Don't get mad, get even
Late twentieth-century saying
Never say that marriage has more of joy than pain
Euripides (c. 480 bc-406 bc)
2004
'Don't talk to me like that, Philly. I'm not deaf, I can hear you.'
Philly looked at his mother and felt a moment's shame at his words. But she was acting weird, and he had some mates coming round. She wasn't as bad as she had been before, but she was drinking again, and that made her talk shite, as his father so nicely put it. He wasn't like Timmy – he couldn't laugh it all off. He thought his mother was an embarrassment. 'Eccentric' was Timmy's word for her, 'out-and-out nut-bag' was his. Look at her now – seven in the evening and still in her dressing gown, half-pissed and already slurring her words. Still, at least she wasn't morose and depressed; that was something to be grateful for he supposed.
'Go and get dressed, Mum! I've got Graham and Billy coming round.'
Christine laughed. This son of hers was so bothered about appearances, he was like a fucking woman at times. 'All right, son, keep your wig on. I'll slip on a pair of jeans, is that good enough for your mates? Or shall I wear a designer suit and diamonds like Billy's mum does? She's the weirdo, not me. She'll never see forty-five again and if she has one more face-lift she'll have a beard!'
Philly had to laugh at that, because it was true. Billy's mum was always in hospital having 'procedures' as she insisted on calling them. Billy said he had planned to get her an electric blanket for Christmas but was frightened his mother might melt during the night. But at least Billy's mother didn't go into hospital because she was a fucking loony. Though, in fairness, his mum hadn't been away for a few years now. But both he and his brother expected her to lose it again at some point. It was the pattern of their lives.
Philly hated that his mother was like she was, and he thought his father was a saint to put up with her. Any other bloke would have outed her a long time ago, and who could have blamed him? Not Philly – he would have understood his father's actions better than anyone. After all, he had to live with the stigma of her illness as well, and it wasn't easy tiptoeing around her all the time. Depression was one thing, and he appreciated that, but she was way past all that now. He felt sometimes that she played up her illness just to get on their nerves, or get what she wanted. He felt bad thinking like that, but she was always upset about something, and it bored him. She didn't give a thought to how her behaviour affected their lives, her sons' lives. And if she stopped drinking so much, maybe she wouldn't act so fucking stupid and show up herself and her family. Her breath was disgusting, sour and vicious. You could smell it from across the room sometimes, and it was rancid.
He saw her pour herself another Jack Daniel's and Coke and sighed heavily. 'Do you really need another drink, Mum?'
She mimicked him then. 'Do you really need a slap across the face, son?'
He walked out of the kitchen before he said something they both regretted. Anyway he had other things on his mind. He had made a monumental cock-up, and he wasn't sure how to sort it out. He knew he had to tell his father though – if he didn't and Phillip found out another way he would go ballistic. But the issue was how Philly would tell him, he needed some way to sweeten the pot.
As he worried about his father's reaction to this latest gaffe, he heard his mother singing along to Simply Red's 'Holding Back The Years', and knew a crying bout was on the cards. She cried at films, she cried at songs, sometimes for no reason at all she just cried. Any sympathy he had for her had long ago disintegrated.
Frankly, she just got on his fucking nerves.
Phillip and Declan were in a favourite pub in Wapping. They had just finished a lunchtime meeting with an old mate who wanted to offload his arcades in Soho due to the recession and a very hefty tax bill he was hoping to avoid by disappearing off the face of the earth. He had a wife who was well past her sell-by date, two sons who were about as much use as a stripper in an abbey, and a girlfriend who had thighs like a Russian shot- putter's and the face of an angel. At sixty-three he felt it was time he had a bit of fun, and he was determined to get it in South America, where the dollar ruled, and the sun shone all year round.
Phillip was pleased; he had already made a few inroads into the West End, and this man's proposition confirmed that he was considered a serious player in the games world – he always got first refusal. Declan ordered them another couple of vodkas and Phillip looked around the small pub with interest. It had the usual smattering of city types and workmen which was why he liked it.
'So what do you really think, Declan?'
Declan shrugged. 'We can afford them, but they are pretty run down, and for every pound that goes in, another pound is coming out. Plus, it's a haven for the runaways; he never gets them moved on, and that can only bring trouble. From what my spies tell me, the young lads use it as a pick-up joint. But then, me and you have always known the arcades are a paedos' paradise. We've all but stamped it out on the front, but that's because we keep a wary eye out. The West End's different; it's a hunting ground for them with all the transient kids, and the free warmth attracts them like flies.'
'Well, we'll keep a few walkers on the floor – that's the best way to deal with them – and the Old Bill give us a pass because they know we make their job easier for them. Any problems with the building?'
Declan shook his head. 'The flats above are rented by prostitutes and the whole building is in need of renovation, but I think if we did the flats up as offices we'd get a much better return on them.'
'Fucking right and all, we ain't pimps.' Phillip had an abhorrence of anyone or anything to do with the sex industry; in fact, his attitude was almost Victorian. He hated it with a vengeance, and made sure they never had anything remotely to do with it. In all the years he had been married to Christine there had never been a hint of him being unfaithful to her, though no one would have blamed him if he had been. Her problems were well known and well documented. People thought he was a saint for the way he had stood by her. It was like his church-going, every Sunday come rain or shine they were all there, sitting in the front row; if Christine was indisposed Phillip still made the boys attend. It pleased Veronica no end, because that meant his father had to go as well, as did Declan and Breda. Jamsie was a regular anyway – he took Communion at five a.m., every morning, seven days a week.
Phillip was already bored and it showed; all he wanted was to do the deal and get on to the next thing on his agenda. It was what made him so successful – they did what needed to be done, and they moved on. Declan loved the excitement of it and, even though it was hard at times, constantly playing second to Phillip, he still knew how lucky he was to have the life he had. The Murphys were doing really well, all of them, and now that young
Philly was on the firm Declan had someone to mentor, someone to look out for. Phillip had more or less passed the boy on to him, told him to show him the ropes from the bottom up, and he was enjoying doing just that. He had a certain longing for children lately; seeing the boys becoming men had made him realise what he had missed out on all these years.
Trouble was, Declan still didn't want the permanent female presence that came with having a family. He liked his solitary life. He had a nice penthouse in the Docklands, he entertained as and when it suited him, and he liked living alone. Observing the marriages around him had never given him the urge to take the plunge himself. His mother had had a raw deal for years with that lazy bastard she had married, and seeing Phillip and the nut-bag that he had to contend with every day was not exactly a shining example of marital harmony either. Most of the men he mixed with juggled wives, girlfriends and one-night stands, or were caught up in affairs that, while they burned brightly, could only go the same way as their marriages at some point in the future. Men never changed, and it was a pretty safe bet that if they fucked about on one wife they would fuck about on the next. It was the nature of the beast. He thought it was best to stay on your tod, at least that way you had no one to please except yourself. Breda and him were the same in that way; she, like him, enjoyed her 'singledom' as she called it, and thought women who tied themselves to a man for life were mugs.
'I reckon we can wrap this up in an hour, Declan, and be home in time for afternoon tea!'
Declan laughed at his brother's obvious good humour. 'How's Christine?'
Phillip shrugged, the laughter gone now. 'Still the same.' He motioned for two more vodkas and then said gamely, 'I hear you're trumping that little dark-haired girl from the club.'
Declan grinned. 'You hear right. Nice girl, Bernice, clever and all.'
'Oooh, is it finally lurve!' Phillip was smiling again, he had heard already that it was love, from the bird's point of view anyway. It was the talk of the clubs – apparently she adored his brother and told everyone she came across just that. 'She's been talking you up, bruv, telling everyone how great you are. How well you treat her, how much she likes your penthouse.'
Declan could feel himself blushing, and that annoyed him.
'Oooh, Declan's doing a cherry. What's the matter with you, man, you could do worse. She's good-looking, she's willing. Knock yourself out a couple of kids with her – if you don't start soon you'll be too old to play with them.'
'Fuck off, Phil. You know my thoughts on marriage. It doesn't appeal to me.'
Phillip laughed, but it was hollow now. 'Can't say I blame you. I love my Christine, but she's fucking hard work. If I could just get her back to her old self – to how she used to be before…' He left the sentence unfinished.
'Come on, Phil, let's get going. The sooner we get this over with the better.' Declan had no intention of getting into a big conversation about Christine, because they had been over this time and time again, and there was nothing anyone could do for her. Personally, he thought that she might benefit from Phillip divorcing her, but he kept that little bit of wisdom to himself, knowing that Phillip might not appreciate the sentiment. But it was obvious to everyone around them that Christine's problem was her husband, and his problem was her. It was something that could never be resolved to the satisfaction of either of them – they were like a circle, a wedding band, they didn't know where they began, and they certainly didn't know where they were going to end. One thing he knew for certain though – with Phillip and his beliefs there would be no divorce. He was in this marriage for the duration, and he believed that he had to cope with whatever was thrown at him, because Christine was his wife, and they were married in the eyes of God. Even though their marriage was destroying her on a daily basis, they would only part in death, and that was what was so tragic about it all. He had a feeling that when it happened, it would be Christine's death that released her, not his brother's. Even if that meant she achieved it with her own hand.
Oh no, marriage was a mug's game all right, and he was well out of it. As his mother always said, there was more ways to skin a cat, and many ways to scratch an itch. And that was exactly what women were to him – an itch that you scratched for momentary relief.
As they drove along the embankment they were both quiet, each filled with his own thoughts. The good humour they had shared seemed to have evaporated, and they were both aware of that.
'What will your dad do, Philly?'
Philly shrugged nonchalantly; he didn't want his friends to know how worried he really was about what had happened. 'Well, suffice to say he won't be happy about it.'
Graham Planter laughed nervously. 'It was funny at the time, but now I ain't so sure.'
'We were out of order, Graham, and my dad will be more annoyed about that than he will at us being pissed. He's funny about respecting the people who work for us. He says that the least we can do is treat the employees how we would like to be treated ourselves – it's something he has hammered into us all our lives.'
Billy Jameson said sadly, 'I wish we'd just gone home, don't you?'
Philly wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer.
The front door slammed, and the boys heard someone taking the stairs two a time. Within seconds the bedroom door was banged open and Phillip Murphy stood there like some kind of avenging angel.
'You fucker! You rude, arrogant little fucker!'
All three boys were tense with fear, the man looked like a maniac. You could almost feel the rage seeping out of his pores.
'Get out, you two, and don't let me see your faces here again.'
The boys were rooted to the spot in fear, and didn't move until he bellowed, 'I said, out!' Then they scurried from the room as fast as they could, leaving poor Philly to face his father's wrath alone.
Phillip slammed the bedroom door behind him, and stood in front of it, his arms crossed and his face set like concrete. 'Now, I want your version of events, and make sure you tell me the truth, boy, because I know exactly what happened -1 watched it on the CCTV cameras.'
'I'm sorry, Dad-'
'Bit late for that, son. Now, either tell me what happened in graphic detail or kiss goodbye to the next six months of your life, because I'll ground you like an errant dog, as big as you are.'
Even at nineteen it didn't occur to Philly to remind his father that he could vote, get married, or drink in any pub he chose to. His father was the law, and that was a fact of life in this house.
'I was drunk. We went to the arcade and I asked the old boy for money to use on the machines. He said no. So I went in the booth and took it. He tried to stop me and I pushed him out of the way, and cunted him. He fell over, and I kicked him.'
Philly's summary was short, precise, and told the main facts of the story without over-dramatising it or making excuses for himself. He knew that it was the only way he would get out of this with his skin intact.
'He's sixty-seven years old and he's worked that booth for over fifty years, and you think because you're my son you have the right to treat him like garbage? Is that what this was all about?'
Philly was shaking his head now in utter despair because, in reality, that is exactly what he had thought at the time. 'No, Dad, I swear. I was drunk, I know I was out of order. Fucking outrageously out of order, and I know you have every right to be annoyed. I can't make any excuses for my bad behaviour because there ain't any. I just want to take me punishment like a man.'
Phillip laughed nastily. 'A man you ain't! Nineteen and bullying pensioners, a nice old bloke who would lay down his life for me. An old man who was just going about his own business. If a stranger had done that to him, I would have hunted them down and flayed them alive.'
Philly closed his eyes in distress, knowing his father spoke the truth. Phillip Murphy looked after all the people who worked for him, and he made sure they were safe, even getting the women cabs home if they worked late shifts. He was a good employer, and that paid off because his workers were loyal; he remembered all their names, and asked them about their families, and their kids or grandkids. He never forgot them at Christmas, and they knew they could come to him with any problems, major or minor, and get a fair hearing. It was all part of Phillip Murphy's big 'I am' act, but Philly wouldn't say that to his father either.
'Old Donny didn't tell me about it. He wasn't about to grass you up, but one of the girls ran it by me. She was so disgusted at how you behaved she kept the CCTV as evidence. Marvellous, ain't it? Me own son hasn't got the decency to tell me, but a seventeen-year-old college student felt I should know what my son was capable of.'
'Like I say, I was drunk…'
The fist when it shot out, got him square on the chin, and knocked him backwards over his bed, until he landed in a heap on the floor under the window seat.
'Drunk. So that's your excuse, is it? You treacherous little cunt. Well, you can get up, and get down to the car, because me and you are going to do some serious apologising, then we are going to have a long heart-to-heart about the perils of drink, and the treatment of people less fortunate than ourselves.'
Philly pulled himself up from the floor and, rubbing his chin, he felt the lump already forming there. It was the first time his father had hit him in years, and he had forgotten just how strong the old bastard was. He understood his father's fury – he wasn't so much annoyed at what Philly had done, but was more concerned with how it looked to people outside of the family. Appearances were everything to his father, he lived for his reputation, not just as a serious Face, but as a man. Philly had worked out years ago that it was all an act, his father's whole life was an act, from his church-going to his philanthropic enterprises. He was a fucking fake, and on every level. Philly knew this because in many ways he was just like his father, he was learning the ways of their world, and this would be a lesson for the future.
He wouldn't fuck up like this again, of that much he was sure. He needed his father's support and favour if he was going to get where he wanted to go in life. And that was further than this ponce, of that much Philly was determined.
Donny was embarrassed and it showed. He took the apology well, and shook hands with the lad. Everyone who witnessed Philly's humiliation was secretly pleased to be there and see it. He was an arrogant little fucker, and it was very satisfying to see him cut down to size. Phillip Murphy was a hero to these people, especially now, making his elder son apologise to Donny in full view of everyone. That was how it should be; Philly had treated the man appallingly, and it was right he should pay for it. This scene would be the talk of the seafront for weeks, and that was something the lad had to know, and it only added to his humiliation.
'I'm so ashamed, Donny, that one of my boys could act like that. Well, you and I both know that drink and youngsters don't mix.' Phillip was making the old man laugh, being affable and friendly, the big man. Philly wished he had a gun, because he would happily blow the fucker away at this moment in time.
'He's a good lad, Mr Murphy, and I've never had a problem with him before. I blame those mates of his, they were egging him on.' Donny was trying to make excuses for his employer's son and that was not lost on Philly, who finally had the decency to feel a sliver of remorse.
'Well, Donny, I can guarantee I won't be drinking again for a long time. I really can't apologise enough, it was out of order. Every time I think about it I could die of shame.'
'We're like one big family here, Donny,' Phillip added. 'And if anyone hurts my family, no matter who they are, they pay for it.'
It was what they all wanted to hear, and Philly had a sneaking admiration for his father's spin on what had been, after all, a terrible act of arrogance on his part. Phillip looked like the big benevolent employer, but Philly knew that he would climb over their dead bodies if it got him what he desired.
Back in the office Philly waited to be asked to sit, he knew the protocol by now. Phillip was still incensed at his son's behaviour, and how it reflected on him.
'You done good, kid, but I warn you, one more incident like that and you're on your own.' Phillip saw the shock on his son's face and smiled at Philly's stupidity. 'You're out next time on your arse. Fending for yourself. You've got a bit too much of my brother Jamsie in you, and I intend to make sure that gets knocked out of you sooner rather than later. Bullying is easy, anyone can be a bully. But in this game, you get on a lot better and a lot quicker by looking out for the people who handle your money on a daily basis. This is a cash business, and goodwill goes a lot further than a good hiding, remember that.'
Philly nodded.
'Now, about the drinking. I am going to arrange for you to have a blood test every week, and if I find any drugs in it, I'll brain you where you fucking lie. This wasn't about drink and we both know that, so what had you taken?'
Philly had been expecting this; he could never get one over on his father. 'I'd had an E. I was out of me brains.'
Phillip nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Drugs are for the dimlos, not for the likes of us. Drugs make you stupid, make you forget what you're doing. They make you a cunt in my book, and everyone else's. So make sure that's the last time you do anything that stupid.'
Philly nodded again, seeing his whole social life dissolving before his eyes. He was nineteen for Christ's sakes, not a little kid.
'And one last thing. You need to start treating your mother with some respect, or I'll rip your fucking head off and use it as a football. You have been acting the cunt for a while now, and I think it's about time you grew up.'
Philly didn't answer that. He honestly didn't know what to say.
'Come on, Christine, you know it makes sense.'
