Josephine had done a fantastic job. The whole thing was perfect. The food had been catered – it was expensive and plentiful and she had arranged for waitresses and bar staff to serve the drinks. Now everyone was happily drunk and reminiscing, as was expected at a funeral such as this. Michael’s house was plenty big enough to hold such a huge party, and he knew that the fact it was at his home would just reinforce his credibility, as well as giving him the opportunity to prove how successful he was. He knew how important it was for him to be seen as a man of means with money behind him. The lifestyle was everything; it was what would define him to the people he’d be dealing with. This was a win-win situation for him, but he was glad that it was nearly over and he could finally get back to normal.
Still, it was nice to see his house full, and watch his wife play the hostess; she did it so well. He was going to make sure that the men he dealt with got the personal touch. He would invite them here with their wives for dinner. He would bring this house to life, and give his Josephine the opportunity to shine. He was so proud of her today. She had taken the onus off Carmel and, at the same time, she had made sure that people saw that he was the real deal. He couldn’t help feeling as he looked around him that he was where he deserved to be. He had worked for this. He had learnt from the master, and now he could feel pride in what he had achieved.
He was still a young man, yet he had just inherited the biggest prize of all. He had taken on Patrick Costello’s mantle, and no one had questioned that. Michael knew he had his creds, but he had still expected at least one person to challenge him. He planned his defence down to the last detail – he was not going to give anything away without a fucking fight. He was prepared to wipe out anyone who even looked like they might want to try it on. Yet he had been wrong. It seemed that everyone accepted his new role. Personally, he would have been straight in there, sooner rather than later; if he was in their shoes, he would have done everything in his power to take him out. This was the only chance anyone was going to get to push themselves ahead in the game for a long time, Michael was determined about that.
Declan brought him over a large whisky, and he took it gratefully.
‘Old Joey Murphy is on top form. He loves a fucking Irish funeral. He wants to sing.’
Michael laughed. It was the icing on the cake. He dragged Declan over to the old boy; he was eighty if he was a day, and an old IRA man. He could cause a fight in an empty house with a drink in him. He had buried his children – three handsome sons. Two had been murdered, the youngest had died in prison of cancer. He was a real character, and he was always given the respect he was due. He was a great singer of Irish songs.
‘Come on, Joey, how about “The Wild Colonial Boy”? Patrick always loved that one.’
Joey was thrilled to be singled out, and he sang the song with real feeling, knowing that everyone would join in the chorus.
Michael saw Josephine watching him, and he winked at her, before opening his arms wide. She walked into his embrace unhesitatingly; this was where she always wanted to be.
As the singing swelled around her, Josephine laughed delightedly. The baby was hanging in there, and she felt wonderful. Michael was so caught up in the aftermath of Patrick’s death, he still hadn’t noticed anything. That was what she wanted. She didn’t want anyone to know about her pregnancy – all she wanted was to be left alone long enough to know if this baby was going to be there for the duration. Patrick Costello had inadvertently given her the time she needed to carry this baby inside her without a fuss, and she would always be grateful to him for that. Michael hugged her tightly suddenly, and whispered in her ear, ‘I love you, Josephine Flynn.’
And, looking up at him and smiling brightly, she mouthed back, ‘I know.’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘It’s a lot of fucking money, Declan, and I think you deserve to know about it. Now Patrick’s gone, it’s my call. I never understood why he kept you out of the loop anyway, to be honest. It didn’t sit right with me but, while he was alive, I had no option but to let it slide.’
Declan didn’t answer Michael. He recognised that Michael was trying to be fair and give him an in. He looked at Michael in his expensive suit, with his perfect haircut; he knew how best to present himself to the world. Men like his brother and Michael Flynn would always want more – it was what made them get up in the morning. They couldn’t settle for anything other than being the best, being the main man. They were incapable of ever being content with what they already had. But that wasn’t Declan.
‘Look, Declan, I just want us to be clear about everything. You are a Costello after all, and I want to bring you into everything so we are both aware of what is going on.’
Declan saw his reflection in the window; he had never liked these offices any more than Patrick had. This was all Michael’s idea. Michael had brought them into a new world, and given the Costello name a polish that had been sorely needed.