‘OK, baby. But promise me you will try and put this behind you. You’re a Flynn, and that means nothing or no one can ever hurt you.’
Jessie could hear the cold arrogance in her father’s voice as he said his name and, without thinking, she said sarcastically, ‘The name Flynn didn’t seem to do us much good last night, did it?’
Michael was almost as shocked as she was by her words. He stood up quickly. She could see the anger she had caused, but she didn’t care any more.
‘There wasn’t any burglary, Dad. No police were called either – I know that much.’
Michael didn’t answer her for a while. Then, smiling sadly, he knelt down beside her bed once more. ‘You’re nearly fifteen. When I was your age I knew a lot more than people gave me credit for. So I’ll say this, Jessie – me and your mum love you more than anything in this world, and everything we do is for you. Never forget that.’
She looked him straight in the eye as she said quietly, ‘I won’t.’
He stood up slowly. Something had changed between them, and he knew that it wasn’t for the good. ‘If I could change the last few days I would, Jessie. You know that, darling.’
She did. He would do anything for her – last night’s events proved it.
‘But you can’t, Dad. No one can.’
She saw the mask slip from her father’s face; he was still very angry, she could see that as plain as day. He looked like he was going to explode, but within seconds he was smiling at her once again. The smile that she had always coveted, that had been such a big part of her daily life.
‘What I can promise you, though, is that I will never allow anything like that to happen to you or your mum again.’
She was watching him carefully, and he sensed that she was still not convinced by his promise to keep her safe. She was so beautiful – she was Josephine all over again, from the thick hair to the arched eyebrows. It was uncanny, the striking resemblance between them. But one thing he realised now, was that she didn’t have her mother’s nature. Jessie was not as warm or forgiving as the woman who had birthed her. There was an underlying steeliness in his Jessie that was reminiscent of his mother. He could be wrong; after all, the poor girl had just been through a terrible ordeal, and he mustn’t lose sight of that. But there was something else going on here, he could feel it. He bent down and kissed his daughter lightly on her cheek, aware that she didn’t respond.
‘You try and get some sleep.’
Jessie watched her dad as he left the room. A part of her wanted to call him back, wanted to tell him that she knew what he had done to that man, and she still loved him. But another part of her was reeling from what she had seen him do. At least her mum had tried to be honest with her. Her lovely mum, who looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly, who everyone thought was as soft as soap, but who was far stronger than anyone would have believed. Her whole world had been stripped bare, and she had been left with nothing. Her life had been a sham, built on nothing more substantial than lies and deceit.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Josephine was sitting at the kitchen table, a large glass of white wine in her hand and a cigarette between her lips, when Michael finally joined her.
She could see from his expression that his visit with his daughter had not gone well. She should have warned him, but she had not wanted to cloud his thinking. She could see Jessie had been seriously affected by the events of the previous night.
Michael sat down wearily, and she poured him a glass of wine. ‘I made you a few sandwiches, Michael. I can cook you something if you want? A bit of egg and bacon?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘These are fine, mate.’
He grabbed a cheese and pickle sandwich and bit into it eagerly. He was hungrier than he had realised. He took a large sip of his wine, and savoured the crispness of it.
‘It’s still early days, Michael. She’ll come round.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘I hate that she had to go through that. I hate that you did! For fuck’s sake, Josephine, those fuckers got right the way to our door. I will never forget it.’
Josephine smiled weakly at her husband. She hated to see him like this. She always made sure that she never let him see her own fears. She was still shaking inside but she could never let him know that. It had taken everything she had to face those men and defend her home.
‘I just want to forget it, Michael.’
‘I should be in the West End now. Salvatore wants to be wined and dined every night. I’ve had to send young Alex Martin in my place. He’s going to take him clubbing. He’s a good lad. He’ll keep him out till the morning, and give me a bit of breathing space.’
‘Did Cecil tell you how they knew about the Colombians?’