Christine was laughing loudly and Breda was pleased to see her so happy. They were having lunch on the seafront at a smart little fish restaurant where the food was only surpassed by the view. Christine ordered herself a large dessert; even though she didn't really want it, she knew it would please Breda. It was strange but the two women had become very close over the last few years. Since Ricky's funeral, Breda had made a point of visiting her almost daily, and they had found that in actuality they had quite a lot in common. Christine knew that Breda did what she did out of genuine caring, but she also knew that she reported back to Phillip. Phillip had been uneasy that she might talk about Ricky's murder to the doctors, but he had not realised that if she had been going to tell anyone the truth about her life, she would have done it long ago. Too many people depended on Phillip for their livelihoods, her own parents included, and she would never do anything to jeopardise them or their safety. She wouldn't trust her loving husband as far as she could throw him; he would take her father out just to get even with her. He was like God in many respects – he could be kind and loving, or he could be vengeful. She knew he saw himself as the nearest thing to God on this earth, so the simile was quite apt.
'I bet Philly's not happy, Breda, he's like his father in many ways. He worries too much about other people's opinions.'
Breda nodded in agreement. 'That's true, Chris. But I think Phillip was right to make him apologise in public. What he did was bang out of order.'
'He's a bully, he talks to me like shit half the time.'
Breda didn't answer her. She knew that Philly was ashamed of his mother, and that it made him feel guilty. But she understood the boy's dilemma in a strange way. He had his father on the one hand – a respected and well-liked man – and, on the other hand, he had a mother who was a drunk, a prescription junkie and the apple of said father's eye. She knew how hard it was for the boys.
'Shall we get another bottle of wine, Bred?'
'If you like. Jamsie's driving, bless him.'
'Has Phillip spoken to him yet?'
Breda shook her head in consternation. 'Never a once. In all these years, Chris. It's unbelievable really.'
Christine signalled for another bottle of wine and said resignedly, 'No, it ain't. You and I both know he's more than capable of worse than that.' She said the words without any malice whatsoever, as if she had finally accepted the way of her world and could live within it. It showed Breda just how far her sister-in-law had come.
'Why don't you leave him, Christine? I know he wouldn't like it, but he loves you enough to let you go. He only wants what's best for you.'
Christine grinned; her white, even teeth were expensively capped, and her make-up was as always perfect, she looked like any other rich woman who lunched their days away Except her eyes were dead, they held no real life behind them. 'Now, you and I know that he might love me, but he wouldn't let me leave him – he would see that as a failure and you know my Phillip. He doesn't cope well with failure. Poor Philly failed him with his bad behaviour and look where that got him. No, Breda, I'll never leave him, love, and when I do it'll be because one of us is in a body bag.'
Christine laughed at her own wit, but the truth of her words stayed with Breda for the rest of the day.
'You ready, Dad?'
Phillip nodded and, finishing his cup of coffee, he kissed Christine on the cheek and then stood up, yawning widely. 'You and your rugby, Tims, fuck knows where you inherited that from.'
Christine didn't even look up from her Daily Mail as she said quietly, but forcefully, 'My father – he's always loved the rugby.'
Timmy saw Phillip's jaw tighten in annoyance, and wondered why his mother had to antagonise him all the time. It was as if she had come full circle, from the timid wretch to this woman who goaded her husband at every opportunity.
'He has sat on his granddad's lap and watched it since he could first walk, Phillip. Philly was football, like your family, and Timmy was a rugby boy, like mine.'' The inference being, how could he have not known that?
'I wasn't really asking that as a question, it was more of a statement, Christine.'
She shrugged nonchalantly. 'Well, I'm glad we sorted all that out.'
Phillip threw the car keys at his son and said quietly, 'Go and get in the car. I want to talk to your mother in private for a minute.'
Timmy did as he was asked without questioning it. At seventeen he was a big lad, hence his being a rugby prop but, like his brother, he did what his father asked him without question.
When they were alone Phillip knelt down by his wife's chair and, putting his index finger under her chin, he forced her face round so he could look into her eyes. 'Now, Christine, I love you very much, but you are starting to get on my fucking nerves. If you challenge me once more in front of the boys, or anyone else come to that, I am going to get very angry indeed. Now, I'm pleased you are feeling better, and I am over the fucking moon that you are much chirpier, and chock-full of banter and chat. But one more crack like that and I'll put my hand right across your lovely face. Do you get my drift?'
Christine was shaking with suppressed anger, but she was also pleased that the fear of him wasn't paralysing her as it used to when she offended him in some way. But she knew not to push him too far; after all, this was Phillip Murphy and she must never forget that, or what he was capable of. She nodded her understanding and he smiled at her then. That wide, all-encompassing smile that told everyone that all was right with the world.
'Good. I'm glad we got that sorted out.'
It was the first time he had ever come back at her like that, and she knew she had to have pushed him too far at last. That he had spoken to her like he had proved to her that even he had his limit, and she knew she would have to be careful in the future.
When he left the house she felt the anger returning once more, and wondered at a man who could still want someone who so obviously loathed him. She took an extra few pills, and washed them down with her first drink of the day. She liked the numbness of booze; it evened out the edges of the world and made her forget for a while that she was like a caged bird. The cage was lovely, there was no doubt about that, but it was a cage all the same.
Ted was sad to admit that he had gone off his elder grandson, and the knowledge grieved him. The boy was a sullen, rude little oik, and that was being nice about him.
As he watched the lad walking around the shop, he could almost feel the resentment coming off him at even having to be there. But this was one time when Ted Booth agreed with his son-in-law. Philly needed a lesson in respect and dealing with the people from this area should give him just that. These were plain-spoken people who said what they thought, and who often possessed a certain rough dignity, even though their surroundings weren't exactly conducive to the finer things in life. But they had something this boy desperately needed – the advantage of being streetwise, and that counted for a lot in this neighbourhood. Maybe seeing how other people had to live might make him appreciate just how lucky he actually was. Ted could only hope so anyway – from what he had heard the boy had been asking for this for a long time. People protected him because of Phillip's reputation, Christine especially. It seemed to him she couldn't see what the boys were really like; but then half the time she couldn't see what was in front of her face she was so out of it. No, this time he thought Phillip had done the right thing by his grandson, and he would help him sort the lad out with pleasure. Young Philly, for all his swaggering, posturing and bravado, wouldn't last ten minutes on this estate, and that was something he needed to learn, and learn fast. Philly had had it too easy, and it was making him weak and vulnerable. Phillip would not tolerate weakness of any kind in his family.
Ted was pleased that Phillip had entrusted the boy to him; it told him that Phillip respected him in a way he had not realised before. And even though he would never like this son-in-law of his, he was willing to do the best he could for his grandson.
'Come on, Philly, start filling those freezers. That stuff will be defrosted before you even open the bloody boxes!'
Philly sighed heavily, but he started the job as requested. He knew his granddad had to give his father a rundown on his behaviour. It was laughable – he was nineteen and still being treated like a kid. But he also knew he had got off lightly in many respects. At least this got him away from the seafront for a while; he was still embarrassed to be seen there, and he would appreciate the chance for everything to calm down and be forgotten about before he showed his face again. He knew it was cowardly, but that was how he felt. But his granddad's-shops were the pits; all Happy Shopper teabags, old people and processed foods. The young blokes looked like armed robbers, and he was fascinated at how respectful they were to his grandfather. He wasn't a fool though, he knew it was because of his father – everyone he knew was scared of him, himself included. His dream was not to be like him, but stronger, better than him. Philly intended to show them all what he was made of, and then no one would ever be able to push him around again.
He opened the box and started to unpack the cheap pizzas and frozen lasagnes. Growing up on a farm he had developed a healthy disgust for this kind of food, and he was glad he had not been brought up on it. Especially if the kids he saw every day were anything to go by – most were already overweight before they started school, and ate crisps and sweets as if they were staple foods instead of treats. It had certainly been an eye-opener all right.
The door opened and Philly automatically looked over to see who it was. He was very pleasantly surprised to see a tall, slim blonde, with killer boots and a come-get-me smile swagger on to the premises.
As she picked up a loaf of bread and a pint of milk, he rushed to the till, saying loudly, 'It's all right, Granddad, I'll see to this young lady.'
Tiffany White looked at the young lad with the handsome face and expensive jeans and decided the day was not going to be a total wipeout after all. Smiling at one another, the two began the ritual mating dance of the young, and suddenly things were not looking so bleak for Philly Murphy. In fact, he was already looking forward to coming back to work in the morning.
Ted Booth smiled in exasperation; he could see the attraction, but he had a feeling that this young hussy might turn out to be a bit too knowing for his grandson, not least because she was already the proud possessor of a nine-month-old daughter. But he knew it would be pointless trying to give the lad advice; after all, he'd only worked here a week and apparently he already knew everything. This was the kind of situation where only experience would be of any real use, and Ted Booth knew for a fact that Tiffany White had enough experience for the both of them; she had been at it since she was thirteen. Ted should know – he had chased her from the backyard of the shop enough times. He had a feeling this grandson of his was about to get his initiation into the real world, especially when he saw Tiffany writing her mobile number down on the back of his grandson's hand.
He went through to the back of the shop, and allowed himself a little chuckle. She'd eat him for breakfast and spit out his balls, without even pausing for a breath. This was going to be fun to watch for a while, and he could do with a laugh.
'Is everything OK, Phillip?'
Declan had not seen Phillip like this in years, he seemed preoccupied and far too quiet for anyone's good. There was definitely something bothering him.
Phillip shrugged, the shrug that he used when he couldn't be bothered to talk. He was chewing his thumbnail, a definite sign of aggravation.
'Is it Christine?'
Phillip nodded. 'She is really pulling my chain lately, and it can get a bit wearing, if you know what I mean. She's always ready to argue with me, and I don't want to fight with her. I just want her to be happy.'
Declan could hear the exasperation his brother's voice. 'Well, look on the bright side, at least she ain't all quiet any more.'
Phillip laughed then. 'Didn't know when I was fucking well off, did I? Do you know, I was about two inches from clumping her today, that should tell you how annoyed I was.'
'Fucking hell, Phillip, that is serious, mate.'
'Precisely. I think we're together too much and that is never good in any relationship that entails the opposite sex.'
He lit a cigarette; he was smoking a lot lately and it wasn't like him. But his perfect life wasn't so perfect any more, and he was restless; he had everything he needed and yet he still didn't feel he had enough. He was unhappy in a way he had never been before, and he wondered if it was because he had gone as far as he ever could, and there was nothing left for him to achieve. It was a sobering thought. Even the other businesses, the guns and the betting were running so smoothly he barely thought about it all. Breda was good at what she did, exceptionally good in fact, and Declan took the main load off his shoulders here so really, other than the farm, he was without any real purpose. It occurred to him that he was bored. It was a concept he had never experienced before, and it intrigued him.
'We need a new project, Declan.'
Declan grinned. He had been expecting this for a while; he could sense that Phillip was getting restless, and he knew what that meant.
'Such as?'
'I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something.'
Sunday lunch at Veronica's was now a fortnightly event, and she loved it. As she spread out the pristine white tablecloth and polished the wine glasses, she marvelled at how far her family had come. Jamsie didn't have to jump up and leave the room any longer, though Phillip still didn't throw a word in his direction, but at least he was once more a part of the family, so that had to count for something. Even Eileen and Ted Booth seemed to enjoy themselves these days, and she knew Christine liked having her parents there, well, her father at least. She watched her husband as he half-heartedly read the News of the World. She knew he would rather be down the pub, but he couldn't go because Phillip would have something to say about that. Her Phillip knew the importance of family, and she was proud of him for that much as well as for everything else he had achieved.
Sometimes she could cheerfully light a bonfire under that husband of hers; he was so lazy it was unbelievable. He would shite in the chair if they swapped it for a commode. Good job his kids hadn't inherited that from him, they had thankfully got all their energy from her. She was a 'doing' person, her husband on the other hand was a 'do I have to do it' type of person. Chalk and cheese, really.
She was cooking a huge piece of pork – from her son's farm, as always – and she had to admit the smell was magnificent. Christine had planted her a few tubs of herbs years ago, and shown her how to look after them, so Veronica had them fresh all year round. It had completely revolutionised her cooking, and she enjoyed the little bit of effort needed to keep them healthy. It pleased her no end to see her herb garden flourishing.
As she laid the table, she surveyed her kitchen and, satisfied that everything was going to plan, she poured herself out a nice cup of tea. They would be descending on her soon and she couldn't wait. She lived for the family all together, enjoying each other's company. She loved to see her kids around her table, chatting and laughing. It made it all worth it, the years of struggle to bring them up, the feeding them on fuck-all, and washing them in the same bath water. She missed those days sometimes, when her kids were small and she was their whole world. But they grew up, and they grew away, and you thanked God for the times they descended on you, and made you feel like you had done something with your life.
Family was all you really had in the end.
Jamsie was happier than he had been for a long time; he had stopped feeling like his days were numbered, and started to enjoy his life a bit. He had met a girl called Linda Best, and he really liked her – the only bugbear was she had four kids, by two different fathers.
His mother would not be too thrilled about that, but he knew that Breda liked her, or at least she said she did anyway. Breda was all right really – she had looked out for him, and he would always be grateful for that. He knew how much it took for her to defy Phillip and he also knew that she genuinely cared about him, and what happened to him. He still wondered at what had possessed him all those years ago, and he could only say it was the drugs. The drink was one thing, but the drugs were something else entirely. He knew how much Phillip hated them, and that was a point they now both agreed on anyway. His only real goal in life was for Phillip to forgive him; even though Jamsie hated his brother at times, he knew that if Phillip would only give him a chance he would more than prove himself.
He sighed at the thought; all he had left was hope, and that saddened him. People were nice to him – he was a Murphy after all – but they didn't respect him the way they did the others. They took their lead from Phillip, as did everyone around his brother. But it would be nice to have something to look forward to in life. Breda paid him a good wedge to drive for her, but it wasn't a real earn, not a proper wage like the others got. Not enough to buy a decent house, though he did get the use of the car and, in fairness, that was a nice piece of machinery. But now he had Linda in his life, and her ready-made family, he had discovered that he wanted a bit more. Not too much, just enough to give her the things he felt she deserved. Linda got a bad press really, she was a victim of her own niceness. She believed every word said to her, and for the men she'd gone out with before him, that meant she had believed they would stand by her and take care of her. Of course, that had never happened. But he wanted to change that for her. She had given Jamsie something he had never thought he would get again, and that was pride in himself. She made him feel wanted, needed; she made him feel like a man. Not just sexually, but in all ways. She was a good mother too, her kids were nice, well spoken, polite and she made sure they ate well, were in bed at a reasonable time, and kept them spotlessly clean, as she did her little flat.
He would happily marry his Linda, and he would be proud to call her his wife. But he needed a better job and better prospects, because four kids didn't come cheap. So he was going to take the bull by the horns, and ask to speak with Phillip. His brother could only say no, and if you didn't ask then you didn't get.
Phillip was watching his family as they all sat around the table; there was no doubt about it, his mother understood the need for families to spend quality time together. Christine looked happier today than she had for ages, which was strange considering at home she was like a bear with a sore arse. But he found her spunkiness exciting. She was still a looker too, for all her boozing; her face was relatively unlined and she had a great figure. She was the only woman he had ever truly wanted, and that would never change. But now the boys were more or less grown up, she needed something to do, as did he. That was his next step, sorting out his wife, and his life.
He eyed his father, saw him leaning back in the chair, bored already by the conversation and the people around him. He was a useless ponce, but his mother wouldn't have a word said against him, and that was how it should be. He was her husband and she stood by him no matter what. It was the law of the pavement, and it worked in a funny way; it kept people together who actually had fuck-all in common. That was what marriage was all about – you kept at it, you didn't run away at the first sign of discord.
He could hear Philly talking about the people who came in the shop, and he was pleased to hear his disbelief at the abject poverty he saw around him. That would do him the world of good, seeing how the other half lived. He sat forward and looking at his son he said easily, 'That was us lot once.'
Philly looked at his father in consternation. 'What was?'
'The estate. This house is a part of all that. I couldn't get your grandmother to move away, she loves it here. But we didn't have a lot when we were small.' Phillip looked at his father then. 'No disrespect intended, Dad.'
'None taken, son. It was a different world then.'
Philly was still unsure; he couldn't imagine his father like the young blokes he saw every day with no schooling, no interest in anything. 'But you got away from it all, didn't you?' Philly thought he had said the right thing, and was shocked at his father's reply.
'Not really, it never leaves you, Philly. I had a fight every day of my life. I was already breaking bones for money at your age, and making me mark. You take a good long look around you, and you might realise just what a charmed life you really have.'
'Hear, hear.' It was Ted speaking and everyone stopped eating to look at him in amazement. He rarely said much at the dinner table. 'He's had it too easy, Phillip. You've done the right thing planting him in there, he will finally see how most people really live.'
Philly wished the old fucker would shut up but he was too shrewd to voice that opinion, of course.
'That was the idea of it, Ted. The thing is with those people, it's the old chicken and egg – what came first, poverty or debt?'
'Too right, my son.' This from Phillip Senior who loved reminiscing about the good old days and how hard they had it. He looked at his three grandsons and said loudly, 'You lot don't know you're fucking born.'
'Oh, get the violins out.' Everyone laughed at Breda's words, and it broke the tension that was falling over the table.
Changing the subject, Phillip asked, 'I think we need to start up a new enterprise, anyone got any ideas? I need a new project.'
