‘Oh, Michael, are you sure? What about your mum? You know she thinks we should wait.’
Michael laughed. ‘Oh, sod my mum. We know what we want, darling. Sort it for next year. Big as you like, where you like and no expense spared.’
Josephine sat on the bed beside him and, smiling happily, she sipped at the mug of tea that had been meant for him. This wedding was what she had been longing for, and now it was finally happening.
Michael adored her and, as he listened to her chattering on about the dress of her dreams and the cake she had always wanted, he was content. He had burnt his bridges, the decision was made, and he felt much lighter in himself.
Chapter Seven
Ever since Michael Flynn had been given royal status by Patrick and Declan Costello, Terry Gold had been feeling nervous. It was just a matter of time until his nephew’s skulduggery would finally come to light.
The Costellos were men of the world – they knew that an element of skimming was inevitable, that any cash business was open to a bit of creative accounting. It was what made their world go round. But Jimmy had been stronging it. Terry had told him time and again that while a few quid was deemed acceptable, a serious rob would only be frowned upon by the powers-that-be. Jimmy, though, was not a person who took kindly to any kind of criticism; he saw himself as entitled to everything. It was his buzz word.
Terry had his own creds where the firm was concerned: he had always been a good earner, always played it straight, more or less. He was a hard man in his own right, and his uncle’s reputation was something Jimmy had played on. And Terry had let him get away with murder, because he was family. He had never envisioned that Jimmy’s gofer would suddenly become the man of the moment. No one could have seen that one coming – not even Doris Stokes – and, according to his old woman, she knew everything.
He had been a fool, he could see that now. He had let Jimmy go too far and had even defended him. Until Jimmy had come onboard, though, Terry had never once had his credibility questioned. Not that anyone had actually accused him of anything yet, but he knew that Jimmy’s reputation was a reflection on him. He had brought Jimmy into the fold, and he had failed to keep the boy under control. No one had really given a toss, until that ponce Flynn had been brought in as a worker. Jimmy had loathed everything about him on sight, from the lad’s good looks to his quiet demeanour, and Michael’s rep as a fighter – a fighter to be feared – had not endeared him to Jimmy either.
In fairness, Michael Flynn had never retaliated even though Jimmy had treated him like dirt, but Michael’s quiet acceptance of Jimmy’s bad behaviour had only made matters worse. It was an insult in itself, as if Jimmy was beneath his notice. Then, as Jimmy upset more and more people, he wouldn’t take onboard the fact that, in their world, you had to know your own limits.
Eventually the Costellos would be forced to do something about Jimmy. They would have heard whispers already, especially Patrick – he had eyes and ears everywhere. Patrick Costello was the brains of the outfit. Declan had his own creds and was respected and feared by the people who worked for him, but Patrick was in a different league. There was plenty of talk about him and his private band of workers, but no one had any real information. It was all supposition and rumour, but the fact that he had now taken Flynn under his wing meant he had watched him for a good while.
Still, it wasn’t Flynn who he should be nervous of – it was Jimmy. Since Michael Flynn had been catapulted into the big leagues, it was eating at Jimmy like a cancer.
Terry Gold sighed heavily. He could hear his wife chatting away to his sister in the kitchen. He loved his sister dearly, although he wondered how the fuck she had given birth to a no-mark like Jimmy.
As he made his way to the kitchen, he caught the aroma of roast chicken, and he felt a little bit better. He loved his food and, if he had to confront Jimmy, he would be much happier doing it on a full stomach.
Linda Gold smiled at her husband as she busied herself with making the dinner. She was concerned about Terry though. He looked very worried lately, and that wasn’t like him at all. She opened the oven and, as she lifted the chicken out, ready to baste it once more, she said quickly, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Terry. Declan phoned. I said you’d call him back.’
Chapter Eight