Michael smiled happily, but he was relieved when Lana said pointedly, ‘Get us a cup of tea, Michael, will you, darling?’

As much as Lana disliked her son-in-law, she felt sorry for him. She could see that he was terrified, and she knew that it was fear for her daughter. Whatever he was, she believed he loved Josephine.

As he left the room, she clasped her daughter’s hand, and said another Hail Mary. Like Michael, she wanted this baby for her daughter more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Declan Costello was in the top bar of their newest nightclub, The Gatsby. He was holding court, and enjoying every second of it. His latest amour, Sinead, a petite blonde with huge breasts and delusions of grandeur, was by his side. She was pretty enough, green-eyed with high cheekbones and full lips but, unfortunately for her, she had about as much personality as a tadpole. It had only been a week and already Declan was getting bored with her. The only women who lasted for a while with him, had one thing in common other than being good-looking – a sense of humour.

Declan looked around him. Everyone, from Jeffrey Palmer to Jermaine O’Shay had turned out to wet the baby’s head. Even the Notting Hill lads had come over to the East End – an almost unheard of situation. But Michael Flynn was popular and everyone wanted to congratulate him on the birth of his first child. Christ Himself knew they had waited long enough for it.

Jermaine was drinking whisky and, as usual, he had women lining up to talk to him. Tonight, though, he wasn’t interested in the strange around him; he just wanted to share Michael’s night with him.

The club was packed out, and the music was loud and pumping, the beat resonating through the floor.

Michael Flynn finally arrived just after midnight and, as he walked up the stairs to the top bar, Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ came on. Laughing excitedly, Michael made his entrance by dancing erratically, and singing the lyrics at the top of his voice.

‘Fucking hell, Michael! You pissed already?’

Michael was so happy, it was almost painful to watch him. After all these years, poor Josephine had finally managed to produce a child for them.

‘Drunk? Am I fuck, you cheeky bastard! I’m happy. Get me a large Irish, mate.’

Everyone was clamouring to congratulate him; he was shaking hands and hugging people all around, his happiness infectious.

‘So, come on then, what did she have?’

Michael looked at Declan in disbelief. ‘Didn’t you tell them?’

‘No, I kept schtum. That’s for you to know, and for that lot to find out! It’s your news, mate. Not mine.’