Jamsie put his hand up like a schoolkid and, to the amazement of the whole family, Phillip looked at him and said gently, 'What, Jamsie?'
Jamsie smiled uneasily and said in a low, quivering voice, 'Car fronts, prestige cars.'
Phillip digested the words for a few moments before saying with interest, 'What, selling them, you mean?'
Jamsie nodded. 'I already buy the cars for us all, don't I? I know the people to deal with, where we can get the deals et cetera. But there is also a hidden market, especially on the seafront, and I don't mean ringing motors, that's for mugs. Terry Dedham is coining it in, he nicks cars to order for the Arab states. Rollers the fucking lot, and he ships them there himself.'
'How do you know all this, Jamsie?' Phillip was genuinely interested in what he was hearing.
'I went to school with him, didn't I? I saw a fuck-off Bentley in one of his workshops, and I asked him if he was taking on the higher-end cars, and he laughed and told me the score. I thought then it was a good scam, because everyone's a winner really. People actually approach him to nick the cars when they can't fund the finance any more. It's a good business, I've had a little investigate, like. I was going to run it by Breda. I could sort that with me eyes closed, you know me, Phil, there ain't a car been built that I can't get into within seconds. But the thing that interested me most was, there's more car fronts in Southend than anywhere else in the country. People come from all over the country to buy their motors from there, so it's a perfect front operation. You expect to see cars on a car front. If you do it properly, you can turn the cars around in less than twenty-four hours. Nicked, logged and in a container from Tilbury docks before the fucking insurance company has sent out the forms.'
No one had heard Jamsie say so much in one go in sixteen years, and the table was shrouded in a deadly hush for a few seconds after he had finished. He was so nervous he was breathing through his mouth.
Phillip digested his brother's words for a few moments, before he broke into a beatific grin, saying happily, 'What a fucking good scam, Jamsie my brother! You have just redeemed yourself in one fell swoop. What a blinding little business for us. And while I think about it, why ain't that cunt Dedham been giving me a touch? If it's on the front then it comes by me. So that will be your introduction to becoming his business partner, Jamsie.'
Declan wasn't as sure as Phillip that it would go so smoothly; he knew for a fact that Dedham dealt with a serious firm from Liverpool, and they might not be as amenable as Dedham to sharing their operation. But he wasn't going to piss on anyone's firework just yet. This was Jamsie's moment.
Phillip picked up his wine and, holding the glass up to his little brother, he said generously, 'To Jamsie. I knew there was a Murphy in there somewhere, just dying to get out.'
Jamsie was red-faced with happiness, even his ears were glowing. And Veronica was so choked at the turn of events she was nearly in tears. What she had prayed for all these years had finally come to pass. Her boys were together again at last, Jamsie was back in the family again. God love him, he had paid a heavy price. And now it was finally all over, and her family was united again.
Christine poured herself another glass of wine and, laughing, she said to Jamsie, 'Good on you, Jamsie. See if you can get me a nice little Bentley Sport, I've always fancied one of them.'
Ted Booth hated that his daughter seemed to be accepting their criminality without a thought. He knew too, as well as his Christine did, that now she had mentioned wanting the car, she would be given it by her husband. And considering the amount of alcohol she put away on a daily basis, a powerful car was not something she should be in charge of. All the same he kept his own counsel; after all, what say did he have over a husband and wife? Phillip would give her whatever she wanted just as he had always done.
'What a turn up, eh? Jamsie having a bright idea is like MPs telling the truth – it's a great concept but you can't imagine it really happening.'
Declan laughed out loud at the truth of Phillip's statement. 'It is a good idea and, in fairness to him, he had a good little root about before voicing it. And as he says, there's not a person alive who knows more about motors than our Jamsie. Remember when he was about thirteen and he nicked that squad car? I thought Mother would kill him that night.'
Phillip grinned. 'Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. He drove it into the pub and parked it up next to my motor. I thought I was seeing things.'
They chuckled together, then Declan said seriously, 'Remember, Dedham was away with me, I was in Parkhurst with him. He was a good mate in there, Phillip. Because we came from the same manor we sort of teamed up. You know what it's like.'
Phillip didn't actually because he had never gone further than remand, but neither of them mentioned that.
'Well, he got good mates with a Scouser called Jonnie Piper, you've met him a couple of times. He's been to the club.'
Phillip nodded. He had liked the geezer, he was sound.
'Well, the Pipers are a big force in Liverpool, and if they are behind the cars then we have to deal with them gently.'
It was the wrong thing to say and Declan realised that immediately.
'So what are you trying to tell me, Declan? We have to write to some cunt in Liverpool and ask for permission to trade on our own fucking turf? Or shall we invite him down for the day, and ask him why he has been having an earn on my front and not giving me a piece of it? Only, that is normally common courtesy – no one can sell a fucking hot dog without me knowing about it and getting a little touch. I personally think this a diabolical liberty.'
Declan sighed in annoyance and it wasn't lost on Phillip. 'All right, Phillip, calm down. All I am saying is, the Pipers are like us, they are serious businessmen, and they deserve our respect.'
'And they will get it, bruv, as long as they do what I fucking want. Fucking Scousers dictating to me, what next! The Welsh turning up mob-handed and taking over the nightclubs? Jesus wept, I've heard everything now.'
Declan laughed but he was still worried. Unlike Phillip, who had an infallible belief in himself and getting what he wanted, Declan knew that sometimes it was better to negotiate than it was to demand. But he had planted the seed, and he would leave it for now – that was the best way to deal with Phillip. Let him work it out for himself, and then act like it was his idea in the first place. But Declan was genuinely perturbed, because Dedham wasn't without his own little back-up. He was a shrewdie in his own way; after all, you didn't get where he was without a few Faces in your corner.
Declan would start his own inquiry first thing in the morning; in contrast to Phillip he liked to know everything there was to know about his adversaries. There were times when guns, anger and the belief in your God-given right to take what you wanted from who you wanted just wasn't enough.
Linda Best was pleased to see Jamsie so happy. He was almost overflowing with good humour and camaraderie. He was, without doubt, the best thing that had ever happened to her, or her kids. He was a really decent bloke, and she was lucky to get him.
As she dressed the kids in their best clothes she felt nervous once more; she was finally meeting his mother, and she was terrified at the prospect. Veronica Murphy was a legend around the streets, although she had a good rep. She'd help out anyone but was very protective of her kids. Well, Linda could understand that – she was the same about her own. She knew she wouldn't be a catch as far as Mrs Murphy was concerned; she already had four kids and she had been round the turf more than a few times, but Jamsie assured her his mother was looking forward to meeting her. But then, blokes were thick as shit about most things, so that didn't really give her much confidence.
She checked her make-up and gave her outfit – black trousers and a white fitted shirt, bought especially for the occasion from Next – a final once-over. She hoped she passed muster. As Jamsie ushered them out to the car, she felt a wave of sickness wash over her, and prayed that she didn't fuck up somehow.
Jamsie, for his part, was proud of his new little family and, picking up her two-year-old daughter, he said jovially, 'You looking forward to meeting my mum, Julie?'
The little girl grinned happily; she loved him like a father, and he felt it as acutely as he would had she been his own child. He loved all four of them; and they made him feel like he had something to work for, made him feel he had his own family. As they drove off, he began singing at the top of his voice, and the children delightedly joined in with him.
'Fucking hell, Mum, Linda's all right. So she's got four kids? That's Jamsie's business, not ours. I think she's good for him. I mean, let's face it, I've never seen him so happy, have you?'
Veronica had to admit there was truth in her daughter's statement. 'But four kids! What the shag would he take on four kids for? He should find a nice girl and have some of his own.'
Breda rolled her eyes at the ceiling in annoyance. 'Well, promise me you'll make her welcome and give her a chance. This must seem like some kind of torture for her, meeting all us en masse.'
'Nice-looking girl, young. Saw her in the pub with him, she has a nice smile,' Phillip Senior piped up from his armchair.
Veronica didn't even bother to answer her husband, everyone in the pub was nice to him; God Himself knew, he spent enough fucking time there.
Breda jumped out of her seat quickly. 'They just pulled up. Porrick, answer the door.'
Porrick pulled his large frame from his chair and ambled towards the hallway. He was a nice kid, Porrick, but he would never get further than a strong arm; everyone agreed he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he was a good kid nonetheless, and his wild streak was an asset in his profession.
Veronica looked around her kitchen, making sure there wasn't a thing out of place, and then, forcing a smile, she waited to meet her youngest son's girlfriend.
Jamsie walked in carrying a little dark-haired girl, with huge eyes and long eyelashes, almost glued to his neck. Veronica's heart went out to her. Then Linda walked in with her older children. Good-looking kids, all well dressed and very quietly behaved.
'Mum, this is Linda Best. Linda, my old mum.' Jamsie spoke with obvious pride and love.
'Pleased to meet you.' Linda almost curtseyed and for that alone Veronica couldn't help but like her on sight.
'How do you do, Mrs Murphy.' The older children spoke as one, and Veronica was thrilled at their obvious good manners, and the fact they were spotlessly clean. But what Veronica couldn't believe was the change in this son of hers – he looked almost ecstatic with pride – and she knew then that this girl was good for him, was just what he needed.
Smiling widely she said pleasantly, 'Sit yourselves down, and I'll make some milkshakes, shall I?' She spoke to the children and they all nodded in unison.
'Yes, please, Mrs Murphy.'
'Jesus, they're gorgeous, Linda. Can I get you a glass of wine, child? I expect you need one coming here like this, it must be awful for you.'
Linda practically cried with relief.
Jamsie was thrilled and, walking over to his mum, he said quietly, 'Thanks, Mum, I knew you'd love her once you met her. Oh, and this is the youngest, Julie.' The little girl grinned shyly, pushing her face further into Jamsie's neck. 'She's the shy one. The older girl is Cindy, the middle boy there is Lewis, and the little girl beside him is his twin sister, Leona. This lot are hungry and ready for one of your lovely roast dinners, aren't you?'
They smiled and nodded in agreement. He watched as they were introduced to the rest of the family, and he sighed in relief. It was going to be all right. For the first time in years he felt his life was worth living.
As Veronica saw the way her son and Linda Best looked at one another, she resigned herself to the situation. It was wonderful to see her son so happy, and this girl seemed to be the reason for that. He was a natural father, and watching him with those children made her realise just how stunted his life had been until now. That was Phillip's fault, but she would never admit that out loud, of course. Still, her heart was sore knowing her youngest son's life had been blighted for so many years. The guilt tore at her then, and she determined to do the best for him and his new-found little family. At least the girl wasn't a whore, she had a bit of something about her anyway She settled the children down in front of a DVD of Mary Poppins 'm the lounge, and then made a point of chatting to Linda about herself and her family as she finished cooking dinner for them all. Within the hour they were old friends.
'She seems nice, Jamsie.' Phillip's voice was quiet; they were smoking in the garden, and Jamsie was inordinately pleased at his brother's words. If Phillip liked her she was in.
'She is a nice girl, Phillip. Had a rough time of it, but she makes me happy, so what can I say?'
Phillip was amazed at his brother's demeanour. Jamsie was like a different person around Linda Best. It reminded him of when he had met Christine, he had wanted to be a better man for her. She had made him want more from life, so he could give her the world. 'The kids are nice and all, really well brought up, polite and that.'
Jamsie nodded in agreement. 'She's a good mother, I can't take that away from her. She's done a good job considering she's been on her Jack Jones with them.'
'Who're the culprits then?'
'The eldest girl's father is some bloke from West Ham, and the other three are by Robbie Foyle, the treacherous ponce. Never given her a penny towards any of them, and do you know, he fucking robbed them one Christmas. Nicked his own kids' presents! Fucking scum.'
Phillip looked suitably scandalised at his brother's words. 'I hope you had a word, Jamsie.'
Jamsie nodded. 'I done him one night in Canning Town, with a baseball bat. Told him if he went near them ever again I'd kill him. She don't know that, like – Linda ain't the type of person who can handle trouble. She's more of a keep-your-head- down-and-hope-it-goes-away kind of girl.'
Phillip laughed softly. 'Well, she's certainly won Mother over.'
Jamsie paused a moment, before saying, 'Look, Phillip, I know me and you have had our differences, but I swear to you, I'll make it up to you and Declan. My life is finally on some kind of even keel, and I want it to stay like that. I have been finding out everything there is to know about the motors and, when you're ready, I'll take you through it.'
Phillip nodded thoughtfully. He was staring at his brother in that vacant way he had sometimes and Jamsie found he was holding his breath with nervousness. Then, offering his hand out, Phillip shook his brother's hand, squeezing it tightly as he said genuinely, 'Good luck to you, bruv, she's a nice girl. Even Christine seems to be getting on with her, she ain't stopped talking since she came in. Are you going to marry her?'
Jamsie nodded happily. 'Yeah. Be a mug not to. She's my world now, Phillip, her and them kids.'
Phillip nodded in absolute agreement. 'They are your family now, mate, and family is all that really matters. Do Mum good to have some more little ones to dote on, she needs all that.'
Jamsie was thrilled at the turn of events, and smiled happily at his brother.
'Come in to the office tomorrow, and we'll get the ball rolling. There's a nice house I own not far from here, Jamsie, four bedrooms, large semi-detached. Just needs a bit of TLC. It's yours. Call it an early wedding present. I'll have the people renting it out by the end of the week.'
Jamsie was shocked and overcome at his brother's generosity. 'Oh, Phillip, what can I say?'
Phillip waved his thanks away quickly, and went into the house. Jamsie was going to be a lynchpin for their new business, so that meant he needed to be treated as one of the family, and he now needed to be seen to be treated as an integral part of the business. Hence the new house, and the new wage. Personally, Phillip still hated him for what he had done, but he wouldn't let on about that. It wasn't going to gain him anything, whereas being nice would get him everything. As always there was an agenda and, as always, Phillip kept the real agenda to himself.
Jamsie was over the moon to be invited once more back into the fold, and he privately toasted his brother's generosity before rejoining the others inside.
That Linda was amazed they were being given a four-bedroom house, in a nice road, was an understatement. She almost fainted with the shock and, when she looked at Veronica Murphy and saw the woman's obvious pleasure at her good fortune, she burst into tears of happiness and relief. Phillip put his arm around her shoulder and said loudly, 'I think I am going to be my brother's best man, Linda, so you and the girls had better start planning the wedding. After all, that house was a wedding present.'
Linda was speechless and, when Jamsie nodded at her, she started to cry once more. Veronica was happier than she had been in years – Linda had potential, and Jamsie was back in the family proper. She saw Christine hug the girl and wish her the best, and she felt that her family was finally growing and evolving again, and that was what families were meant to do. Veronica loved her family to death, and that was not an overstatement. No matter what, you protected them, each and every one of them.
Jonnie Piper was a small man, but he was still not someone you would look at and dismiss. He had an air about him that said he could be a bit of a menace if crossed and, from what Phillip had heard, it was a reputation he had earned fair and square.
Phillip was surprised to find that he genuinely liked Jonnie. He had a good sense of humour and a catalogue of stories that were as funny as they were interesting. So he was well pleased with this initial meeting. Especially as Jonnie had come down to see him, and not vice versa. It was the little things that pleased Phillip Murphy, and the fact this man had travelled down to see him without question went a long way. If the meeting was on his turf, then he had the natural advantage. Piper also seemed impressed with the farm, and that told Phillip that he was a man of a discerning nature. He had treated Old Sammy with respect too, and listened to what he had had to say, suggesting that he was a gentleman. Scally or not, Phillip was pleased to be dealing with someone of such calibre. He saw no reason why they couldn't all earn together and enjoy the partnership, for the time being at least. So, all in all, Phillip was a very happy man.
Piper's wife had been his companion for over twenty-five years, and over the course of this first meeting she and Christine were already like bosom pals; both were first wives, and each still adored by their partners. In fact, the similarity between the two men in some respects was uncanny. They were like two peas in a pod in every way except looks. They had a natural affinity that seemed to give them a really solid understanding of each other. Both had fought to get where they were, and both had set ideas about how they conducted their private lives. Like Phillip Murphy, there was no scandal to be heard about Jonnie Piper. No little birds in the offing, or errant kids on the local housing estates. Phillip saw that kind of behaviour as disgusting; disrespecting your wife and kids was something he found anathema. Chasing skirt when you should be chasing the dollar was a mug's game and left you open to all sorts of situations decent men avoided like the fucking plague. To Phillip, it showed a weakness of character and inherent untrustworthiness: if you could swindle your own close family, then you were capable of anything.
Jonnie had his wife Mary and family and that was enough. Like Phillip, he was a good Irish Catholic boy, and he knew the importance of family. But, unlike Phillip, he didn't enjoy the violence, or feel the need to pretend every second of every day. In reality, he was the person Phillip wanted to be.
Phillip was fascinated by this man; he was observing him at close quarters, and he liked what he saw. He knew that he had the same effect on people as Jonnie and that pleased him. That Phillip also knew he could buy and sell Jonnie was even more satisfying, because he knew that he had the edge. He had seen the man's utter respect for the way they lived, he had felt his admiration. This was going to be a really good call.
