Revenge

by Martina Cole

  She put her head in her hands. She had never felt such a feeling of despair before in her whole entire life. She wouldn’t cry, though, even though she wanted to. She couldn’t, she could not let anything interfere with her make-up. She stood up quickly and, pulling out the small padded stool from underneath the dressing table, she sank down on to it. She stared at her face for long moments in the mirror, automatically checking her make-up, and she sighed with relief as she saw that it was all still in place. It was her mask. It was the façade that she showed to the world. But, deep down inside, she knew that she had not faced the real world for years. She registered suddenly that her daughter was really gone. That her Jessie would never again ring her, or come to visit her son. Her Jessie, her baby girl, was dead.

  She closed her eyes in distress. Michael was right. She honestly didn’t care enough about anyone; all she was really bothered about was Michael’s threat of putting her into a mental institution. She wasn’t a fucking fool. If she went into one, she knew that it would be a long time before she would ever get out again.

  Chapter One Hundred

  and Forty

  Michael drove through the gates of the scrapyard slowly. The old boy who worked the night shift was a stickler for fucking social etiquette. Michael waved at him in a suitably friendly fashion, and he saw his gratified smile. He sighed in annoyance. He was a nice old geezer, a Face in his younger days, but that didn’t warrant all this fucking babysitting and smiles every time he drove into the yard. Declan had always said, it takes two minutes of your life to recognise a good worker, and that recognition would guarantee their loyalty for twenty years. He was absolutely right, of course. But tonight Michael wasn’t in the mood.

  He parked his Range Rover next to his Mercedes and, as he got out and stood on the tarmac stretching, he was gratified to hear that whoever was in the boot of his Merc was making one hell of a racket.

  Declan came out of the Portakabin doorway. He looked huge against the lights. Declan had gradually got bigger and bigger over the years, and it was only now that Michael was really noticing that.

  ‘Drink first?’ Declan was miming drinking a cup of tea with his little finger raised up like an old biddy.

  Michael laughed despite himself. You couldn’t not like Declan Costello – the man was a genuine diamond. Even at a time like this he could bring a smile to Michael’s face.

  ‘Pour me a large brandy, but first up, open this fucking boot.’

  Declan took the Mercedes keys from his trouser pocket, and opened the boot quickly.

  Steven Golding was lying there, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He trained his gaze on Michael warily.

  Michael looked around him. He was aware that there was no way this man could escape from the scrapyard’s premises. There was a very high brick wall surrounding the place for a start, and the barbed wire that had been placed on the top of it years before had always been a very good deterrent. The gates were electric, and they too were very high. The nightwatchman had a large German Shepherd who wasn’t that enamoured of new people. There were also three other large dogs – two Dobermans and a Rottweiler bitch, which roamed the grounds during the daytime. The people who owned them worked there. It suited everyone to let the animals run free. There were people who came in ostensibly to look for a specific part for a specific car, who were quite capable of going on the rob. The hounds made sure they didn’t feel the urge to come back later, when it was dark.

  He looked once more at Steven Golding; it was patently obvious that the man wasn’t going to climb out of the boot by himself. Michael laughed again, this was a fucking joke.

  ‘Do you know something, Steven? I never knew there was anyone in your house that night. I really believed it was empty. I wasn’t happy about burning people’s possessions, you know? But it was for Patrick Costello, and I wanted to prove myself to him. I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be able to give my mum a few quid, make her life that bit easier. She had brought me up all on her own since I was a baby. I never would have dreamt of harming anyone. It was Patrick Costello who wanted that. He could be a very petty man, a very vicious man.’

  Steven Golding was still lying in the boot of Michael’s Mercedes. It was a fucking big boot, and Steven Golding was more than comfortable it seemed.

  ‘If you had just come to me, if you had fucking had the sense to call me out, confront me, I would have done anything to make amends – I swear that to you. I’ve never really got over it. Even now I still wake up sweating. But I did learn how to put it aside. If I hadn’t managed to do that, I would have ended up as big a fucking headcase as you are.’

