, her mother was a great big whopping liar. Here she was, acting like butter wouldn’t melt, when it was all an elaborate act. Everything in her life had been a big pretence.
‘Please answer me, Jessie. Talk to me, darling.’
Her mum sounded so genuine. It was amazing – she actually sounded as if she cared. She was once more all nervous tension; she even looked anxious, her voice quivering with emotion.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Mum.’
Josephine was relieved to hear her daughter actually speaking. She had not said a word for so long. ‘I just want you to understand that what happened tonight was a one-off. It wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it. Please, Jessie, you have to understand that, darling. Your dad would die before he would ever have let you see that.’
Jessie nodded slowly, unsure what else she was supposed to do.
Josephine Flynn could understand the way her daughter was feeling. She had been party to something that she had no experience of, and Josephine remembered only too clearly how disturbing it was to witness it first-hand. But there was nothing anyone could do about that now. Most importantly, Jessie needed to understand that she could never discuss it with anyone outside their family. Here were some things that were best kept private.
Grabbing her daughter’s hands in hers, Josephine squeezed them tightly, as she said huskily, her voice choked with emotion, ‘Come on, Jessie love. You must have guessed that your dad wasn’t the usual. I mean, I know you must have heard things about him.’
Jessie was sitting beside her mum on the bed, and she could feel the warmth of her mother’s hands as she gripped hers tightly. It felt wrong. She wanted to pull her hands away, push her mother as far away from her as possible. But she still loved her mum more than anything. This made no sense to her. She was just a kid, only fourteen years old. She didn’t know how to react to the night’s events. She had been a witness to extreme violence and murder – something that would have frightened her had she seen it on a movie screen, let alone in real life. Now here was her mum, acting like it was nothing, as if it could be explained away and forgotten about.
Josephine brought her daughter’s hands up to her mouth, and kissed her fingers gently, so desperately sorry for the girl’s predicament. She’d do anything to take the pain away instead of having to make her daughter understand the importance of family loyalty, and how easily a careless word could destroy the life they had together.
‘Look, Jessie, I know you can’t understand any of this now, but you will one day. When you’re older and wiser, you will understand why I am asking you to forget about tonight. I need you to promise me that you will never ever tell anyone, not even your nanas, about this. You’ve already guessed how serious this situation is. You’re not a foolish girl. Remember, your father needs yo
ur loyalty now, and so do I.’
Jessie watched her mother carefully. She understood then that her mother would always put her father first, no matter what. She had sacrificed her own peace of mind for her husband many years before, and that was why she was so strange. Jessie did understand about the loyalty that her mother was asking of her. Family loyalty, along with being Irish Catholic, had always been seen as very important. Now her mother was asking it of her, and she couldn’t refuse. No matter what she might be feeling deep down inside, she suddenly realised that she could never, ever, turn against her own family. It was a real moment of revelation for her. The knowledge that, even after all she had witnessed, all she now knew about her parents, if push ever did come to shove, she would never breathe a word to anyone. The fear that had overwhelmed her was suddenly replaced with another fear – the fear of losing the only life she had ever known. She had no other choice, and she would do what was expected of her.
Chapter Eighty-One
Declan Costello had been drinking heavily all day long, but he was still as sober as a judge. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get him drunk at this particular moment in time. He had really dropped the fucking ball. He should have had Michael Flynn’s back from the off. He had happily taken a good wedge from Michael, he had been expected to sort out the minor businesses as he had always done, as well as any aggravation that might cross his path – especially any that might impinge on the serious businesses. He had become lazy; he had waited on Michael’s word for everything, and that wasn’t the deal – he knew that.
The Cornel brothers should have been taken out by him quickly and quietly, and Michael should never have had to be involved personally. Michael should have been told the details afterwards, secure in the knowledge that a threat like them had been dealt with. Instead, the Cornels had made it all the way to Michael Flynn’s front door, and he had not even given the man’s family any protection. The man’s wife and daughter had been left hanging, vulnerable and defenceless, and that was his fault. The fact that Josephine had apparently turned into Bonnie Parker aside, Declan was aware that he had a lot to answer for.
He had fucked up. Michael was going to come for him, and he had no defence to offer. His brother Patrick, who had loved him dearly, would never have swallowed that – Declan would already be dead by now. Declan couldn’t forgive himself for the trouble he had caused.
He looked across the bar; there were only two barmaids in – the club was very quiet today. The barmaids were both good girls. Estelle was in her fifties, but she looked good for her age – she could serve three people at once, and she was also adept at removing drunks if the need arose. She was all bleached-blond hair and long red nails. The other girl was a lot younger, perma-tanned, with thick, dark hair, heavily made-up brown eyes and impossibly pert breasts; she was on the look-out for a Face with a good few quid and preferably his own home. She had given him the nod more than once, but he could never remember her name for the life of him.
‘Come on, girls, off you go. I’m locking up early today.’
Estelle had her coat on in seconds, and Declan watched gratefully as she steered the other barmaid up the stairs. He heard the door slam shut behind them.
He had sent all his workers out and about, and he was waiting patiently for Michael Flynn to arrive. He was not going to try and justify his actions, he was prepared to take his punishment. He loved Michael’s daughter Jessie as if she was his own child, and that he had not even thought to see to her safety – or her mother’s for that fact – was the biggest shame of his life. He had made two fatal mistakes – not only had he underestimated the Cornel brothers, he had let down Michael Flynn.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Hannah Flynn was worried about her granddaughter – not an emotion she had ever experienced before. Jessie, however, had managed to find her way into her heart. She loved the girl as much as she could love anyone. She saw herself in her at times. Hannah Flynn had always had a way of carrying herself – she walked tall, straight-backed, and with a natural grace. Jessie had inherited that along with her intelligence.