Phillip was also pleased with Jamsie – he had researched the ins and outs of the cat's arse where this con was concerned and, if Phillip was honest with himself, he was pleasantly surprised. It seemed Jamsie had a natural flair for the job that was as surprising as it was welcome. He still hated him with a passion, but he could put up with him while he was bringing in such a good earn. It wasn't hard pretending; after all, he was the master at it. The thought brought a smile to his face and Jonnie, seeing it and mistaking it for bonhomie, smiled in return. Pouring them all large malt whiskies, Phillip said jovially, 'A toast, mate, to a good business partnership.'
Jonnie and the women raised their glasses, and Jonnie answered genially, 'Now you're onboard we can really make this fly. I can see that you and your brothers have put a lot of thought into this, and it can become much bigger. But what I wanted to ask you about as well is if you are interested in the money laundering? I've had a touch recently with the euro, and I'm looking for an investor.'
Phillip had heard wind of this euro scam, and he was intrigued. If Piper already wanted to talk other business, then the car fronts were basically sewn up. He had laundered money many times – it was how most people cleaned their wages. But this was seen as a necessity rather than a business deal. The tax were shit-hot on it these days and that, as always, just made the average bloke more determined to keep as much of his dosh as possible. It was a disgrace what Labour had done to the working man, more interested in the lazy cunts. Let's face it, no one who wanted a quality of life was going to vote for them. Phillip was disgusted with the country. As far as he was concerned, any man, especially someone like Tony Blair, who couldn't even admit to being a closet Catholic, who wouldn't admit to something so personal and important as his religion, wasn't worth the proverbial wank. If you couldn't stand up for your beliefs you were scum in Phillip's book. Religion taught you a way of living. It taught you that there was something bigger than you, something out there that knew the real you. It gave you a set of guidelines and, if you lived by them, you lived well. People without a good grounding didn't make the most of their lives. That was what he thought, and as much as he hated the priests at his sons' school, they had given the boys a good grounding and that was the most important thing.
'I would love to discuss the laundering further with you,
Jonnie Boy, but I think the ladies have had enough business tonight, don't you?'
Jonnie laughed in agreement, but knew he had piqued Phillip's interest. He couldn't believe his luck really; this bloke was pure class, and he knew that any association with him could only better himself. He needed someone on the ground this end, and he knew he couldn't refuse this man what he asked without a war, so he was willing to compromise. That he had every intention of leaving him out of the main earn though he wasn't about to admit.
Jonnie, as much as he liked Phillip Murphy, knew in his heart of hearts that the next step Phillip would make could only be towards taking complete control. But he kept his own counsel; after all, as the Bible said, sufficient to the time thereof, and when it happened – and it would happen – he would have all his soldiers in a row and ready to go. Jonnie Piper was a lot of things, but a fool wasn't one of them.
As they chatted about nothing, Christine watched her husband surreptitiously. She saw he was playing the big 'I am', and she knew that Jonnie and Mary were mugs if they thought this was the way they would always be treated from now on. Once Phillip had his in, he would go for the jugular, and she wondered what they would say if she let that little gem out of the bag. But she wouldn't – she was too tired, and too shrewd these days. Plus, she liked her way of life, and she knew that she had already pushed this man as far as he was willing to go. She had to watch her behaviour for a while, and enjoy the fruits of his labour. After all, what else was there for her? Her sons were off her hands, and her husband would once more be fully occupied all day and all night. He always was when he was setting up a new business, so she was going to lie back and enjoy the peace and quiet. They were all still chatting and laughing when she saw the car lights coming down the drive. She glanced at the clock, it was twenty past twelve.
'Who's that at this time of night?' Christine sounded worried and, getting up, she heard her husband laughing. 'What's going on, Phil?'
He grinned at her. 'It's your new car, darling, straight off the Ml. I ordered it from a geezer I know in Manchester.'
She heard the intake of breath from Mary, and they all got up and made their way out to the drive. It was lit up like Battersea Power Station, and the Bentley convertible was gleaming in the halogen lights.
'Oh, Phillip, it's lovely.' Even though she knew it had been delivered at this particular moment for no other reason than to impress Jonnie and his wife, she was still thrilled with it. Because she had mentioned it she had got it; these days that was all she had going for her, so she would use it to her heart's delight.
Declan was out of the car and handing her the keys.
'I wondered where you'd got to tonight!'
'Enjoy, Chris, it's a fuck of a motor.'
'Thanks, Phillip. I love it.'
'Your wish is my desire, babe.' He smiled amiably at her and walked into the house with the two men.
She knew she and Jonnie's wife were to ooh and ahh over the car while the three men talked the serious business of the night. It was strange though, now she had the car, she wasn't even that bothered about it any more. But the boys would love it, and that was something to look forward to; she saw so little of them these days. Her life was even emptier than before, and she knew that wasn't going to change. The boys had grown up and grown away, and she didn't know how to bring them back to her.
'Are you all right, love?'
Christine smiled at her new friend – she had few people she could call that these days – and said sadly, 'I'm feeling a bit emotional, I think.'
Mary put a friendly arm around her waist and said seriously, 'I'm not surprised, love, you don't get much change out of a hundred and twenty grand for one of them. You are a very lucky girl.'
Christine smiled, but she didn't answer her – she didn't know what to say. It always came down to the financial rewards, that was the trouble. But her life had cost her something far more precious – she had compromised her sanity. She was trapped, and she accepted that, because she could never leave her husband and, if she did, she would have nowhere to go. Phillip owned her, like he did this car, and everything around her.
Christine had taken the new Bentley for a spin, and ended up at her mother-in-law's. She often went round there when she was at a loose end; Veronica understood her better than most people. As much as she resented her mother-in-law at times, Christine knew that the woman would always fight for her in any way she could. In her marriage that was important, because Phillip listened to his mother, and that was only because she was his mother. Like most men, he had a romanticised image of her and she also knew that, in Phillip's mind, the woman lucky enough to give birth to him bad to be fucking special.
'Hello, love, you look well. I heard about the car, it's lovely.'
Veronica had never driven in her life, and had literally no interest in cars of any kind. But she knew this was a seriously expensive motor, and she also knew the neighbours would see it; that was her way of enjoying her daughter-in-law's good fortune.
'I love it. How're the arrangements going for the wedding?'
'Good, she's a very nice girl that Linda, and those children are really great kids.'
'I liked her. She gets on well with Breda and all. Even Phillip likes her!'
Veronica laughed with her then. 'I know, and he can be so fucking funny about people and their lifestyles, if you know what I mean.' It was the nearest she would ever get to criticising him, and they both knew it. But Veronica was amazed at her son's acceptance of a girl with four kids by two different men, and never a wedding ring on her finger.
'Jamsie's happy, that's what really matters. At the end of the day it's fuck-all to do with Phillip, isn't it?'
Veronica didn't answer the girl, she wasn't comfortable with this kind of talk about her son. 'Can I get you a cup of tea?'
Christine grinned. 'I'd rather have a drink, to be honest, but it's a bit early even for me! Tea will be fine.'
Veronica bit her lip, but she smiled anyway. 'Don't drink and drive, you know how I worry about you, child.'
Christine hugged the woman with genuine affection, she knew she really did care about her. Now her loving husband, on the other hand… It had occurred to her that the way he let her drink, he must harbour a hope she would wrap the car around a convenient lamp post. Yet she knew in her heart that wasn't true. In his own way he still needed her, whatever it was she had, whatever had attracted him to her in the first place, still kept him by her side. Because if any man had reason to walk out, he did. She knew if she had pushed a normal man like she had pushed him, they would have left long ago. But then he wasn't normal, was he?
She pushed the thoughts from her mind again, she had to stop dwelling on everything. The doctor said she had too much time to think, too much time on her hands. You had to laugh at men, it was all cut and dried for them. They knew nothing.
Veronica placed the teapot on the table and Christine got up and opened the biscuit tin. She ate a couple of digestives noisily – if you ate in this house you were all right. If not, you got a lecture about healthy eating and she wasn't in the mood. Plus, it pleased Veronica to see her eat, not that she ate very much these days. She still cooked, but she never had an appetite for what she produced. She enjoyed seeing the boys eat her food though, it was all they let her do these days, that and their washing and ironing, and the way things were going they wouldn't even need that soon.
'Are you all right, Chris? You were miles away again.'
Christine brought herself back to the present with difficulty; she was losing a lot of time lately, she would sit down and the next thing she knew hours had passed. It was the pills, she blamed everything on the pills. 'I'm fine, just a bit tired. I don't sleep that well, as you know.'
'You've seemed better in yourself lately, love, more lively, like.'
'Feel sick a lot of the time, to be honest. Tired out, and sick.'
Veronica grinned and said mischievously, 'Not pregnant, girl, are you? It's often the late ones that cause the trouble.' Veronica laughed in delight at the idea. She would be thrilled to have a new baby to fuss over.
But a cold hand of fear clutched at Christine's heart. Because she knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that Veronica had identified exactly what was wrong with her. And that couldn't happen, she couldn't have another child. Not by him.
Veronica watched the blood drain from her daughter-in-law's face, and she was saddened that what her generation would have classed as good news was seen as something to fear by this new generation. This girl had money and time, the two things a child needed in life to thrive, yet the prospect of a new life filled this girl with horror. What else had she to do with herself? She had a life that was crying out for some kind of meaning, she did nothing of value from one end of the week to the other, except drink, take her meds and shop. If she didn't have her urge to clean, she would be pissed all day long. For the first time Veronica felt a twinge of resentment for this girl who she knew was not right, not right at all.
'Don't bloody wish that one on me, for Christ's sake!' Christine was trying to make a joke now, but her mind was whirling. If she was pregnant, then no one must ever know about it. Especially not this woman, she would see it as a gift from God. Not what it really was – a punishment from Him. Because there would be no getting rid of it, not in this family anyway. All of them breaking their necks to get to Mass every Sunday, telling themselves it cancelled out their actions in real life. She was suddenly sweating, because she knew as sure as she knew her own name that she was pregnant. She felt too old to be pregnant. By a man she knew would see it as a wonderful event, as something to celebrate, to enjoy. Who would make her stop drinking, make her stop the pills, a man who would see that his child had the best start in life, and whose child would be tainted because it bore his name and his DNA.
Christine left Veronica's as soon as she could and drove for two hours to a chemist where no one knew her, where she bought three pregnancy tests. Starting up the car, her brand- new, lovely car, she contemplated her situation. She was still crying when she got home, but the house was empty and the kitchen was warm. She opened a bottle of Barolo and drank herself into a stupor. She would do the test first thing the next morning.
She was asleep at the kitchen table when Philly came home to change his clothes. He walked by her, his nose turned up in disgust. She was nothing but a drunk, and how his father put up with her he didn't know. He left her there, knowing that Timmy would put her to bed. Personally, he thought she was a disgrace. After changing his clothes he left the house quietly; he was on a promise again, and he couldn't believe his luck. Tiffany White had thighs like a pair of nutcrackers, tits you could lose your whole face in, and she was up for anything, anything at all. She was filthy, and he was loving every second of it.
Phillip was bored out of his brains, and Declan knew that when he was like this he was dangerous. He recognised all the signs – when things went too smoothly Phillip wanted out. He needed to prove that he didn't need anyone. He very quickly gravitated from having a new friend and business partner to convincing himself that the same person was out to take what was his. It was a pattern that repeated itself far too often. Declan would never use the word paranoia out loud, but it was there at the back of his mind nonetheless. Most people were happy when things were going well, didn't feel the urge to stir everything up and cause ructions. But then most people weren't Phillip Murphy.
It occurred to Declan that he was getting fed up with playing the peacemaker all the time. For all his talk, one of the true reasons why he deliberately kept himself from any real relationships was because he needed to keep Phillip on track. It was a real eye-opener when he finally admitted that to himself. Here he was, well into his thirties and still having to pat down a man who was becoming increasingly unstable as the years wore on. Now he had a wife who was off her face, and two kids who were basically being left to do as they pleased. Phillip was ignoring his boys just as he did his wife, and her wants, her needs. Feast or famine as usual – either controlling their every move, or acting as though they didn't exist. Declan loved his brother, he loved all his family, but he was not blind to Phillip's faults and anyone who really knew him was wary of him. Phillip had a kink in his nature that it wasn't wise to ignore; he was dangerous. He could turn on a coin, and no one was immune.
Phillip was becoming more and more outrageous in his actions and his beliefs, and Declan knew it was only a matter of time before he went too far. In the past he had been able to head him off at the pass, so to speak. Keep his brother reined in – only he could talk him out of some of the more lunatic actions. But that was getting harder and harder lately. Phillip was fixated on Piper, and Phillip fixated on someone was not a good thing, for anyone concerned.
Phillip was now on a mission, and that was to take the car fronts from Jonnie Piper. He hadn't actually admitted it yet, it was still all about how great Jonnie was, how wonderful it would be to work with him, but Declan knew the signs. Just as he knew that there was much more for the taking if they used their combined loaves of bread. He sighed inwardly; initially in for the proverbial penny, he was now in for the pound. Or in this case, euro.
'Have you thought about the other business yet, Phil?'
Phillip pretended to be considering his brother's words, as if he had only just realised what the real potential of the scam was. It was all Oscar-winning stuff, if you didn't know him like Declan did. 'Let me put that back to you, bruv. What exactly do you think about this money laundering, Declan?'
Declan shrugged. He knew how to play the game. 'It's not the laundering I'm interested in, we already have all that in place. Like you, Phil, I am more interested in the counterfeiting. Jonnie didn't talk too much about that side of it, I noticed. But this new five-hundred euro note is supposed to be well worth the aggro. It's so neat, right, you can fit over twenty grand in a fag packet. It's perfect for moving large quantities of bogus cash around Europe. They are literally a piece of piss, Phillip, easier to copy than a twenty-quid Rolex. We sell them for three hundred a pop – that way we don't have the hag of passing them on; the buyer takes the real risks.'
Phillip shrugged in annoyance. His anti-European stance was well known to everyone around him. He saw England as an island, and if he had his way he would personally brick up the Channel Tunnel. 'Fucking euro! Mickey Mouse money, Monopoly money more like. But I can see where you're coming from – the most we've got is a fifty pounder. So a five-hundred euro note has to be worth it. I think you're right, bruv, me and you will have a touch there. See what we can get on the go. We'll shoot out to Marbella, see a few faces out there, do the usual, find out who the real players are in the game. Then we'll aim Jonnie Piper out of it; after all, he needs us, we don't need him.'
Declan nodded; that was his thought on the subject entirely. Piper was out either way. Unlike Phillip, Declan had not really taken to Jonnie. There was something off-kilter, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was. But Declan's shit-detector was on red alert, and it bothered him. He still didn't want the man dead though, which he had a feeling would be the upshot where Phillip was concerned. When Phil destroyed people, he liked them gone for good. They literally disappeared off the planet. No body meant no Filth, meant no forensics, meant they could all get on with their lives. It was another one of his brother's many little foibles. The trouble was, Declan had a feeling that Jonnie Piper had some serious clout behind him, he was big in his own way. But maybe not big enough to take on Phillip Murphy.
So it was now a case of finding out who was the real sponsor, and why they were so determined to keep their name out of the loop. Declan knew a few people who, though they liked Phillip, drank with him, socialised with his family, would not enter into a partnership with him because they knew it was a fruitless enterprise. Phillip wanted all or nothing, and that was never going to change. That meant one of two things: one, the people, or person concerned, were on the run (fair enough, but hardly something you would be comfortable keeping from people who you needed, and who would know the score anyway) or two, this was a set-up to take what they had. Personally, he was for the latter option. Phillip had pissed off a lot of people over the years, but even then it would take one brave fuck to try and have him over. So it was pretty much just a process of elimination really, in more ways than one. Finding out who Jonnie Boy had met with, where he had met with them and, most importantly, why he had met with them. Jonnie was a nice enough bloke, but he was obviously a cunt as well. Phillip was like a wild animal, he could smell skulduggery and treachery like a wolf could smell its own arse on a windy night. Declan had a feeling there was going to be murder, and the knowledge depressed him.
He hated real murder, it always brought you to the attention of the wrong people. Even when things were done properly and nothing could ever be proved, it didn't stop people being suspicious. It was the suspicion that caused a lot of the aggravation, was why certain people wouldn't partner them. It was why the Pipers and others of their ilk eventually signed their own death warrants.
Kill or be killed. But what no one realised was that Phillip always got his kill in first.
Eileen Booth was amazed to see her daughter on her doorstep so early in the morning. 'Bloody hell, Christine, you been up all night?'
The sarcastic reference to her early morning visit was ignored. Christine followed her mother through to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine.
'Christine, it's only nine fifteen!'
Christine looked at her fleetingly and said quietly, 'I'm pregnant, Mum.'
Eileen Booth's eyes were stretched to their utmost as she said quietly, 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Christine, pour me one and all.'
As they sat at the table together, Christine wondered why she had come here. Her mother wasn't the most reliable of women when it came to keeping secrets, and suddenly she was frightened.
As if reading her daughter's mind, Eileen said earnestly, 'It'll have to go, love, and Phillip can never find out about it. You couldn't cope with a baby, and who would want to at your age! Didn't you take any precautions?'
'Obviously not, Mum, or I wouldn't be here. Now, listen to me. You can't tell a living soul. If Phillip thought I'd had an abortion he would kill me, Mum, and that ain't a joke – you know that. He would fucking lose it, and he would take me out permanently.'