  Steven Golding looked feral. The man had no saving graces at all, from his rotten teeth to his pock-marked and scarred skin. He was obviously a loner. Michael knew that the man was mentally ill, and that he had been in and out of different institutions for the best part of his life. That was sad. But Michael couldn’t change anything that had happened, even if he had wanted to. Steven Golding looked exactly what he was – a broken-down, disillusioned fantasist, who had been deprived of his whole family as a teenage boy. He was quite obviously madder than a fucking bull with a red-hot poker up its arse, and had managed to infiltrate every aspect of Michael’s life, eventually destroying not just his only daughter but his mother as well.

  ‘Do you know what, Steven? Stay where you are.’

  Michael shut the boot noisily. Then he walked leisurely to one of the outbuildings. It was a shed that had been constructed over twenty years before from a job-lot of corrugated iron, and it was where they kept most of the flammable liquids.

  Michael went inside and he felt around for one of the petrol cans that he knew would be there. He felt the weight of it in his hand, and then he shook it gently, relishing the noise of the liquid as it moved around.

  He walked back to his Mercedes, calling out to Declan, who he knew had been watching everything from the Portakabin window. When Declan appeared, he gestured to him to open the boot once more. Declan Costello, as always, was more than happy to oblige.

  Steven Golding was still curled up. As Michael opened the petrol can and started to pour it all over him, Golding attempted to get up and tried to get out of the boot. Michael Flynn punched him back down. The stench of petrol fumes was heavy in the air.

  Steven Golding was terrified, and Michael could see that. His eyes were bulging out of his head with the fear of being burned alive.

  ‘Answer me one last thing – would you have harmed my grandson?’

  Steven Golding shook his head. ‘Of course not. I would have left him alone.’

  Michael snorted with derision. ‘Why didn’t you just come after me? I was the culprit, for fuck’s sake!’

  Golding looked him in the eye as he said, ‘Too easy. I know you will suffer much more over your Jessie and your mum’s death. Guilt is a very destructive force.’

  Michael didn’t answer him. After all, who could argue with the truth? He took a book of matches out of his pocket and, smiling slightly, he said steadily, ‘The truth is, Steven, I’m actually going to enjoy this.’

  Steven Golding tried to get out of the boot, and Michael Flynn hammered him over and over again until the man couldn’t move. Michael felt the man’s face collapse beneath his fists and he still didn’t stop battering him. He carried on hitting the man until he was completely spent.

  He picked the book of matches up from the ground and tore off a match. Lighting it, he used it to ignite the whole pack, which he threw casually on to the man’s chest.

  As the whole car went up in flames, Declan shouted, ‘What the fuck are you doing, Michael? Your car! What about your fucking car?’

  Michael Flynn stood watching the man responsible for the vicious murders of his mother and daughter squirming and screaming in pain without blinking. Then he looked at Declan Costello and, laughing loudly, he said, ‘Relax, Declan, for Christ’s sake! I reported this car stolen hours ago.’

 
Declan went back into the Portakabin and came back with two large drinks. He handed one to Michael, and he stood beside him as Steven Golding was burned beyond recognition.

  When the car finally blew they were both sitting side by side on the steps of the offices.

  ‘It’s over, Michael.’

  Michael sipped his brandy, savouring the taste. ‘Do you know the worst of it for me now, Declan? I wish that cunt had been in the house that night. I wish I had burned him to death with his sisters and his mum and dad. So what does that make me?’

  Declan put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and, sighing heavily, he said, ‘Human, Michael. Unfortunately, that’s what it makes you – human.’

  Epilogue

  The house of the righteous contains great treasure,

  but the income of the wicked brings them trouble

  Proverbs 15:6

  Chapter One Hundred

  and Forty-One

  ‘Nana looks different.’

  Michael laughed at his grandson’s seriousness. ‘I know she does. She’s not well. But she’s getting better, that’s the main thing.’