Josephine didn’t have a brain in her head – she had the conversational skills of a twelve year old. All she had ever been interested in was fashion, clothes and shoes. She was a wonderful cook, though, and she kept a good table. Jessie, on the other hand, was very sharp, quick-witted. She was a girl who read voraciously, and to whom learning came naturally. She was capable of so much, and Hannah knew that whatever the girl decided she wanted to do with her life, she could do it.
But today young Jessie had looked seriously ill when she called at the house. Josephine had practically thrown her out, and Hannah wasn’t going to forgive that in a hurry. She had not made it further than the entrance hall, before she was back in her cab and on her way home.
There was something going on in that house, and she would get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she ever did in her life.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Every time Jessie closed her eyes, she relived the night’s events. She felt physically ill, sickness roiling inside her belly, and breathless, unable to calm her fears.
Her bedroom was huge – bigger than most people’s front rooms. It was very beautiful and she had always loved it. The walls were covered with a pale pink silk which had cost a fortune but from the moment her mum had shown it to her she had wanted it. Her double bed had been brought over from France – hand-carved, it would not look out of place in a palace. The curtains on her windows were a deeper pink than the walls, the floor was white oak, and every piece of furniture, from her bedside cabinets to the dressing table, was hand-picked and very expensive. Until today, she had never thought about the cost – suddenly it seemed to be important to her. She looked around her, saw the bookcase with her favourite books, the pictures of her life exquisitely framed, showing her smiling so happily – and completely unaware of the real world that she was living in. Unaware that, one day, that safe, happy world would explode in her face.
She closed her eyes, wanting desperately to blot it out. Her lovely bedroom that was the envy of her friends, which she once had loved so very much, where she had felt safe and secure, was where she now felt trapped.
The door opened and her mother came into the room quietly. She had a tray in her hands with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. Jessie waited for her mother to come to her and, as she sat on the bed, Jessie saw the sorrow in her eyes, and felt the deep sadness that enveloped her mother.
‘Try and eat something, Jessie. For me.’
Jessie sat up abruptly, knowing that her mother would have to move away from her.
Josephine stood up awkwardly and, when her daughter had finally settled, she placed the tray across her lap. ‘Drink the milk at least, Jessie.’
Jessie picked up the glass, and obediently took a few mouthfuls of the milk.
‘There’s a good girl. You’ll feel better now.’
Josephine was so worried about her daughter. It had only been a day, but she hated that her child had been traumatised by the events of the night before.
Jessie pushed the glass roughly into her mother’s hand. ‘I’ll feel better now, will I?’
Josephine placed the glass on the floor carefully. Then, sitting down on the bed, she looked at her lovely daughter for long moments before saying angrily, ‘No, Jessie. You won’t really feel better, darling. I know that, and you know that. Last night was a fucking nightmare, darling, and I would give anything to change it. But I can’t. We can’t phone the police like normal people. We can’t talk about it to anyone ever. We have to make sure that no one knows what happened. It’s not ideal, but it’s how things are for people like us. I’m telling you, from personal experience, Jessie, you just have to find a way to deal with it.’
Jessie knew that her mum didn’t realise she had seen as much as she had. Her mother really did believe that she had locked herself in her bedroom, and that was something Jessie needed her to believe
. Her mother could never know what she had actually witnessed, and neither could her father. She actually didn’t want them to know. The less they thought she knew about it, the better for all concerned.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Michael Flynn was bone weary. He looked tired and gaunt, he needed a shave and a shower – his usual good looks had deserted him.
Declan Costello stood quietly before him, a broken and shamed man. He was also in need of a bath and a shave; his clothes, like Michael’s, were soiled and wrinkled.
Declan opened his arms wide in a gesture of supplication, as he said sorrowfully, ‘What the fuck can I say, Michael? I naused it up from the start. I don’t know what I was thinking. The Barkers were trying to do me a favour. If I’d had any fucking sense, I should have told them to deal with it. Instead, I honestly thought you would want to sort it yourself.’
Michael was so angry at Declan’s explanation that he was frightened to say anything to him until he had harnessed his anger.
Declan could see that Michael was fighting to control himself. ‘I’ll get us both a drink, Michael.’ Once behind the bar, he poured them both large whiskies.
Michael was trying to control his breathing. He had every right to be angry, and every right to exact any revenge he felt was warranted. But he knew that Declan didn’t feel any malice towards him, and that he had not expected the Cornel brothers to be such a slippery pair of bastards. Declan Costello had been guilty of nothing more than sheer stupidity and laziness.
Michael gulped his drink, savouring the burn as it hit his belly. He could feel the energy coming back into his body and, swallowing down the rest of the whisky, he placed the glass on the bar gently, before leaning his body over the counter and picking up the whisky bottle. He poured himself out another large measure of Scotch. His back was turned away from Declan, and his voice was rough, as he said disgustedly, ‘Do you know what fucking annoys me more than anything about you, Declan? That you can stand there like the orphan of the fucking storm, all sad-eyed, and ready to take your punishment, yet you know exactly what you did wrong. You know why my fucking wife and daughter were terrorised in their own fucking home. So what I want to know is, why didn’t you think this through before it got out of hand?’ He turned to face Declan, to look him in the eyes.