Eileen Booth was sorry to hear her daughter's language, she even spoke like a criminal's wife. Even though she lived off her son-in-law's largesse, and enjoyed the proceeds, she still hated that this lovely girl of hers, who could have had the world if she wanted to, had tied herself to a thug, and for all his money and his possessions, Phillip Murphy was still just that. A vicious and violent thug. Even though Eileen would admit that she was often envious of her daughter's lifestyle, she knew exactly what it had cost Christine in more ways than one. 'You can get it done now without even telling your GP. We'll go away and do it somewhere, and I wouldn't tell a soul. Let's face it, Phillip would see me as a bigger culprit in all this than he would you.'
The truth of the statement calmed Christine down; her mother was right, he would blame her before he would blame his wife. That's what Phillip did, he cast the blame where it suited him. Her mother always looked after number one, so she wouldn't say a word to a soul for fear of reprisals. Really frightening reprisals. Phillip's Catholicism was like a mania at times. She had known him to go to Mass twice a day; he said he felt calm in church, it helped him think. She knew her husband believed he was chosen somehow, that God watched over him personally at the expense of everyone else.
Had she been married to anyone else Christine would never even consider terminating a child's life. But desperate times meant desperate measures. She couldn't do it, couldn't tie herself to her husband even tighter than she already was. She couldn't, wouldn't bring another Murphy into the world. But she believed abortion was a sin nonetheless. For all she knew this child could grow up and discover the cure for cancer, or it might bring world peace. She knew all the Catholic arguments off by heart. Now though, she was frightened this child might grow up like its father, and one of him was more than enough for the world. Still, she couldn't help saying, 'It's a mortal sin, Mum.'
Eileen laughed nastily. 'Yeah, well, it's a bit late for all that, love. You sold your soul to the devil the day you walked up the aisle with him.'
Christine refilled their glasses quickly, but her mother pushed hers away.
'Anyway, the amount you drink, that poor child is probably pickled by now, so it wouldn't be right in the head anyway. Best flushing it away, girl, and forgetting about it.'
Christine didn't answer her mother's harsh words. Her emotions were in turmoil and when she started to cry a few seconds later, she wondered if she would ever stop.
Wondered if any of it would ever stop.
Philly was lying in the big bed next to Tiffany White. Her mum had babysat the night before so there was no rush to get up. In fact, he was enjoying just luxuriating in the smell of her, the feel of her. As he felt himself getting aroused, he heard her giggle gently. He knew she had been awake all the time. She was a prick tease, as his dad would say. He slipped inside her, groaning at the tightness and the excitement of her body. He had never had sex on tap before, and he was revelling in it. She was like a new world that had opened up, just for him.
Tiffany, for her part, saw him for what he was, a good-looking, well-heeled young bloke, whose father was a serious Face. All her dreams and all her wants had his legs wrapped around her slim waist, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.
As he rolled away from her a few minutes later, she sighed happily. 'That was good, Philly.'
He loved hearing that from her; she was, after all, far more experienced than he was, which bothered him at times. But he was like his father, a realist, and he knew everyone had to learn somewhere. He felt for her though, he cared for her genuinely, and he appreciated that she would always be special to him. But he also wasn't as enamoured as he had been. He'd learned that he was more interested in the sexual aspect of Tiffany White than her intellect. In fact, her idea of a conversation was to wonder at something she had read, heard or watched about a celebrity. Thick as shit, and twice as dense as his dad would say.
But he could put up with a lot for the pleasure she brought him on a daily basis. He glanced at his watch, a very expensive Breitling, and, seeing the time, he sighed inwardly. His granddad would have his nuts. He was late for work again, though he had to give the old boy his due, he understood his situation with Tiffany much better than he would have given him credit for.
In fact, his old granddad found the whole thing hilarious, which riled Philly at times, although, on the whole, he was now closer to his granddad. They had something to talk about and he appreciated the old boy's quiet ways. In fact, he saw him in a whole new light. He knew his liaison wasn't going to be gossiped about to his granny, and then his mum. His granddad seemed to understand perfectly, and had kept it all more or less hush- hush.
'Philly love?'
'What, Tiff?' He hugged her to him tightly; her body fitted into his perfectly.
'I'm pregnant.' She was holding her breath, not sure that he would take the news as well as she hoped. But she was pregnant, and there was nothing he could do now, except stand by her or pay up for the rest of his days. The former was a pretty good option, but the latter wasn't to be sneezed at either. She had the trump card, and she knew it.
Philly, for his part, was reeling from the news. Getting her pregnant wasn't something he'd worried about after she said she was on the pill. She said they were all right. He had been fool enough to believe her. He realised now that he was what was commonly known as a prize prat. He had taken her word for it and assumed she was above this kind of skulduggery.
He now assumed she was nothing but a lying cunt.
Suddenly Tiffany looked grubby to him, used, the place smelled of a trap, not of sex. As she smiled up into his eyes, he saw the triumph in them, the knowledge that he was well and truly fucked. It occurred to him her legs had been open longer than Sainsbury's. Fuck only knew who else she had entertained there. When he thought of some of the things he had done with her! He felt the urge to vomit and escape in equal measures. He also felt the need to rip her head off and drop-kick it off the balcony. Instead he slipped out of the bed and started to get dressed.
Tiffany felt the coldness and the fear coming off him in waves, but she had been prepared for this. Once the shock wore off, he would have to sort it. The baby wasn't to blame, was it? That was her next step in the emotional blackmail. His child was snuggled inside her, and he or she would be her ticket to untold riches. Tiffany would play the long game; it wasn't the first time she had pulled this stunt, and she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.
'Aren't you going to say anything, Phil?' She had the hurt voice down to a fine art.
Philly paused in the act of pulling on his jeans and, after looking at her for long moments, said icily, 'Are you sure you're pregnant?'
She nodded, she had expected that question sooner if she was honest.
'Are you sure it's mine?'
She had not expected that one at all. She was up and out of the bed in seconds and, screaming at him at the top of her voice, she said nastily, 'How dare you ask me that! Who the fuck do you think you are?'
He grinned then, a tight, sarcastic grin. 'I'm Philly Murphy, love, and you had better remember that. We had a great time, but it's over now. That baby is not going to drag me down all me life, because if you have it and a DNA test says I am the father, then I'll have it off you, darling. No child of mine will be brought into all this.'
He looked around him in disgust, his instincts telling him to frighten her into getting rid of it. He had to make her see that having this child just wasn't an option. And it wasn't just because he was too young and too immature to have a child. It was mainly because his dad was going to go fucking ballistic. As he walked out of the bedroom he said seriously, 'I'll give you a grand to get it done privately, and then there'll be another grand afterwards. But remember this, Tiff, no matter what, I wouldn't touch you with the bloke next door's now. You're scum. If you think you can trap me, you'd better think again.'
Tiffany watched Philly walk out the door, along with all her plans and all her dreams. She was fuming at his words. She had not expected anything like that. She wished she had the nerve to pick up the kitchen knife and run it through his heart. She was filled with rage at his obvious disgust for her and her way of life. She had fucked him raw and what did she have to show for that time and effort? Sweet fuck-all, that's what. She was so angry she could easily cry. His reaction had hurt more than she would ever admit. His complete dismissal of her, and anything to do with her, had really rankled. Who the hell did he think he was? But then she knew exactly who he was, and that was why she had pulled this stunt in the first place. It was over, and she knew it. There was no going back now.
As she made herself a cup of coffee, her sensible head kicked in and she accepted that two grand was better than fuck-all. Because he wasn't coming back. She had overplayed her hand, so it was now about limiting the damage.
Sighing, she lit a cigarette and pulled on it deeply. Life was shit and then you died; she wished she could remember who had said that. Because whoever it was certainly knew what they were talking about.
Jamsie walked into the arcade and was amazed at the change in people's attitude towards him. He was saluted and hailed from all sides, treated like a conquering hero, and he loved it. For the first time in years he knew what it was to be liked, respected and, more importantly, welcome.
As Breda walked towards him she saw that he was full of his new-found confidence and, smiling widely, she said, 'Hello, little brother, what brings you here so early?'
Breda looked good, and she knew it. As usual, her son Porrick was lurking in the background. He was his mother's permanent minder, and it suited them both. They were close, and they understood each other perfectly which, in their game, was a definite must. A minder and a mindee needed to be in perfect sync. Needed to be able to pre-empt each other to avoid danger and work together to get out of any situations that might arise. In a cash business a good minder was worth their weight in gold. Breda dealt with huge amounts of money, and she moved it around constantly, that was the great thing about cash businesses. You only declared what you wanted to. Consequently, there was a lot of cash to be stashed, as Breda always laughingly said. But she also appreciated how much she needed her boy to keep his eye on her, and everything she did.
'I came in to see you actually, have you got a few minutes for me?'
Breda took him through to the offices, assuming it was something else about the upcoming wedding. Now it was confirmed, the arrangements were going faster than a five-quid stash. Her mother was seeing to that. Breda was thrilled, it kept the woman off her back. She loved her mum, but she was what was known as an interferer, she thought it was her right as a mother to dictate people's lives.
As she poured them both coffee, Jamsie said hesitantly, 'Would you mind, Porrick, if I spoke to your mum on the quiet?'
Porrick shrugged and at his mother's almost imperceptible nod he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
'Why the cloak and dagger, Jams?'
He shrugged and she noticed that he had filled out in the last few months; the skinny, haunted man was long gone. He had always been much better looking than he realised, and she was glad to see him looking so well. He was flourishing. Like her mother she had always had Jamsie on her conscience. And, like her brother Phillip, she had once contemplated killing him. It was a complex situation, and one she was glad was never openly discussed. The arrogance of youth, that was how she referred to it in her own mind, but she knew, just as Jamsie did, that nothing could ever justify the events of all those years ago. She didn't drink like that any more or take drugs; the only good thing to come out of it all was it had made her take a good look at herself and her life. She had prospered ever since.
'I have a bit of a worry on me. I could be wrong, Breda, but I don't think I am. Jonnie Piper is a nice bloke and all that, but lately there's been a geezer hanging round the firm called Dan Smith. Well, I had someone ask about, and it turns out he works for Billy Bantry. What's Bantry got to do with the motors? I mean I might not be fucking Stephen Hawking, but I can smell a rat before it's stinking.'
'Is this Smith there much?'
'All the fucking time, even questions me about orders and that. It's like he's the boss, the real boss, you know?'
Breda was listening intently, all the time her heart slowly sinking into her stomach. This was trouble – serious, unadulterated trouble. Phillip had left Bantry behind years ago; he had used him as a stepping stone, but they were still tight. Anyone would understand Billy Bantry feeling that maybe he was owed, but they would also understand that now he would not want to push that fact too much. Especially not with Phillip Murphy.
But this was different, this was a sneaky, underhand and definitely dodgy enterprise. Breda knew that Declan and Phillip had their reservations about Piper, but she put that down to Phillip's usual contrariness. He took on a partner, then decided he didn't want them any more. It went from sweetness and light to dark days and thunderstorms overnight. She saw that she had just had some very explosive information dropped into her lap. It also made her realise that she was completely out of the loop about anything to do with the car business, and that annoyed her; a small part of her felt the urge to sort this out herself just to show she could. But the reminder sitting in front of her made her recall with perfect clarity the last time she had thought she could sort things out for herself and she immediately stifled the urge. She was miffed nevertheless. She knew now without a doubt that she was gently but surely being rowed out of the main businesses. The games were as far as she was going to go and, in fairness, that was pretty high in most people's estimation. But it bored her – she could do this job with her eyes closed. This was about Phillip and Declan playing their game of 'Big Boys Only' lately. As much as she enjoyed running the games, she missed being part of the main crew.
She wondered suddenly if it was her age; she was pushing forty, and still on her own, the younger men were getting harder to keep, and she was lonely for someone she could talk to. Not just about her day, but about her life, her work. Even Porrick had a girlfriend – a nice little thing, with a big shy smile, who hung on his every word (and that was no mean feat, because her Porrick, as much as she loved him, wasn't exactly known for his sparkling conversation). But the girl loved him, and he loved her, whatever they saw in one another it worked for them. Now Jamsie had made her see her life for what it was – all work – and, even then, she wasn't really treated as she wanted to be treated, needed to be treated. She had been out of the motors since the off.
She saw Jamsie looking at her sadly and he said gently and honestly, 'Look, Breda, I ain't asking you to get involved. I just want you to tell me if I should talk to Phil or Declan. I don't want to cause an international incident if I've got it all wrong.'
She realised then what poor Jamsie needed to do. This information would probably be old news to Phillip and Declan, but Jamsie sussing it would give him the kudos he craved with his brothers, and so she said to him sadly, 'Take it to Phillip, but make sure that Declan's there. They probably know anyway, but they will appreciate you putting them wise. Show them you've got your eyes open to what's really going on.'
Jamsie nodded, relieved at her words. He was nervous about looking like a ponce and he still felt an outsider in some respects, but then Phillip could do that to a body on a whim. 'I'm going round Phillip's tonight to see them about the new orders, I'll mention it then.'
Breda smiled at him, although she was under no illusions that she and Jamsie would ever really be a true part of Phillip and Declan's world. When he went she sat for a long time, trying to figure out what the fuck was really wrong with her, and why she felt so disaffected with her life. It wasn't that her life was bad in any way, it was that she felt it had nothing left to offer her. She had money, prestige, she had respect. So why did she suddenly feel as if everything she had achieved was nothing? Sighing, she went back out to the noise and bustle of the arcade floor. It was all flashing lights and the noise of money being spent, laughter was everywhere. It was undeniably a good business to be in and she told herself how lucky she was. All the same, she wondered who exactly she was trying to convince. Maybe it was the wedding, seeing Jamsie so happy, so settled, maybe she needed something permanent in her life now, before it was too late.
Philly was nervous, but he knew exactly what he had to do. He had no other choice, and God knew he had tried to find another way out. But where was he going to get a grand from? Two, in fact? He would have to worry about the rest of the money when he had supplied her with the first lot – that was his priority. He would sell something, but he knew his father would notice if anything went missing. He was funny like that – he might ignore his kids, but he didn't ignore their possessions. If Philly could just get the money for Tiffany he would worry about paying it back later. The sooner she got rid, the sooner he would be able to breathe in peace again. He could hear the talk from the kitchen, and knew that his father and Timmy were set for the night. It was strange really, because for all the money, and the huge house, his father still felt most comfortable in the kitchen. It was a real joke that he fought hammer and tong to make something of himself, yet deep down he still felt more at home in what was essentially a woman's domain.
Philly felt his father's haphazard neglect deeply, even though it had happened periodically throughout his life. He was either all over them like a rash, or it was like they were strangers to him. His mother had always tried to tell them that it was only because he was very busy, but he knew that was shite. His father was a nutter, and that was the long and the short of it. He thought he saw more than Timmy did. Timmy was all rugby and lashings of ginger beer. He could step outside it, go to his posh mates and hibernate from the family for a while, whereas Philly wanted, needed to be near the man who blanked him on a regular basis. He hoped every day it would change and he would be treated like the golden boy, the first-born. He had always craved his father's attention, and when he didn't get it he felt it acutely. Just thinking about it made him angry. He sat in his bedroom, biting his nails, waiting for his chance to go downstairs and do what he needed to do. He looked around him at the beautiful room he slept in when it suited him. Knew that all his mates were envious of his lifestyle. Yet he would give anything to have their lives at that moment.
He was terrified about this bloody kid, and he could kick himself for not taking proper precautions; he had ridden her bareback, and the thought of what he could have caught was driving him mad. He had to unload her and the kid soon as, then he would get himself looked at properly, buy a gross of condoms, and get himself out and about again. But first things first, he had to assemble a grand because Tiffany would want the money tout suite. She was a thieving, lying slag. And she could be a mouthy mare into the bargain. The way he felt now, he would cheerfully kick the fucking thing out of her if he had to. Anything rather than admit he had been caught out by a fucking female scoundrel with big tits and a brain like a steel trap.
He stood up. He was nervous and he was stoned. Slipping out the door he made his way along the landing. He could hear his mother in her bedroom; as always the TV was on, and he knew she would be sitting in bed drinking and watching crap.
'Is that you, Philly?'
He could hear the need in her voice and, opening her bedroom door, he popped his head round. The last thing he needed tonight was her following him all over the place, and when pissed she was capable of doing just that.
'You all right, Mum?'
Christine was sitting in bed; as always she looked like a picture, even her hair was perfect, how she did it he didn't know. But even pissed out of her brains she could still tidy up behind herself. It was surreal really. She nodded, pleased at his attention and for a split second he felt guilty – for all her faults she loved him and Timmy. Loved them too much really, had suffocated them since he could remember. One of his earliest memories was of her picking him up and kissing him, and him fighting to get away from her. Even then he had sensed the naked need in her for human contact, and he knew she wouldn't get that from his father.
'You all right, son? You seem preoccupied somehow.'
He grinned at her, his even white teeth were perfect and, winking at her, he said jauntily, 'Just tired, Mum. Granddad has me hard at it in the shops.'
She smiled, and he saw that she was still a good-looking woman. He knew a few of his mates had harboured salacious thoughts about her when they were younger. 'He's only doing the best for you, Philly. He cares about you, son.'
Suddenly, she was nearly in tears, and he knew it was time to go. She was so emotional lately, worse than usual. Like everyone else, he assumed it was her medication. Everyone referred to her pill-popping as her medication, it made it seem respectable somehow. But he knew that his joint tonight couldn't do half as much damage as the pills she ate like sweets on a daily basis.