  Jake nodded, but he wasn’t so sure about anything any more. He knew his real mum was dead. He had seen her grave and she was buried with his great-nana Hannah. His granddad went to visit them a lot, and he sometimes went with him. It was funny thinking his mum was dead, up in heaven, but one of the nuns at school had told him that sometimes Jesus missed people so much that he called them back up to heaven early. He liked to think that was true, but he wasn’t sure if it was. His mum had been a bit of a cow – at least that is what his nana Josephine had used to say about her. Now his nana Josephine was in a hospital, and she acted very strangely. He could see her walking towards them, and Jake felt his heart sink inside his chest.

  ‘Here she comes, Jake.’

  Jake could hear the false gaiety in his granddad’s voice.

  Josephine walked across the grass towards her husband and her grandson slowly. The drugs were responsible for that; she couldn’t bring herself to break into a sprint these days. She sat down at the picnic table opposite her husband. He still looked so good, so very handsome. He got better looking as he got older; it was unfair.

  Michael smiled at her. ‘You’re looking well, Josephine.’

  But she wasn’t. She looked awful these days. She didn’t bother with her appearance any more. It was a good thing, according to her doctor. He wasn’t so sure himself.

  She didn’t answer him. Instead she looked at Jake and, holding her arms out, she said sadly, ‘I could do with a hug, young man.’

  Jake looked at his granddad and, when Michael nodded slightly, he went around the table, and allowed his nana to squeeze him to her tightly. When Jake finally managed to pull himself away from her, he went straight back to sit beside his granddad.

  Josephine knew that she had been well and truly rejected by her grandson, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  ‘Really, Josephine, you do look much better. The doctor told me that you were finding it much easier to go outside. It’s wonderful to see you out here with us now.’

  Josephine looked at her husband for long moments. He visited her twice, sometimes three times, a week and he seemed genuinely interested in her progress. But it was bullshit. She wasn’t stupid. She knew him better than he knew himself. He was just doing his duty. That was his trouble, he didn’t have a treacherous bone in his body. He was determined to divorce her, though, she knew that.

  ‘How are you, Michael? Good?’

  He smiled gently. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. You know me, same old, same old.’

  Josephine nodded in agreement. ‘I hear you’re having a right old time of it. Katherine Rourk, Danny’s daughter. I bet she could be your daughter, eh? She’s young enough.’

  Michael didn’t answer her; it wasn’t any of her business.

  She laughed nastily. ‘I still hear everything, Michael. I’m not fucking dead yet.’

  He smiled back at her but his voice was steely as he said, ‘If you don’t watch your fucking mouth, that could be arranged sooner than you think, Josephine.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  He saw how she narrowed her eyes, and he wondered how he had let her rule him for so long. ‘Why would I do that, Josephine? If I was threatening you, believe me, you’d know it. I come here to see how you are and to bring your little grandson in to visit you. There’s no hidden agenda.’

  Then she said angrily, ‘It’s been nearly six months, Michael. I want to go home.’

  Michael turned to Jake. ‘You can go inside now, and spend the pound I gave you in the sweet shop. Wait in the reception and I’ll be there in a minute, OK?’

  Jake nodded.

  ‘Say goodbye to Nana.’

  Jake waved at her quickly and, running off, he called out ‘Goodbye’ over his shoulder.

  Michael knew that the lad found Josephine a trial – as he did if he was honest. She was stranger than ever now, but it was all to the good, according to the doctors. Personally, he thought she was getting madder by the day.

  ‘Look, Josephine, I can’t control everything any more. This is a proper hospital – you can’t just buy the doctors here, and choose your own fucking meds. Look how far that got you. You need to do whatever the doctors tell you to do. For once in your life, Josephine, you can’t rely on me to bail you out. You were sectioned, for fuck’s sake! You can’t just fucking choose what you want to do any more. It’s out of our hands. The doctors decide when you can go home and, when that day comes, I have purchased a lovely little cottage for you. You will love it.’

  ‘I’ve already got a home.’

