He stood before her, like an avenging angel, and she could see that he wasn’t his usual self. In fact, he looked terrible. His clothes were crumpled as if he had slept in them, and he was badly in need of a shave. She looked him up and down, very slowly, taking in his dishevelled appearance, and letting him know she had noticed it.
‘I thought I heard you, Michael, but it’s been a while so I wasn’t holding out too much hope of seeing you.’
He didn’t say anything to her, and she looked at him straight in the eyes.
‘Is that all you’ve got to say to me, Josephine? My mother is dead. I assumed that even you might have worried about how I was coping with that! She was murdered, remember?’
Josephine could hear the antagonism in his voice, the sarcasm that was dripping from every word he spoke. She wasn’t going to say anything that would give him reason to attack her again, as he had the last time she had seen him. She had not been willing to accept his conduct then, and she wasn’t prepared to accept it now. Even if he did have a right to call her out about her behaviour, that didn’t mean that he should do it. They were married and, no matter what had happened to them in the past, they had always loved each other.
‘I’m sorry about your mum, Michael. Of course I am. How can you even say something like that to me?’
She sounded so offended, so insulted by him. It was crystal clear to him now just how devious she actually was – had always been. He gave a low, mocking laugh. He was seeing her with fresh eyes. She looked wonderful – why wouldn’t she? Her whole life was taken up with her appearance, with repairing her make-up, making sure her eyebrows were plucked and shaped, that her lipstick was faultless. Her hair looked salon-perfect twenty-four/seven, and her nails were coloured, shaped and buffed with a diligence that had to be seen to be believed.
‘You’re a piece of work, Josephine, do you know that? In case you were wondering, your only daughter’s dead. Jessie had a massive heart attack today. Twenty-two years old, and her heart gave out. The man who had taken her, who had contacted you, if you remember, that man who you ignored, basically tortured our Jessie to death. She died in fucking agony waiting for someone to find her. Now she is gone from us, Josephine, like my old mum.’
Josephine knew that Michael was telling her the truth, but it was hard to take it all in.
‘I am waiting for some kind of reaction from you, Josephine. I just told you that your only child is dead, and nothing. Not a fucking word.’
He stood there, looming over her, and waited for her to say something – anything – to acknowledge her only child’s demise. But she didn’t say a word.
‘Do you know what, Josephine? Patrick Costello said something to me many years ago, and I never understood the real meaning of it until recently. You were just at your hoarding stage, and I was really worried about you, about your mental health. He knew that, and we were out one night, and he said to me, “Always remember this, Michael – people only do to you what you let them.” I didn’t understand what he meant until recently. He was a wise fucking man in some ways – mad as a fucking Russian road map – but he had you sussed out right, lady.’
Josephine could not believe that her Jessie was dead. It wasn’t something she had ever contemplated, but now a part of her was relieved. It meant that Jake would now be wholly hers – hers and Michael’s. He was the son they had never had.
‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me, Michael. My baby girl, my Jessie is dead. Poor Jake. He’s an orphan. We are all he’s got left.’
Michael shook his head angrily. ‘Oh, save it for someone who cares! Jake will survive, I will see to that. But I’m warning you now, Josephine, you are going to the nut farm, and this time I’m not going to stop it. If you don’t go, then I will turn my back on you completely. Do you hear me? I’m deadly serious this time. I will never forgive you, Josephine, for what happened to our Jessie – for not even trying to let me know immediately when you heard from that cunt who was holding her hostage. You put yourself first as always, and I know now that you always will. You’re going to end up a lonely old woman because I’m finished with you. Any love I had for you – and I loved you with all my heart – has died. It’s gone.’
Josephine jumped from her chair, and she tried to grab her husband’s hands. She couldn’t live without him, without her Michael. He was the only thing that she really cared about.
But he pushed her away from him, unwilling to even touch her. ‘I’m arranging with your shrink that if you don’t go into hospital voluntarily in the next five days, I will have you sectioned. I can do that, Josephine, and I fucking will if I have to. Don’t bank on your latest shrink to get you out of it. I pay him, and he will do whatever I ask him to.’