'I love it there, Mum. Me and Granddad have a laugh together. He tells me all about when you were a little girl!' He was trying to please her, but he knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. She was shaking her head as if in denial at something, though what that was he didn't know and she wasn't saying.
'I wish you'd known me then, before…' She shrugged gently, her slim shoulders making her look frailer than ever. She got on his nerves when she was like this and, walking into the room, he went to her and kissed her on the top of her head. She smelled of Chanel perfume, cigarettes and stale vodka breath. It was a smell from his childhood and he hated it.
"Night, Mum, I have to be up in the morning now, don't I?'
She nodded vaguely. She was already miles away.
He shut the door quietly behind him and, breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped down the huge staircase his father had insisted on having built, and made his way through to the small office at the back of the house. This was his father's domain, and he knew how to get into the safe that was tucked away behind a large framed photograph of Southend Seafront. The photo showed the arcades at night, with his father, his auntie Breda and his uncle Declan standing in the foreground smiling. Breda looked like she had conquered the world. His father looked like he always did whether it was a photo or real life, he just stared at the camera with that fake smile of his. Declan looked younger and happier than he had in years. Taking the photo off the wall, Philly placed it carefully and quietly against the chair beside the desk. Then, as he went to open the safe the door opened, all hell broke loose.
'What the fuck are you doing?' His father was standing in the doorway staring at him as if he was an intruder, a stranger, not his own son. 'Are you trying to blag my safe? Nick my fucking poke?' He was shouting now, and Declan and Jamsie were already behind him, assuming he had caught someone trying to break in. Philly could see that neither of them expected the culprit to be him.
As he was dragged physically from the room, and thrown into the kitchen he felt the terror envelop him. He was bleeding, he could feel it dripping from his eyebrow, and he knew he had hit the corner of the large, scrubbed pine table. He could hear Declan's voice through the roaring in his ears.
'Stop it, Phillip! Calm down and ask the lad what he was doing.'
Phillip Murphy was like a lunatic now. He hated thieves with a vengeance. He had discovered a weakness in this son of his and it bothered him.
'I know what he was doing, Declan, he was on the fucking rob! He was on his way into my safe! Mine. That safe is mine. He's a fucking thief, a creeper, no better than a fucking gas- meter bandit. They rob their own and all, you skanking little cunt!'
It took both Jamsie and Declan all their combined strength to hold him back, and it was only seeing his wife's appalled white face at the kitchen door that eventually calmed Phillip down enough to talk with any real lucidity.
'Leave him alone, Phillip. Look at his eye, it's bleeding everywhere!' Christine was kneeling beside her son now; the noise and the blood had sobered her up, and she was trying to stem the bleeding with her dressing gown. Young Philly was letting her do whatever she wanted – he knew inside that his father wouldn't attack him again with her beside him and he was grateful to her at this moment.
'You animal, your own flesh and blood!' Christine was heartbroken, and her voice was loud and angry.
Phillip tried to justify his violent outburst. 'He was trying to rob his own flesh and blood, Chris. Can't any of you see how fucking disgusting that is?' He was looking around him as if he was surrounded by complete idiots.
'What were you doing, Philly? Tell your father the truth.' Christine knew it was the only way out for her son. Phillip held great store by the truth, the hypocritical bastard that he was. Hold your hands up, that's what he had always told the boys. Hold your hands up and take the flak. She hated him more now than ever before.
'Well! Let's hear it!'
Philly looked at his mother before saying brokenly, 'I got a bird pregnant. I needed money for an abortion for her. I would have replaced it, Dad, I swear. But I didn't want you or Mum to know.' He had said all the right things, and he knew it. Phillip was staring down at his son, his eyes screwed up in consternation.
'Not that White bird, Tight Fanny or whatever she calls herself?'
Philly nodded and, pushing his mother's hands away, he saw his father bending down, trying to help her up. Phillip was all gentleness now. His huge hands were underneath her oxters, and she was letting him lift her. It was as if she knew the danger was over. Phillip sat his wife in one of the Carver chairs and, his whole demeanour changing once more, he said softly, 'You all right, Christine?'
She nodded, all the fight gone now that the danger to her son had passed.
Lighting a cigarette, Phillip looked at his brothers and said loudly, 'Fucking imagine impregnating a White. They are like the missing link that lot, her old man still drags his knuckles on the pavement when he walks!'
Jamsie and Declan laughed, but it was laughter tinged with relief. There was blood all over the kitchen floor, Philly looked like he had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and Christine was also covered in claret. It was surreal, because Phillip was acting like nothing had happened. Nothing of importance anyway. He was even chaffing his boy, making a joke about it all.
'You dozy little sod, if you're gonna dip your wick, son, make sure you're wearing something. How much do you need?'
Philly swallowed heavily; he felt sick, and he knew he was probably concussed. He had seen more than a few stars as he had hit the corner of the table. But he answered his father, voice thick with pretend bravado. 'I told her a grand up front and a grand after. That way I could be sure she'd get shot. Money talks, Dad, as you're always telling me.'
Phillip digested what he had been told. 'I'll give you the money, son. It's worth it to get rid of scum like that. But the moral of this story is, tell me when things go pear-shaped and I'll help you, mate. Lie, cheat and steal and I won't.'
Watching on, Declan felt sorry for the lad, but it was Christine that really worried him, she looked awful. Well, worse than usual anyway. Much worse, in fact. She looked like she had been drained of blood completely, her skin was a pasty white and she looked seriously ill, like she had a disease or something.
'Are you sure you're OK, Christine?'
She shook her head and started to heave, loud, dry heaves, and the men instinctively moved a step away from her in case she vomited over them. All except Phillip that is. He knelt in front of her and held her comfortingly until she relaxed then, smiling, he said gently, 'When were you going to tell me, babe?'
She looked into his eyes and she knew then, without a doubt, that he realised she was pregnant. His eyes were soft, yet she could see he was mocking her. He had been waiting to see what she was going to do. As always, he was one step ahead of her, and the knowledge made her finally accept that she would never win. Could never win. Not where he was concerned anyway.
He looked at the cupboard they kept the bin in and winked at her. So he had found the pregnancy tests. If she had not been so frightened and so pissed she would have had the sense to get rid of them properly. It suddenly occurred to her that he probably checked through the rubbish, because he had always somehow controlled her life.
Every last second of it.
The others saw that something was occurring between Phillip and Christine, but none were aware of exactly what it was. Standing back up, Phillip said gaily, 'She's in the club, aren't you, Chris? What a momentous night, a new Murphy.' He looked at his son as he said it. Jamsie was frightened; he couldn't handle Phillip like this, he knew as well as Declan that there was an underlying snide going on, and it felt wrong and it felt dirty.
Declan wondered at a man who could welcome a child with a woman who so obviously needed help with not only her drinking, but her drug-taking and her mental health, yet would offer to play a part in the demise of what was essentially his grandchild. For all Phillip's Catholic beliefs he was quick enough to destroy a child when it suited him. As for poor Christine, she couldn't have another child; she was far too fragile, mentally and physically. He stepped away from the little tableau almost by instinct. There was something wrong here, very wrong, and he was as trapped as the poor mare sitting on the chair.
Philly was in a daze, all he could focus on was the blood. It seemed to be everywhere now. He felt his eyebrow, it was sore, but it wasn't bleeding any more. It was a second or two before he realised it was coming from his mother.
'Mum… Mum! What's wrong?'
The terror in his voice communicated itself to the others in the room and, as Christine groaned in pain and doubled over holding her belly, Phillip said loudly, 'Oh, for fuck's sake! Call an ambulance.' Then kneeling back down he enveloped his wife in his arms, as if protecting her from the world. He was playing the worried husband now and, motioning to Jamsie, he shouted, 'Get Philly cleaned up and out of here before the ambulance arrives.'
Jamsie had been watching it all as if it was a film. Philly was battered and bloodied and in obvious need of stitches, Declan was, for the first time in years, speechless and unable to do anything constructive, and Phillip was acting like the most concerned husband in the world. Jamsie wondered if being brought back into this family was something to be considered lucky after all. In fact, he was beginning to wish he was still the fucking outcast. At least then he would be spared all this shit. But he did as he was asked; where Phillip was concerned you didn't really have much choice in the matter.
'Come here, son.'
Declan heard Veronica's voice, and it broke him out of his reverie. He was still stunned at what had happened in Phillip's kitchen. Seeing all that, and knowing that it was just a normal evening for Phillip had reinforced his worries about his brother and his mental state.
He had come straight to his mother's from the hospital; he was sure that would speak volumes to a shrink. But it was the only place he could think to go, because he needed help – they had to do something about Phillip. If he wouldn't listen to him, then Veronica was his only other hope. Phillip needed her to think he was the perfect son, the perfect provider. And she believed it, to his brother's face anyway; but really, she knew better than any of them just how off the wall Phillip really was. Declan loved him, he loved him dearly, but this time Phillip had crossed a line. It wasn't the businesses. Their business was about danger and death. They knew what they were doing there; it wasn't something Phillip would fuck up. What he was fucking up though was everyone around him, and that included Phillip himself. He had never been this bad before, and if he wasn't careful he would take his wife, his kids and his family down with him.
'Are you listening to me, Declan?'
He walked to his mother and hugged her and, as she instinctively hugged him back, he wondered how he was going to say what he wanted to say to her. She thought the sun shone out of Phillip, and that was half the trouble. She made him think he was normal.
'Sit down, Mum, I need to talk to you. Can I get you a drink?'
She smiled nervously. 'Do I need one?'
He didn't answer and, as she settled herself down at the kitchen table, he poured them both large Irish whiskies. Placing them on the table he sat beside her, and as Veronica looked at him he wondered how she had managed over the years. She had fed them, clothed them and, in her own way, loved them. Though most of her love had been for her first-born, her Phillip.
She had married a waster, a man who without her would have faded away into the background of life. She had made him work, made him get up and get out there, and she had taken each penny and stretched it into a pound. His father was basically lazy, and they all knew it, he was a born taker and, in a way, that's where Phillip had got it from. His old granddad used to say Irishmen were either drunks or workers, and occasionally a mixture of the two. The workers worked till they made it, the drunks complained about missed chances. Phillip worked, but he begrudged anyone else having an earn; like their dad, he thought everyone else had that bit more than him. But whereas his father would bemoan his fate and lived for the pub, Phillip went out and earned – no one could take that away from him. Like the old man though, Phillip thought the world began and ended with him, and his wants and his needs.
'Come on, Declan, talk to me.' She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.
And so slowly Declan started to tell her about what had happened that night. He told her calmly, and without drama, but he told her everything. When he had finished she had already let go of his hand, and she had physically moved away from him.
Her face was drawn, but he could see the anger in her eyes. Taking a huge gulp of the whisky she finally said quietly, 'Why are you telling me all this, Declan?'
He sighed resignedly. She was already trying to work out how to make Phillip look like the hero of the hour. Oh, he knew her so well. Now this he had to hear, because he had not left out a thing. From the child being lost, to her grandson being battered. He had told her about the hate and the fear that her son had provoked in everyone in that room.
'Because, Mum, Phillip is out of control-'
She interrupted him and, leaning forward in the chair, she said nastily, 'Of course he was out of control! His son had disgraced us all, getting that little whore in the club, and then trying to rob him. His wife had lost a little child in front of his eyes. Only you would see that as abnormal. But then that's you all over, isn't it? Neither chick nor fucking child yourself, how would you ever understand the mental cruelty of losing your own flesh and blood? Poor Christine, I need to get down there.'
Veronica went to stand up and Declan held her in the seat by grabbing at her arm, practically forcing her to sit back down. He could see the confusion on her face. He knew she was not going to help him, but he needed to tell her whether she wanted to know or not.
'Mum, for fuck's sake, didn't you hear a word I said? You ain't a stupid woman, you know better than anyone that Christine's terrified of him. You also know better than anyone that she should not have another child. She's a drunk, a junkie, and she's been mortally afraid of her husband since the night you asked her to stop him from killing his own fucking sister. He did that to her, sent her off her head, and so did you, you helped – by colluding with her husband and pretending that everything was all right. She never recovered, Mum, she didn't know what he was like, and once she saw the real Phillip, he knew he couldn't hide it from her any more. His big game was up, his wife knew the truth.'
Veronica looked at her son, and it occurred to her that he was right and that, in reality, he was probably the best of the bunch. But she wouldn't have him tell her anything about her family. Who the hell did he think he was? Once you started to talk like this about someone, it was over for them. No one discussed Phillip or his foibles in this family, she had made sure of that over the years and she wasn't about to change now.
'You two-faced little fucker, you'd talk about your own flesh and blood like that? As for Christine, she was always fucking unstable. She should have done what we all do – kept her head down and her arse up. Got on with it. It's called real life, son. Something you and her know fuck-all about. Both of you have been cushioned by him, he gave you everything you wanted, and this is how you repay him? By running him down to me, his own mother.''
Declan laughed; the irony was not lost on either of them as he said loudly, 'You're my mother and all, remember? And Breda's and Jamsie's too. You've got four kids, Mum, not one. You sacrificed Jamsie for Phillip, as well as Christine…'
She pulled her arm from his grasp. She couldn't deny the truth of what he was saying, but she pushed the thoughts from her mind. As always, she would defend her eldest child, as she had since he was old enough to walk and talk. She would not believe that he was all bad. She couldn't, if she started along those lines Christ Himself knew where it would end.
'Fuck off, Declan, and don't you dare come back here again until you can think straight. As for Phillip, without him where the hell would we be, eh? Think on that.'
Declan sighed and, standing up, he said sadly, 'I'll tell you where his poor wife would be, in a semi-detached somewhere, living a normal life, and her kids would love her. Jamsie wouldn't have been turned into a nervous wreck who had to leave the room every time that cunt showed his face – how many years did he have to live like that, eh, Mum?'
Veronica laughed bitterly. 'I didn't hear you complaining until now. Why didn't you say something if it bothered you so much?'
He pulled on his leather jacket and, picking up his car keys, he said quietly, 'I don't know, Mum. I was frightened to, I suppose. But I ain't frightened of him now. I thought you would listen to me, and get your boy to calm himself down a bit. That was all I wanted, but as usual you were straight in there like a Rottweiler on a fucking poodle. Well, I tried. That's all I could do.'
As he slipped out into the hallway he saw his father had come back from the pub and he was now sitting on the stairs quietly. As he passed him, he heard him say in a whisper, 'She won't forgive this, son. Believe me, I know.'
Declan didn't even bother answering him. He left the house and wondered at a family that had so much, and yet had so little.
Christine opened her eyes and saw her two sons sitting by the hospital bed. She could tell that they were both really worried about her, and she tried to smile at them.
'You all right, Mum?' Philly asked.
She nodded automatically, all the time looking at her poor boy's face. Philly's eye was already stitched and nearly closed, he looked like he'd been in a car crash. The events of the night flashed into her head, and she felt the usual terror envelop her.
Timmy stroked her arm gently, and said in a choked voice, 'Can I get you anything, Mum, a cup of tea?'
She shook her head, all she wanted was a drink and a few sleepers, in that order. Whatever they had injected her with was wearing off. She knew they had taken her down to the operation room to make sure all the baby had gone, and that suited her, she wanted none of it inside her. Not a fucking iota of Murphy would ever get that far inside her again.
'Where's your dad?'
'He's been with the doctor, Mum, for ages, he's really worried about you.'
She nodded. 'Get yourselves home. Go on. I'm fine, really. I just need to sleep.'
They were gone within five minutes. Once she was sure it was safe, she opened the bedside drawer. She pulled out her handbag, which she had made sure came with her in the ambulance, and, unzipping the side pocket, she put her hand inside quickly.
'Looking for this, Chris?'
She jumped in fright at her husband's voice and, turning, she saw him standing in front of the closed door, a small antique silver hip flask in his hand. He was holding it up in front of his face like a prize he had just been given.
'Fucking hell, Chris, you must need a drink badly, love. Do you think you might have a problem, darling?'
He was mocking her, and she knew that whatever game he was playing now, he'd already won. She started to cry, a deep, raw crying that once started wouldn't stop. She could feel her whole body shaking with the pain inside her. She had snot running down her nose, hanging in loose tendrils and, as she attempted to wipe it away, she felt Phillip's arms go around her, and he was holding her tightly to him. Pushing his face into her hair, and she realised suddenly that he was crying too. Phillip was crying his eyes out, and the sound of it was terrifying to her.
'Our baby's gone, Christine, but we'll get past this. I've booked you into rehab. The doctors here think it's the best thing for you, and so do I, love. You'll come out as good as new. No drink in you, no tranquillisers, and definitely no fucking Ketamine.'
He knew, and the knowledge made her aware of his power once more. He really was like God, he knew everything.
She couldn't wait to go to rehab, and get away from him for a while at least.
'I miss Mum, don't you, Philly?'
Philly shrugged. He did and he didn't, he just hoped the rehab worked this time. 'I suppose so.'
'What's Granddad like to work for?'
Philly shrugged and, smiling, he said, 'All right really, you'll be fine.' He nearly warned him about good-looking birds with big tits, and the want of a wage coming in, but he didn't. His brother wasn't like him.
