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“Peaches,” he said when the woman answered. “You still looking for a father for that baby of yours?”
The woman was a football slut. She must have slept with Flynn at some point. Why not make it work for her? She might even manage to squeeze some cash out of the bastard if she was lucky. If not, the publicity would help her burgeoning career as a reality star.
He finalised his plans with the woman, then dialled the next name on his contacts.
“Ray? Hey, man, got a job for you. Flynn Boyle wants to throw the party of the century in his hometown. Nothing formal, just a few hundred friends, lots of women and plenty of booze. You know the hip-hop band you booked for the rave in Sheffield last year?”
“The one that got arrested?” You could practically taste Ray’s excitement at the prospect of letting them loose again.
“Yeah, Flynn likes their sound. Thought they got a bad deal. Wants to give them a second chance. Can you arrange it?”
Ray hesitated. “When we talking about?”
“Saturday.” Two days wasn’t a long time to get everyone to Invertary. But it had to be Saturday—it was Victoria Montgomery-Clark’s last day in town. If he wanted to show her Flynn’s true colours, it had to be then.
“It’s gonna cost him,” Ray said.
“Name your price. Just be here.” Brian would figure out the money later. He was pretty sure his boss would authorise it as an expense once he saw the footage Brian got from the band’s appearance. Last he checked, the boys were banned from most radio stations and those feminist groups were camped outside their every gig. One song about rape was all it took to rile them. Couldn’t those women take a joke?
“I’ll sort it. Send me the details.” Ray hung up.
Brian grinned widely as he walked back to his car. It was going to be a busy night. He had a lot more calls to make.
Saturday was going to bring a party the likes of which Invertary had never seen, one even Victoria Montgomery-Clark couldn’t excuse.
Saturday was the day Flynn Boyle’s charmed lifestyle would come to a crashing end.
Saturday was going to put Brian Flannigan on the map.
And he couldn’t wait.
22
“I think I am a man, but I don't believe I need to say it.
But I could also be Peter Pan because I do things my own way and I am free.”
Mario Balotelli, Italian national player
Abby didn’t know what surprised her most on Thursday morning. The fact she woke wearing yesterday’s clothes and mumbling Flynn’s name, or the fact Victoria arrived bearing gifts for Katy. Her sister handed Katy the package in much the same way someone handed over a summons—as though they expected violence when it was opened.
“Goody!” Katy bounced. “Look, Muma, a present.”
Abby barely had time to smile before the wrapping paper went flying.
“Rapunzel!” Katy squealed. She waved the doll in the air. “Look how long her hair is,” she demanded of no one in particular. “Will you help me brush her hair, Aunty Victoria?”
Victoria nodded stiffly. “Of course.”
“I’ll get the hair stuff. I have glitter.” Katy ran from the room.
Abby watched her sister. In her elegant clothes, she looked like a pinched and strained version of Audrey Hepburn. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and Abby could have sworn there was a glassy sheen to her eyes.
“Thank you for Kat
y’s gift.”
“It was Lawrence’s idea.”
