Michael felt the tears come into his eyes at her generosity of spirit. She wanted to save him hurt, and that was such a selfless act on her part. ‘You silly bitch! I sussed a while ago. I wish you would listen to me, Josephine. If we have a baby I will be made up, but for you more than for me. As long as I have you I don’t need anyone else. I swear that on my immortal soul.’ He hugged her even tighter, raining kisses all over her face.
Josephine knew he was speaking the truth, but it still didn’t make her feel any better. ‘I’m so sorry, Michael, I just wanted to do this by myself. I would have told you eventually. I’m amazed that you noticed, to be honest.’
Michael was offended. ‘Of course I did, Josephine! You’re my world, for fuck’s sake.’
Josephine looked into the handsome face she knew so well. She could see his anger, mingled with his despair, and she hated herself for causing it. He had only ever loved her, given her his love and his protection no matter what. ‘Can you do me one favour, Michael? Keep this between us, please. I don’t want anyone to know about it. If I lose it, I don’t want it to be common knowledge. I couldn’t go through that again.’
Michael sighed heavily. ‘’Course, darling. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.’
‘Thanks, Michael. It’s just I can’t pretend any more. Your mum is always making remarks about how we should have a family by now, and my mum acts like miscarriages happen to everyone. It’s too raw for me. Every time it goes wrong I feel such a fucking failure. I feel so bereft. If I do lose this baby, Michael, I want it to be a private grief this time. I want it to be our sorrow, no one else’s.’
Michael could hear the longing in his wife’s voice, the need for a child, and the fear that once more she would be denied that, because her body would let her down as it always had. He would gladly hand over every penny he had if it would give her a child of her own, and the peace it would bring to her.
‘I promise you, Josephine, I won’t say a word.’
She nestled into his arms, and he felt the overwhelming love for her that had never changed. He loved her unconditionally. ‘How are you feeling, though? Do you feel all right in yourself?’
She nodded and, pulling away from him again, she looked up into his face. ‘That’s just it, Michael, I feel great. I feel better than I ever have before. This time it feels so right. I can’t explain it. If it’s going to happen for us, I think it will be this time.’
‘Oh, my darling, I hope you’re right.’
As he pulled her into his body once more, he was praying that she was right this time. But whatever happened, he knew he had no choice; he had to look after her as best he could.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Declan was tired out. He had a new little bird and she was more than willing in every way possible. She was only twenty-two, and she was built for pleasure. She had a lovely little face, blue eyes, thick blond hair and creamy skin, coupled with a pair of thirty-six D cups. She was also gifted with a mouth like a docker, and that, unfortunately for her, coupled with her desire to be married, was her main drawback. Declan was already on the look-out for a new conquest. Deirdre, though, was not about to be sidelined.
He had been here before – many times – and he had always managed to extricate himself from the lady in question. He wished they would listen to him from the off; he told them he wanted nothing from them other than a good time. He would always give them a nice parting gift – generally a few quid – or, if they were a bit posh, an expensive piece of jewellery. Deirdre, though, seemed determined to be around for the duration.
As he stood by the bar in the nightclub he had just opened with Michael, he felt irritation wash over him. Girls like Deirdre were born to be used – it was their lot in life. He could see her out of the corner of his eye – she was wearing fewer clothes than a professional athlete, and she was giving him the evil eye as if he might actually give a fuck. He was glad to see Michael walking over to him and, as they shook hands, he turned his back on his offending girlfriend with relief.
‘What a fucking success, Declan! It’s fabulous. Well done.’
Declan was pleased. He had worked hard on this place. He had acquired it as payment for a long-term debt. The man involved had a real passion for the gee-gees; unfortunately, the gee-gees didn’t have a passion for him. Declan had given him a good deal on the loans, and a generous time span for paying him back. Neither had been appreciated, of course, but that was a compulsive gambler for you. The man in question had eventually been given no other option than to sign the place over and walk away, debt-free.
Declan had revamped it, renamed it, and now all he had to do was sit back and coin it in. It was a gold mine. It was located in East London with plenty of pubs and restaurants nearby and, best of all, it was now licensed for everything from live bands to boxing matches. The Costello firm, run by Michael Flynn, still owned enough Filth to guarantee anything they might feel they wanted. This was going to be a real earner; it had five bars over two floors, a huge dancing area, a glitterball that could pass for a spaceship and, like all their premises, the only people who could deal drugs were in their employ.