Timmy wasn't so sure. He didn't really want to be in the family businesses. He wanted to get a proper job, but his father had suddenly decided that he needed his boys by his side, working their way up through the ranks, learning the ropes, as he called it. Now Philly was working in the arcades, a proper position as well, with a good wage. Philly liked it all, but Timmy didn't. He didn't want to work in the shops, he wanted to be an accountant or something. He liked numbers, and the prospect of a nice office and a good wage was appealing.
As if reading his mind, Philly said gently, 'You'll get used to it, mate and, like the old man says, this is all going to be ours one day, so we best find out how to run it.'
Timmy agreed but, unlike his brother, he didn't care whether he inherited all this or not. He couldn't wait to get away from here if he was honest. It had destroyed his mother, and he wouldn't be surprised if one day it destroyed the rest of them.
It was a facade – the big farm, the easy living, the money, cars and the knowledge that it all came from the rob. It didn't matter how much his father talked the talk, he was still a violent thug, and all the posh houses and expensive cars couldn't hide that fact.
Phillip was dressed in a dark suit and a pristine white shirt. He looked good and he knew it; he had been collecting admiring glances from women all day, and he had been enjoying them.
As he turned into the driveway of Billy Bantry's house, he was smiling and happy. He was relieved that Christine was away; after the news from the doctors that she'd taken Ketamine and losing the baby, he knew it was in their best interests to put some distance between them. But, as he told himself, she was a piss-head, and piss-heads weren't rational human beings. They were idiots who allowed a substance to rule their lives. So he had to find it in his heart to forgive her for fucking up his baby. His little child, a girl he reckoned. He would have liked a daughter, all men should have a daughter. The child was already dead inside her, didn't have a chance at life.
As he pulled up outside Billy's house he wondered why he still lived so modestly, but that was Billy for you, always frightened to spend a pound. The old joke about Billy was that the fucking Queen herself came to the opening of his wallet. He was one mean ponce.
He waited until Billy came out of the house and jumped into the passenger seat beside him.
'All right, Phillip?'
Phillip nodded and grinned. 'Course I am, I'm always good.'
It was a statement, and he wholeheartedly believed it. Billy
Bantry was used to Phillip talking this kind of shite, it went over his head like a giraffe's fart.
'Where we off to?'
Phillip grinned, it never ceased to amaze him that people were so trusting, he would lay money this fucking ice cream wasn't even tooled up. He was dealing with retards, had been for years, so no wonder he had tucked them up so easily. 'I thought we'd go to mine, Bill. It's quiet there.'
Billy nodded agreeably; he loved Phillip's farm, and always left with a bag of good meat and veg. Phillip Murphy was a lot of things, but mean wasn't one of them. 'Where's Declan today, then?'
Phillip shrugged. 'Busy. You know him – like Breda, if they ain't got a problem they think they're hard done by.'
Billy laughed out loud at the truth of the statement, but he had heard a whisper that all wasn't well these days in the Murphy camp. Of course, Phillip's wife had been carted off again, so that had to hurt. She was mad as a fucking hatter, and who wouldn't be, married to this bloke? That was some of the gossip from the women in their lives; women saw more than men, it was a natural thing inherited from their mothers. Personally, he thought it was so they could all grow up to be perfect mother-in-laws, ferreting out information. His old woman knew far more than he did about the home lives of men he had known all his life. Women talked, that's why a wise man never told his old woman anything of importance. They couldn't keep it to themselves, it was a genetic compulsion with them. You only had to look at a woman's phone bill, and that told you all you needed to know.
'So what do you think about the new moves on Piper's part, Phillip?'
Phillip didn't answer him, instead he changed the subject quickly, saying, 'What are you doing on Saturday night? I was thinking about getting the boys together for a drink up at one of the clubs. It's been ages since we all had a boys' night out, and I want to introduce my lads round, you know.'
Billy nodded enthusiastically, he loved a good piss-up. 'Sounds good. Where and when?'
Phillip laughed at Billy's obvious pleasure; he was all the happier because as always Phillip would make sure no one spent a penny. As they turned into the farm Phillip felt a thrill as he surveyed what he owned; the vastness of his land, and the beauty of his surroundings. No one could touch him, no one. As everyone was going to find out very soon.
Breda felt sad, but she knew she had to try and cheer herself up for her sister-in-law's sake. Her mother, as always, looked uncomfortable – mental hospitals did that to her. But this place was lovely, cost a fortune by all accounts. She hadn't seen Christine for two weeks and she was a bit nervous.
As she and Veronica sat outside in the beautiful landscaped gardens smoking cigarettes and drinking expensive coffee, they were both shocked when Christine finally walked out of the doorway. She looked like an anorexic and, with her lovely hair scraped back and her face devoid of make-up, older than usual. She resembled someone recovering from a serious illness which, in a way, Breda supposed she was.
'Hello, darling, how are you?' Breda's voice sounded forced even to her own ears.
Veronica didn't say a word she was so shocked at her daughter- in-law's appearance. She looked like the walking dead.
Christine didn't answer at first. She sat at the ornamental metal table and, lighting a cigarette, pulled on it deeply. As she blew out the smoke she said forcefully, in a loud jovial voice that seemed incongruous coming from her slight frame, 'Well, this is nice, isn't it?'
'You're doing well, young Timmy.'
Ted was thrilled with his new assistant and only too glad to be rid of Philly. He had the call of the clout, as they referred to young men chasing sex on this estate. Timmy wasn't there yet, but Ted was sure it would come. He watched the boy as he lifted the heavy packs of beans and peas. He had to admit it was nice having all the manual work done for him. When young Timmy had earned what his father deemed his apprenticeship he was going to get himself a lad in full-time; it certainly made life easier, and he had to admit he wasn't getting any younger.
'You going to see me mum, Granddad? She's looking much better.'
Ted Booth shook his head and said quietly, 'I'll go in a few weeks. Your nana goes a couple of times a week but, to be honest, it upsets me too much. Seeing her in there…' He wondered if he had said too much, but this young lad had the knack of getting you to talk without thinking. He was so truthful and open, it encouraged you to be the same. He was a nice boy.
Timmy picked up on his granddad's fears and said in agreement, 'I know what you mean, but it's quite a nice place, and she seems better, but still very sad. It's funny, you know, Granddad, but I realise now she was always sad. I think that's why she drank and that. But she's sober now, and they are getting her off the meds as well. So that's something, I suppose.'
The shop's electric doors opened and Tiffany White's two brothers came into the small supermarket. The elder of the two, Joey, had just come out from doing a five. He was a big lad, well, man now, and he had the look of a newly released prisoner. He still had the pallor peculiar to them – a combination of cheap processed food and lack of sunlight. As he walked in, Ted knew then and there that it wasn't for a pack of Samson tobacco.
'What can I get you, boys?' Ted was determined not to show his fear; he knew that on this estate it was the most foolish thing you could do. Like animals, boys like these fed off fear, nervousness and intimidation. It seemed that this lad had come out of the stir like many before him, believing he was now what was termed a Face. Oh, the stupidity of youth and incarceration. Phillip Murphy would swat him like an annoying insect. But Ted understood the boy felt he had to restore family honour, though what honour the Whites had he wasn't sure.
'You can get me fuck-all, old man. I want to know where Phillip Murphy the younger is now residing, because he ain't fucking working here no more, is he?'
Timmy watched it all in fascination. He was a big lad, and he knew he could handle himself, but these two had the advantage of being incredibly angry. It was emanating off them in waves, so strong you could almost feel the force of it.
'I don't know where he is and, if you want my advice, I'd drop this now, Joey. Philly and your sister had a fling. It happens so get over it, son. I'm sure she has.'
Joey stepped towards Ted and, as he did, straightened his arm, and a long steel rod that he had hidden up his sleeve slipped down into his hand. The younger brother, Duane, walked to the doors as if standing guard, which of course he was. They must have already warned people off. It had been very quiet all morning, so this was a well-planned operation, which told Ted it would not be resolved with words. He wondered if the cosh was for him or the premises.
'Don't do something you'll regret, Joey. Take Duane and go, and I won't say a word to my son-in-law about any of it.'
The mention of Phillip Murphy did give Joey cause for a moment's hesitation, but he was there on a mission, and he wasn't going to back down now. Especially as he had already told his friends and family what he was going to do. In effect he had painted himself into a very tight corner. His sister was in bits, she had thought she'd got herself fucked and financed, instead she had nothing of value left. He didn't know about the money, of course, all he knew was she had been used and dumped. Now that was something he couldn't ignore, irrespective of what Phillip Murphy might be capable of. This was a family matter now, about family honour and pride. For all she was, Tiffany was still his little sister and she needed his protection. He decided to take the old boy out, and his fucking shop and all. These people had been earning off everyone for far too long, and a lot of the people round the area were sick of it.
As he raised the cosh and walked towards Ted, young Timmy took him out with a tin of beans. He crashed the tin into the back of Joey's head twice, felling him where he stood. Then, as Duane rushed over, he took his fist back, and knocked him out with one well-placed punch. As Duane hit the ground, Timmy started to kick them both, using all the force he could muster, shouting as loud as he could, 'You fucking scum, threaten an old man, my granddad! You're fucking dead… I'll kill you!'
As Ted watched in amazement and shock it occurred to him that Timmy was more his father's son than any of them had thought.
The farm was empty of people and, as they walked around it, Billy was, as always, impressed despite himself. It was some place. Phillip walked around in his designer wellies and his walking stick like an old-time lord of the manor. It was funny though, somehow it suited him. Phillip did not look as ridiculous as he should have. And, in fairness, he had a lot to be proud of. This place was like a poster for how a farm should be run, it was cleaner than most people's front rooms. The piggery was state- of-the-art, and the pigs were like, well, pigs in shit, Billy supposed. You could see the affection they had for Phillip, and you could also see it was reciprocated. In fact, Phillip got on better with dumb animals than he did with people. As they walked to the top field Billy was feeling just how out of condition he was, and when they finally went into the large barn for shelter, he was secretly relieved at the prospect of a breather.
'See that tractor there? It's a John Deere, best on the market that is,' Phillip couldn't resist bragging.
Billy admired it, as any man admired something you could drive. It was a lovely piece of machinery, and it still looked showroom new. 'It looks it and all, Phillip. This place is fantastic, you're like a regular Farmer Giles!'
Phillip laughed with him and, sitting on a bale of hay, he took out a small hip flask. It was his wife's and, taking a long pull, he passed it to Billy, who did the same. Then Billy took out his cigarettes but, snatching them from him, Phillip said angrily, 'You can't fucking smoke in here! Look around you. This place would go up in a minute.'
Billy shook his head at his obvious stupidity. 'Sorry, mate. That's why you're the farmer and I ain't.'
Phillip put the cigarettes into the pocket of his coat, not trusting Billy Bantry to remember the warning.
'So, come on then, what did you bring me all the way here for? I'm assuming it's something important to do with the businesses.'
Phillip chuckled. 'No flies on you, eh, Bill?'
Then, leaning back on the bale of hay, Phillip picked up a large sabre which he had bought at a house auction. It had apparently been used in the Boer War. Seeing it, Billy's eyes widened in alarm. Shaking his head, he said incredulously, 'You've got to be joking, Phillip?'
Phillip was standing over Billy now and, smiling chillingly, he said, 'I would never joke about something this serious.'
'But why, Phillip, why are you doing this?' It was a serious question, and Billy was genuinely interested in the answer.
'Because you and Piper took me for a cunt. But mainly, Billy, if I'm really honest about it, because I can.''
'Here he comes, the hero of the hour!'
Timmy walked into the nightclub with a sheepish grin on his face. He was aware that what had happened was the main topic of conversation for everyone around him.
'Come here, son! Is this a chip off the old block or what, eh?'
As Phillip put his huge arms around him, Timmy realised they were pretty much of a size now. Another year or two and he would probably outweigh his father. He saw his brother beaming at everyone; full of pride and pleasure at his little brother's actions. Though 'little brother' wasn't the case any more, he was at least two inches taller than Philly now, and he was much broader. Since the debacle in the shop Timmy had become aware of himself in a way he had never been before. He was what would be termed by the men in this club as a lump. A big, strong lad, he was being treated with respect now. Since taking out the Whites he was like a local hero. People came into his granddad's shop and almost bowed to him if he acknowledged their presence. It was all heady stuff and, he had to admit, he was relishing it. Even the Filth had not bothered – just asked him if he was all right, and put it down as an attempted robbery gone wrong.
His actions had actually surprised him. Seeing his granddad being threatened like that had flicked a switch in his head. His granddad was like his mum, he didn't really know how to cope in the world he had found himself in. Timmy understood that on a very basic level, because he had thought he was the same. But he wasn't, he was like his name, he was a Murphy through and through. Accepting it felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew who he was, and what he was now.
Phillip Murphy watched his two sons with pure pride and the conviction that he had done a marvellous job with them. Poor Christine might be away, but she was on the mend, and his boys were showing the world they were worthy successors to their father. He was so proud he could burst, and taking out that ponce Bantry was just the icing on the cake. Laughing and joking with everyone, he caught sight of Piper surreptitiously watching the door for his little mate Bantry to arrive. He was tempted to tell him that he wasn't coming, that he was burning away at this very moment, his ash soon to be spread on the fields as potash. But he didn't – there was plenty of time for chatting when the time was right. Let them start worrying and wondering, he wasn't going to tell anyone anything until he was good and ready.
Declan had arrived back from his break in Marbella earlier in the day; he was lightly tanned and impressed with what he had found out about the euro situation. A business that would now be wholly theirs, given the untimely demise of their business partners. All in all he was a happy man; once he had tied up a few loose ends, he would be back to his usual self.
Life was looking up, and he decided to make the most of it.
Breda was happy enough today and, as she sat in her mother's house drinking tea and eating a big slice of home-made cake, she broached the subject of Christine again.
'Do you think she's getting better really, Mum?'
Veronica was doing the washing-up with her back to her daughter. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she kept her voice calm as she said, 'I think so, yeah. Sure, she's drink and drug free for the first time in years, so she has to be getting better, child.'
Breda could hear the tinge of irritation in her mother's voice and knew she saw the question as some kind of criticism of Phillip. This was nothing new; Veronica always felt her daughter- in-law's failings were seen unfairly as her son's fault.
'I think she looks terrible.'
'Well, you're entitled to your opinion, Breda, as we all are.'
The sarcasm wasn't lost on her daughter and Breda snapped, 'Oh, come on, Mum! Even you can't deny the girl looks fucking awful. She's terrified, and we both know what of, don't we?'
Turning from the sink, Veronica faced her daughter; she had to stop herself from taking her hand back and boxing the bitch's ears like she had when she was a child.
'What are you trying to insinuate, Breda? Why don't we cut to the fecking chase, eh? Say what you've got to say and then get yourself home. But I warn you now, girl, you start a fight in this house tonight and I'll fecking mangle you where you sit.'
Breda wasn't surprised at her mother's reaction; it was always the same, the merest whisper of criticism directed towards Phillip was seen as a personal affront.
'Why do you bite like this, Mum? We're talking about Christine here, and I'm sorry, but a five-year-old child can see there's something bothering her…'
'Oh, Breda, piss off, would you? As I told Declan, she's just lost a child, it can affect a woman like that. I would have thought you, as a woman, would have understood! But then I should have known you wouldn't get it – you're more like a man these days with your suits and your fecking briefcase. Talking of men, haven't you got a young black man to service somewhere? Get you off my back for a few hours?'
Breda stood up and felt the urge to shake this woman until her teeth rattled. The realisation that Declan had obviously been there before her was a shock as well. But then, he had been present when it happened, so he probably had a tale to tell. This explained why he'd gone off to Marbella so quickly; he was distancing himself from his brother and from whatever had happened.
'Why do you always assume I am going to blame Phillip for his wife's nerves or whatever you call them these days? Why do you always snap the second she's mentioned?'
Veronica didn't bother to answer. She was not about to get into a discussion about her son, not with Declan and certainly not with this daughter of hers, whose own life wouldn't bear too much scrutiny. Instead she said angrily, 'Do you know what makes me laugh with you lot? Without Phillip you'd all be nothing, scratching a living as best you could. You're ungrateful and you're disloyal, and I won't have it. When you produced young Porrick years ago, and was whoring yourself from one end of this estate to the other, I wouldn't let anyone say a word against you, so you remember that next time you want to start this up again. I stood by you when you nearly killed my Jamsie. I've stood by you all, you stupid, stupid girl.'
Breda didn't reply. She felt the familiar guilt grip her like a vice – her mother was good at that, making you feel guilty and upset.
Flapping her hand at her daughter, Veronica said dismissively, 'Go, Breda, you've outstayed your welcome as usual. Just go home.'
Phillip sat in his house; the boys had just gone up, and he was happy, at least as happy as he could be anyway. Old Sammy was clearly still awake because the lights were on in his cottage and that made Phillip smile. The dirty old fucker watched the late- night porn channels – he should know, they billed him for it. Good luck to him, he thought he was marvellous still having a J. Arthur Rank at his age.
He sipped his Scotch and glanced around the kitchen; it looked beautiful, but it was missing Christine. The Aga was turned low, no one was using it for the moment.
