Even Declan and Michael were suspect to him now. He had given them the same trust, and now he could only wonder at his own foolishness. His Carmel was the most suspect, as far as he was concerned. She had been in charge of the girls after all. Now he was constantly reminded of Carmel’s past. She had hardly been a wilting fucking virgin when he had met her, but she had been much younger than him, and she had pursued him with a fucking vengeance until she got him. He had happily signed on for life, for a family and a home. She had supplied the family, he had supplied everything else. He had given her and his girls everything that money could buy, contentedly settled down with Carmel, and he had never once given her cause to doubt him or his loyalty. But could he really say the same about her? He wasn’t so sure any more.
Michael sighed; he could see that Patrick wasn’t listening to him, was unaware that he was even in the same room. ‘Are you even listening to me, Pat? I’m talking away to you and you’re off with the fucking fairies again. Get a grip, will you? We are already haemorrhaging fucking money. You keep missing meetings, and when you do bother to turn up you pick fights with men you have known all your life – men who rely on you because they trust you, because you have always been so reliable in the past. If you don’t fucking sort your head out, Patrick, we will be seconded. We are already losing custom but, worst of all, we are losing face. Our credibility is shot thanks to you.’
Declan could see that his brother was too far gone to listen to reason. Patrick was already tuning Michael’s voice out. When he had these episodes, he had the knack of only hearing what he wanted to hear. In truth, his brother rarely listened to anything he didn’t want to hear anyway. It was part of Patrick’s psyche, his inability to ever be wrong. It was this unpredictability that gave him the edge over everyone else. He was not going to listen to anything unless it suited him, unless it was directly concerned with this latest fixation. Michael had never really experienced Patrick like this before; Declan knew how dangerous it could make him.
He had always accepted that his brother lived outside normal human parameters. It had once been his strength, the reason he instilled fear into everyone without even trying. Anyone with half a brain could see that Patrick Costello was marching to a different beat to the rest of the world. Now his brother had descended into utter chaos. This latest episode went far deeper than ever before. Declan had seen him paranoid, but never against his own. Who would ever have thought Patrick could have been brought so low by his own children?
Assumpta had destroyed her father. She had unknowingly unearthed the man’s only known weakness, and Declan, like Michael, could see that, if they weren’t careful, someone else was going to step up and take over the businesses. This kind of weakness was treated with the scorn it deserved in the world they inhabited. Patrick was far too influential to let something so personal take precedence over anything else. This kind of trouble was sorted quietly, and that suited everyone concerned. It was the law of the pavement, and was how it would always be. It was how the Costellos had made their mark, how they had taken over someone else’s business. The trick was to make sure that the same thing never happened to you.
Declan shook his head, and said quietly, ‘Leave him, Michael. You’re wasting your fucking time.’
Michael knew that Declan was right. Patrick was oblivious to them. It was frightening, but Michael couldn’t help his morbid fascination at the man’s obvious lunacy. Patrick looked wrong; he was not just manic, he was without any kind of boundaries or guidelines. Everything that kept them at the top of their game was now going to destroy everything they had worked for. It was unbelievable, and Michael was well aware that he had to be the one to take control, because Declan wouldn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Josephine was happier than she had been for a very long time. She was still pregnant, and she was still the only person who knew about it. She was not going to tell anyone until she had to. She had let everyone down so many times in the past, she wasn’t going to chance it again. The pain of each loss became more acute – it never lessened. Everyone she saw would give her clichés and pity. It was the pity she hated the most. She could feel this baby inside of her every minute of every day. She felt different this time, she was convinced of that. It felt right somehow. It was her secret to keep, this was her own private happiness. Her silence meant no one was watching her every move, questioning every expression on her face, asking if she was feeling ill, or if she was off-colour, telling her to sit down or lie down as if she was dying or something, searching her face constantly for the first signs of pain, followed by the miscarriage they had been expecting all along. No one forcing her to rest, or sitting with her so she never had any time on her own. It was wearing having so many people caring for you, tiring trying to be upbeat and constantly pretending that you weren’t terrified of losing yet another baby down the toilet. This was so much better for her. This was far more relaxing.
She rubbed her belly gently, caressing her child and hoping that this time she might actually get the chance to hold this one in her arms.