‘For years I have pretended that there is nothing wrong with you. I loved you so fucking much I went along with everything – your fucking hoarding, your fucking refusal to accept reality. I even swallowed you becoming a recluse. I’ve paid out fortunes for the best doctors available. I’ve done everything in my power to help you. But do you know what? I wish I’d fucking known then what I know now. I think you like being a recluse, you like living in these two rooms, surrounded by your boxes of old fucking crap. It gives you the excuse you need to justify your life. Even Jake doesn’t matter any more, does he? Like me and Jessie, he can’t compete with the world you’ve created for yourself. No one can. How could they? Because it’s all about you, isn’t it?’ Michael opened his arms out wide. ‘Look around you, Josephine. This is it, darling. This is your crowning achievement. Two rooms and a poxy little bathroom. I hope you think it was worth it.’
Josephine was unable to retaliate. As Michael looked at her he felt guilty. The colour had drained from her face; even with her make-up she looked awful. His words had finally hit home. He had needed to say what he really wanted to, just once. His anger at her utter selfishness was so voracious, he just couldn’t stop himself. He had been a good husband to her, no matter what she might think. He had gone along with whatever she wanted, always. Anything to make Josephine happy. And what had it got them in the long run? Nothing, that’s what. Sweet fuck-all. She had left the real world behind, and he had let her do it, even though he had known it was wrong. Now he would never forgive her.
Chapter One Hundred
and Twelve
Jessie felt ill. She had eaten the food left for her so quickly, she now had chronic indigestion. She didn’t eat that much normally, but now she felt she should eat whatever she got, to keep her strength up, thereby making sure that, if it ever came to it, she could fight her own end. The man appeared to be immune to her charms and, as she had always used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted, she didn’t know how to deal with him. He wouldn’t talk to her for a start; in fact, he ignored her with such disdain it was an insult in itself. When he did look at her it was carefully, almost as if he was trying to get inside her head.
He was very nondescript, not very tall, and he looked to be well into his fifties. Although it was hard to tell in the dimness of the basement.
Even though she was still scared, she didn’t think the man was capable of harming her without provocation. She had lived around violent men all her life, and this bloke didn’t have the same feel to him as her father or her uncle Declan. They both had an air about them that warned you that these were men who would be capable of extreme violence, if the circumstances warranted it. Her nana Hannah, her father’s own mother, had happily told her everything she wanted to know about her father and, unlike everyone else in her world, she had not tried to sanitise any of it. She had listened to her nana Hannah’s stories. Even though she spent a lot of time with her, she had never really liked her; her nana Hannah was a vicious old bitch. But Jessie had needed her to tell her everything.
She looked at the man now and shouted angrily, ‘Talk to me! Don’t just fucking stand there staring at me.’
The man grinned at her for a few moments. Then he walked away, and she heard him leave the room, shutting the door behind him.
Jessie felt the fear building inside her chest again. How the hell had she ended up like this? How the fuck had this happened to her?
Chapter One Hundred
and Thirteen
‘I tried the number over and over, Declan, but no one answered. I could fucking lamp Josephine one. Why the fuck didn’t she open the fucking letter? It’s not fucking rocket science, is it? Her daughter’s missing, and a letter arrives. Two and two springs to mind! But that’s her all over, isn’t it? Can’t open a fucking letter, can’t use the fucking stairs, can’t leave the fucking house. The list of things that she can’t do any more is fucking endless! I lived with her problems, you know I did. But today her fucking refusal to think about her daughter’s welfare tipped me over the edge. I’ve seen her for the selfish cunt she really is.’
Declan didn’t say anything, but Michael didn’t expect an answer from him anyway. He already knew Declan’s opinion of Josephine and her so-called ‘problems’. Declan had never said anything outright, but his silence over the years had spoken volumes. His less-than-complimentary opinion of Josephine had always been there between them.
Michael was so worried about his daughter and what might be happening to her. ‘I have more than most people could ever even dream of. I deal in millions of pounds. I single-handedly changed the whole infrastructure of British crime. Yet do you know something, Declan? I’ve really got fuck-all. My daughter treats me like a fucking leper, and my wife lives on her own fucking planet. Did you know that Josephine won’t use the stairs nowadays? She lives in two rooms. The size of that fucking house, and she lives in less space than if she lived in a council flat. How insulting is that?’
Michael was more distressed than Declan had ever seen him. Michael Flynn was always in complete control of his emotions; seeing his friend so vulnerable was a first for Declan Costello. But these were difficult times, and he could understand Michael allowing his hard-man persona to slip.
Declan had poured them a large Scotch each and, as he handed Michael his drink, he wished there was something he could think of to say that might ease the man’s plight.
‘I love my daughter, Declan. For all our problems, I never stopped loving her. Now she’s on the missing list, and I can’t help her.’