Declan laughed with him; he felt the same way. It was dark now, and the sky was heavily laden with rain clouds. It was close, stormy, and it added to the feeling of urgency. As it started to spit, Michael put on the windscreen wipers. He was already relaxing as they passed the Ford Motor Works along the A13, and slipped into Rainham. After all this time, he finally had a fucking goal to head for.
‘Every time I think of that picture of my Jessie I feel like screaming. And my mum’s dead, Declan – I know it’s true, but I just can’t take it in. She was struck down in her own home, on her own fucking doorstep. How the fuck can this have happened to me? It’s like a fucking living nightmare.’ He wanted to cry again. The absolute power of his emotions amazed him. ‘My old mum, for all her attitude, was always fucking good to me, Declan. She worked every hour God sent when I was a kid, and I never wanted for anything. She would have given me the food out of her mouth, I know that. I’ve always known that.’
Michael drove past Rainham Clocktower, and out towards the country lanes. They were nearly there now, and he could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.
‘My mum always said that Josephine was a selfish cunt, and she was right. I wouldn’t listen to her. When Josephine first started hoarding food, all those years ago, my mum said I needed to nip it in the bud. But I didn’t listen to her – I treated her like she was the fucking enemy. I just pretended that it wasn’t happening. But she was proved right. If I had put my foot down from the off, I know that all this shit with Josephine would never have got this far. I stood by as my wife gradually retired from real life. All that money I have shelled out on psychiatrists for her, and they say the same thing – it takes time. She is mentally ill! Well, fuck me, Declan, I don’t know about them, but I had already fucking worked that one out for myself. Hardly rocket science, is it? If it wasn’t for Dana, Jake would never leave the house. That great, big, expensive fucking house, situated in its own grounds, with its thirty-grand kitchen, and its two full-time gardeners, and my wife lives in two rooms and, it seems, can’t bring herself to make a phone call that might save her only daughter’s life. All that money I have weighed out to get her help, and she is still unable to open a letter or dial a fucking telephone. How fucking messed up is that? This new bloke she’s got on her case now – a right fucking arrogant cunt he is and all – is giving me lists of books I should be reading to acquaint myself with my wife’s condition. Well, I pointed out to him, in the nicest possible way, that I was paying him good money to do all of that for me, and there was an old saying: why have a fucking dog and bark your fucking self. I was very angry at the time, and I think he noticed that. Suffice to say, Declan, he soon got with the fucking project.’
He slowed the car down. They were on the Rainham road, and he parked in a layby. ‘We’re here. The farm entrance is down the end of this lane.’
Michael got out of the car. It was raining hard now. Opening up the boot, he took out a large handgun, and passed it to Declan. He took out a Glock 22 for himself. It was his weapon of choice – lightweight, and easy to use; it was also easy to dispose of. It could be stripped down to nothing.
‘I am so looking forward to meeting Mr Steven Golding, and blowing his fucking head right off.’
He shut the car boot carefully. He turned towards his old friend, and said gravely, ‘I will never forget how good you’ve been to me, Declan, through all of this. I really have appreciated how you’ve stood by me through everything. I know that you have talked me down on more than one occasion, and stopped me from screwing this up completely. I appreciate just how good a friend you are, Declan.’
Declan was moved by Michael’s words; he knew how hard it was for him to even say them. ‘Look, Michael, you know that I will always have your back.’
Michael grinned sadly. ‘Do you know the worst thing about this for me? The one thing that I’ve learnt from this shit is that it all means nothing. Everything that we’ve worked for, everything that we’ve achieved, all the fucking stunts we’ve pulled to get what we wanted from life, all that planning, and forward thinking, all those fucking years we put into it and it turned out that it was for sweet F A, sweet fuck-all. We chased the fucking dollar day and night, living the so-called dream! The leaders of everyone around us, responsible for every fucking earn, as well as the people who we allow to gather up said earn for us. And it was a fucking waste of time. We have squandered so much of our lives accumulating money, power, things and, in reality, neither of us has a single thing of use to show for any of it. How fucking sad is that?’
Declan shrugged theatrically, and he said with a laugh, ‘Well, when you put it like that, Michael . . .’
Michael was amazed to hear himself laughing, but he was. If anyone had said that he could have found any amusement in this situation he would have thought them mad. But Declan Costello had made him laugh, and that was something good. It felt so good to laugh, to really laugh, to find some humour at last.
They looked at each other for a few moments and then they walked side by side towards White Farm.