  He sighed heavily; he was sick and tired of this. ‘Not any more you haven’t. Once we get the divorce, I will see you all right. But you will never come back to that house again. It’s in Jake’s name now anyway.’

  Josephine grinned nastily. ‘You’re loving this, aren’t you? You dumped me, and then you put me away. Katie Rourk must be a blinding fuck, Michael. Got you right where she fucking wants you!’

  Michael stood up slowly. ‘I’m not doing this, Josephine. I’ve told you before. It’s over between us. I will never forgive you for what happened to our Jessie. I will take care of you up to a point – I owe you that much. But don’t treat me like a fucking earhole, OK? I come here so you can see Jake, so I can see how you’re getting on. After all, I am the one footing the fucking bill for this, aren’t I? If I pull out, lady, you will end up in a local NHS nut ward somewhere, so don’t bite the hand that feeds you.’

  Josephine couldn’t believe that her Michael couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive her; he had always forgiven her in the past, no matter what she had done. She grabbed his hands in hers, and she tried to pull him back into his seat, to make him sit down and talk with her.

  ‘Please, Michael, I promise you I will do anything . . . But don’t do this to me . . .’

  He pulled away from her and, stepping back, he said gently, ‘I’ve got to go, Josephine. But if you don’t stop this I can’t visit you any more. I’ve told you over and over again I will bankroll your treatment, and I will always look out for you. But our marriage is over.’

  He walked away from her purposefully, aware that he didn’t have even a small sliver of doubt about what he was doing. She had ceased to exist for him when he had seen that letter. It was like he had woken from a coma, and seen his wife for what she really was. It had been a revelation. He had suddenly seen how much she had manipulated him over the years and, the worst thing was, he knew that he had gone along with it all: her agoraphobia, her fear of telephones, her fear of fucking everything that didn’t suit her. But she didn’t have a fear of wine – she could neck that all day and night. He had swallowed it until he had seen that letter which resulted in his daughter dying in such pain and with such injuries. Knowing that if Josephine had just once put someone else first it might have all have been avoided wasn’t something he could excuse.


  He walked into the reception room. Jake was waiting for him – he looked so worried, bless him.

  ‘Is Nana OK?’

  Michael grinned. ‘’Course she is. Come on, let’s get home, shall we? Dana is cooking us a shepherd’s pie! With real shepherds in!’

  Jake smiled a real smile at last. ‘That’s my favourite dinner!’

  ‘And mine too! What’s the chances of that, eh?’ He grasped his grandson’s hand and walked him out to the car park. Jake stopped in front of the Mercedes, and Michael looked at him quizzically.

  ‘What’s wrong, Jake?’

  The little boy suddenly looked vulnerable and frightened. Michael smiled at him gently. ‘You can tell me anything, Jake, you know that.’

  Jake started to cry, and Michael rushed over to him, and he swept him up into his arms, hugging the boy to his chest tightly.

  ‘Nana scares me. I don’t like coming here, Granddad.’

  Michael knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would never come back here again. ‘Then we won’t come here any more, Jake.’

  Jake pulled himself away from his granddad’s chest and looked into his face as he said seriously, ‘Promise?’

  Michael smiled at the little lad; he loved him so very much. ‘Promise.’

  Chapter One Hundred

  and Forty-Two

  Declan was well on the way to getting drunk. He was on the borderline at the moment, but he was feeling good. He watched the doorway, expecting Michael. Declan thought it was good for Michael to get out more, he had spent so much of his life pussy-footing around Josephine, it was good for the man to finally just do whatever he wanted to. It had been a hard year for him, he had buried his mother and his daughter, and he had seen his wife, the love of his life, sectioned, and dragged out of his home kicking and screaming. He deserved a bit of R and R. He had been getting that with young Katie Rourk, by all accounts, and good luck to him. Michael had never been the unfaithful type. He was a one-woman man. If anyone else had married Josephine they would have been out on the nest in no time, but not Michael.