He couldn't deny that she had disappointed him, deeply disappointed him. He worshipped her, he had always seen her as a bit of class; from the first time he had laid eyes on her he had felt the attraction between them, and so had she. When he was driving her pain in the arse of a mother mad at the thought of them together, she couldn't get enough of him, but he lost his temper once, and she acted like he was the one with a problem. He felt tears sting his eyes, and relished them. At times like this he was capable of really intense emotions. Christine was the only woman who could make him feel so sad, so unhappy. In his heart, he was still ashamed of Christine seeing him out of control all those years ago; she had never known or even suspected the real him before then. He had loved being the person she thought he was. It was the same with everyone in his life, he showed them all a different side of him. But he had liked the person
Christine made him be, he had tried to be a decent bloke, and it had bled into his other lives as well, because he had to take care that she never heard anything untoward about him. Now though, he was like a rudderless boat, drifting aimlessly towards God knows what.
He felt the tears once more. He knew that he would never let her go and, more to the point, so did she. But he still hated to see her so unhappy. When she was sorted, and they aimed her out of rehab, he was going to send her off to Spain for a few months – a bit of sun and a nice relax and she would be right as rain again. He would send her mother with her; Eileen would love it and she'd make sure her daughter stayed off the drink and drugs. It was funny really, Christine taking to the drink and the old Persian rugs when she was such a straight girl in many ways. But, as the doctor said, these days there were more people on prescription drugs than ever took cocaine or the like. It was the middle-class panacea, and she had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water. A small part of Phillip knew he should let her go, that away from him she would blossom, would find some level of peace in that chaotic brain of hers. But, unfortunately, that just wasn't an option; he had married her, and they would stay married until death did them part.
The thought made him smile, and he was still smiling when the boys came down from their bedrooms and said goodnight. He was pleased to see them, and he thought about the men they'd grown into. Philly needed careful handling, he was too much like him for his own good, and Timmy, well, he was still waters all right – who'd have thought he would have took on that scum White and won! He was a handful was that Joey White, and he had seven or eight years on Timmy. He suspected it was all that rugby playing – he was built like a brick shithouse.
'Come and have a drink with me, boys. Pour yourselves a Scotch.'
He pushed the bottle of Paddy towards them and, when he saw how thrilled they were by the offer, he was glad he had made it. When they were settled with a drink he said proudly, 'To my lads – I'm fucking chuffed with the pair of you.'
They were both so exhilarated by his praise, and so grateful for his time, he felt the urge to cry again. He had neglected them shamefully, not just them, but his wife as well, and he swore there and then that once he had sorted Piper, he would concentrate on the family proper. He would become the man Christine had loved again, and prove to her that he could be trusted. He would rein in his anger, and he would romance her back to how she used to be. It never occurred to him that his wife might not want anything from him except peace of mind. Now he had decided what he was going to do, it was like the gospel to him – written in stone – and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He also decided he would blood the boys early; they were ready for it, and the younger you got them, the easier it was. He would let them in on Piper, and they could be invested into the firm easily and with the minimum of fuss. Philly wouldn't be hard to train, he was a natural, and now that Timmy had a taste of the glamour, he would be wanting more. It was the way of the world. Their world anyway.
Phillip raised his glass. 'To your mother, may she be home soon.'
The boys toasted her, but their minds weren't on Christine. They were still basking in their father's attention and, like an animal who sensed weakness, Phillip Murphy played it for all it was worth.
'What are you trying to say to me? How the fuck would I know where Billy Bantry is?' Phillip's voice was loud and incredulous.
Jonnie Piper was not a happy man. He knew, in fact, everyone knew, that Phillip had to have had something to do with Billy's disappearance, but as usual no one could prove anything. All the same, he had come down to the office at the arcade to find out.
Phillip's denials, however, were strident and convincing. 'You're out of fucking order, mate, coming in here accusing me of all sorts… Even the Filth need something called evidence, even if they have to fabricate it, they can't touch you without it.'
Declan watched in fascination as Phillip played the wronged party; he was good, he was very good. Declan himself almost believed him and he knew exactly what had happened to Billy Bantry; after all, he had helped dispose of the body.
Philly watched and learned, he knew better than to offer an opinion of any sort. He knew he had to be silent, but alert, that was what his father always said. He was loving it, being a part of something so dangerous. It suited his temperament perfectly. Timmy was naturally quiet, so he just listened anyway, but he was taking it in all the same. Absorbing it like a sponge, and the more he got involved the more he found he wanted to. But they were both impressed with their father's tremendous power. It was as if he was not human somehow – when he spoke people listened, and they didn't argue with him too much. Even this bloke Piper seemed to be backing off now that Phillip had finally snapped at him.
'I asked you a question, Jonnie. Are you accusing me of doing something to Billy Bantry, to my old mate, the man who gave me a chance in life? Because if you are…' Phillip trailed off, as if waiting for the man to answer him, then he took a step towards him, and said angrily, 'Don't go all shy on me now, Jonnie Boy. You had enough fucking bunny a few minutes ago.' He was roaring so loud that he could be heard above the noise of the fruit machines and the computer games outside the room.
Jonnie Piper had never experienced anything like it in his life, and the worst thing was, he knew he was out of order – he had no proof at all. He realised too that he should have kept his fucking opinion to himself; he forgot at times who he was dealing with. Now, he felt like a right snide, as if he was trying to cause aggro where there wasn't any. But Billy Bantry had literally dropped off the face of the earth. Surely that warranted a mention? But that's what Phillip Murphy was best at – making people completely disappear. He had heard more than one rumour that one of his most lucrative businesses was disposing of remains. Nothing would surprise Jonnie, even though he knew, in their line of work, stories got stretched in the telling.
Phillip continued, 'For all you fucking know he has gone on the trot with our money because, let's face it, that bastard seems to be capable of anything. Plus he whacks us out, he pays us, not vice versa. So how much was he actually pulling in? As you and him are so close, like, maybe you can clear up that little fucking mystery and all?'
That was bollocks, but Jonnie wasn't going to voice that to Phillip Murphy. Once Phillip said that to a few people it would become a truth. Oh, Piper knew how their world worked – he was basically fucked. Phillip would set rumours going everywhere, and that was the best way to stop people stating the obvious. Give them a better story, and people would grab at it like a two-bob tart on a charabanc outing.
Phillip was deeply offended now at the aspersions, and he was showing it. 'Oh, why the Helen Keller act all of a sudden, hmm? I mean, he talked to you more than me lately; after all, you and him were already partners when I came into the firm, weren't you?' It was an accusation and Piper knew it. Oh, Phillip was clever. 'Did you have a falling out with him? I mean, you ain't exactly a person to cross either, are you? Like me, you have a temper, and you have a job where, every now and then, you have to put people in their place. Seriously in their place, especially when they start making you look like a cunt, do you know what I mean?'
It was a clear threat. Phillip was showing his hand, and there was nothing Jonnie Piper could do to stop him. He had walked straight into this, and he could kick himself to death because of it.
'I'd hardly be looking for him now, would I, if I had anything to do with his demise?' Jonnie Piper couldn't believe he was now having to defend himself.
'But that's just it, Jonnie. I mean, think about it, you would be looking for him, to take the suspicion off, like. I just assumed he'd gone on holiday or something, it never occurred to me that some sort of skulduggery might be afoot. You're the one who brought all that to my door.'
Phillip turned to Declan and asked quietly, 'Did you see the said Bantry out in Marbella? In fact, did you see anyone even resembling him while you were there?'
Declan had to laugh. Phillip was acting like Miss Marple – raised eyebrows, pursed lips, the lot. He could really take the piss when it suited him, and he was taking the piss now, of that there was no doubt. Everyone in the room was embarrassed for Piper; even the boys were finding it hard not to smile, and they were only kids. This was a story that would be told, and told frequently by Phillip for laughs.
Declan played the game, as he knew was expected of him. 'Not hide nor hair, Phillip. But then his own wife ain't seen him, so he could be off with a bit of strange. Billy always liked the young ones.'
Jonnie Piper saw he was beaten. He'd just about had enough of this man. Admittedly he had been having him over with Bantry since the off, but it still rankled. And now there was the added worry of exactly how much Phillip knew about the situation. If he had outed Bantry, and of that there was no doubt in Jonnie's mind, he must know the real score. Declan out in Marbella could mean only one thing – the euro scam. Jonnie needed to regroup, rethink, and decide on his course of action. Which basically meant he had to kill Phillip Murphy before Murphy killed him.
So he changed tack and smiled widely. 'I expect you're right, Phillip. Billy's a fucker though, just going off like that.'
Phillip opened his arms wide, the big, benevolent friend now. 'He went off once for a wedding in Newcastle, and didn't come home for over three weeks. Turned out he had fucked off to Thailand with a local rugby team he'd met on the stag night. You'll get used to these strange southern ways, Jonnie, I'll make sure of that.'
Everyone laughed, but no one thought it was funny.
'Mrs Murphy – Christine – I know something is bothering you. I really think that if you would just share it with someone, you would feel a lot better.'
Christine looked at this kindly woman and stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Florence Cartwright was her therapist in rehab and she meant well. Christine just wished she could say that the main thing that was bothering her was the fact that the woman wouldn't wear a bra, or deodorant. She hummed, as the boys would say.
Christine quite liked this rehab, it was nice. She felt safe here, safe and calm. Lovely rooms, quiet time, making your own bed. She liked the people here too, all friendly, all from good homes and backgrounds. People who, like her, had secret problems that drink and drugs assuaged. But unlike her, those people could explore them, whereas she couldn't. Daren't. She could just see this stupid woman's face if she did decide to share, if she leaned forward in her chair and said confidentially, 'Well, you're right, Florence. It's my husband, see? He is a murdering bastard, nearly murdered his own sister once, but I stopped him. Because, you see, for some reason, he likes me. Loves me in fact. Well, you already know that – you keep telling me how lucky I am to have his support. He arranged for the abortion of his grandchild, while celebrating the news of another child for himself. A child I was determined would never get a glimpse of him or his hate. He is a terror to his sons.
Either ignores them shamefully or suffocates them with his attention. His whole life revolves around criminal activity which, as you can imagine, he doesn't like me talking about. He would call it grassing, see, not talking, or self-expression, just plain old grassing, so stop writing everything down if you don't want to disappear – for disappear you will. Into the big ovens he had installed on our humungous farm. Unless he wants to make an example of you, of course, to the other therapists here, then your body will be found. Stabbing is one of his favourite modes of murder – more personal, like – and then your poor family will have to live with what had happened to you for ever. Believe me, I know. He even killed his mate once, his really good mate. My Phillip is an equal-opportunities killer – he doesn't care who it is – woman, man, friends, family, strangers. He also has most of the police, or Filth as he calls them, in his employ, so they aren't much use either. I am trapped in a marriage that I hate, and I can't leave, you see, because no one leaves my Phillip. He would take that as a personal insult and it would really annoy him, and believe me, Florence, you don't want to annoy him. So what do you suggest I do, Florence? What's your take on the situation?'
But of course she wouldn't say a word, she wouldn't ever say a word to anyone. Christine was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. It was strange, but since she had been here, and been off the drink and the drugs, she felt better in herself, but she was also able to think more clearly. Maybe it was the environment, knowing she wasn't going home yet, maybe that made her feel safe enough to think properly. Or it might just be that she was straight for the first time in God knew how long. She had at least a few more weeks of not having to deal with the house, and her family, and that included the boys. They were his now, she could see that more and more on each visit they made. It was Dad this, and Dad that. They were even working for him. Even her baby, her Timmy had changed from a nice, likeable lad, to a thug who even her own father thought was some kind of hero. What chance did she have against all that? What chance did any of them have?
Christine turned her attention back to her therapist. 'I wish you'd stop saying all this to me. I just like a drink, that's all. I got used to the tranqs, liked the feeling they gave me, so I took more than was good for me. I had three private doctors at one time prescribing me everything I wanted. You know, Florence, everything doesn't have to be profound, or deep. Some people, like me, are just weak, love. Weak.'
Florence Cartwright looked at this lovely woman and sighed inwardly. Christine Murphy was being eaten up inside and, whatever it was, until she dealt with it, she would never be cured. She had seen this time and time again – women who were unable to cope with their lives so they disappeared inside a bottle. But there was something deeply disturbing about the way this woman kept everything inside herself. She would blow one day and, when she did, the blast would be heard from Land's End to John O'Groats. It had to be something like childhood abuse, probably from someone she trusted. Florence had ruled the father out, there was genuine affection there, nothing untoward at all. Whatever this was, it was consuming this woman like a cancer; you could see the terror in the back of her eyes. Feel the fear that emanated from her at any mention of what might be the root cause of her self-abuse. One thing Florence knew though, she would keep trying to help her. She would talk to the husband again; he was such a nice man, and his obvious love for this broken woman was almost painful to observe.
Christine lit a cigarette, and sat back in the chair. She liked Florence, but God knew, for all her so-called education she was as thick as shit where the real world was concerned. Phillip had given her the usual old flannel he reserved for what he termed posh birds. He made sure he hung on her every word, and agreed with her wholeheartedly, whatever she said. Florence, of course, had loved it. Phillip had charmed her, as he charmed everyone. As he had once charmed Christine herself.
'Do you think Mum's getting better, Dad?'
Phillip nodded but he was distracted. He was making sure the industrial furnaces he'd installed in the big barn were running at the peak of their capabilities. He loved it in this place, it was a real buzz just to walk in here and know what had happened there and relive it. He could almost assuage his need for violence by coming here. Many a night he strolled up to the barn, with a glass of Scotch and a nice cigar, and he would sit quietly and reminisce alone about the people he had fed into the flames. 'She's on the mend, mate. You know your mum, always liked the drink, I'm afraid.'
Philly looked at his father sadly. 'Do you think losing the baby is what done her head in this time?'
Phillip nodded again and, turning to face his sons, he said gently, 'She lost the baby because of the drinking and the drugs and if she had carried it full-term it would have been seriously damaged. So in a way, it was a godsend. But obviously, we keep that to ourselves, boys. Never let people know the truth about your real life, right? You give people what you want them to know, and you edit your stories so they only hear what you want them to hear. Your mum's situation is something I have lived with for years, and I protect her from herself and from gossip, and you two have to do the same, OK?'
The boys looked taken aback at his candour and that pleased him. Phillip believed that if Christine had her way, he would be portrayed as the bad bastard as usual, so he was just getting his side of the story in.
'I knew about the baby for a while, and I was waiting for her to tell me. That's probably why I went for you like I did, Philly. You know, it's hard dealing with someone like your mum. As much as I love her, she is a liability in many ways. She has to be looked after, looked out for constantly, so I get a bit bad- tempered at times. It's frustrating, because I only want to help her, you know? It breaks my heart to see her like she is.'
The boys agreed with him, and he knew they understood it from his point of view now. The baby business had made them both feel very protective of her, and he preferred it when they were nice to her. Still, they hated that she had 'problems', and he used that. Phillip smiled and said in a mock Irish accent, 'If she couldn't cook, I'd have aimed her out the door years ago.'
The boys laughed, pleased that their father was making light of it all; they knew it had to be hard for him. But in fairness, he looked after her in every way he could, he genuinely loved her. She was the one who was always fucking everything up, not him. As he always said, he had to work, and his work was what gave them the life they had. Even Philly had changed his opinion on that, big time. He saw his father as a hero for putting up with her; he wasn't sure he would be so patient if she was his wife. Timmy, for his part, had more sympathy for his mother but felt she should try harder; after all, they could love her to bits, but unless she helped herself, there was nothing anyone could do.
When Phillip thought they had had long enough to digest what he had told them, he changed the subject quickly and, in a businesslike tone, he said, 'Now, boys, look at this gauge. When it's getting full use, it needs to be at its hottest. So that it will incinerate anything – even bone. Right'
They both nodded; suddenly the gauge on the furnace was the most interesting thing in the world to them.
'Is that just for the animal carcasses?'
Phillip nodded at Timmy, and said jokily, 'Oh yeah, many is the carcass of an animal I've put in this fucker, mate.'
"Course, Dad, it is a farm.' This from Philly who, like his brother, knew exactly what their father meant.
'A very big farm, now the neighbours have all gone!'
The boys knew they were learning the craft from the master. Phillip intended to make them legends in their own little lifetimes, and the family would grow bigger and stronger as a result. The next step was grandkids, decent ones, from decent stock, and these boys had the education, the money and, when necessary, the finesse to pass themselves in any company.
Phillip was energised with his plans, now, and his sons were a big part of it. 'Oh and, boys, one last thing.'
They looked at him expectantly.
'Jonnie Piper thinks he is going to kill me, and that means we have to get to him first. Can I count on your support?'
He saw their eyes widen, wondering if he was joking, and finally he saw the acceptance and the desire to help him out, their father. That he was asking for their help he knew would make them feel needed, valued. They nodded in unison and he smiled at them and winked. 'I knew I could rely on you two, you're good boys – the best.'
As they basked in his praise, he was well pleased with his day's work. Piper would never smell a rat if it was shoved up his arse by a nun! Thick, Scally ponce he was. But Phillip understood him better than he realised – if it was just him and his two lads, Piper would feel safe, feel he had the advantage. He would also have to take the boys out at the same time he took him, that was a given. And Phillip saw that as a personal affront. What had his boys ever done to that cunt he would like to know? Phillip was going to get in first, as always. And he would blood his boys at the same time – once they did the first dirty, and got it over with, it would get easier for them. They were willing lads, and he was proud of them.
As for the Liverpool connection, Phillip still had mates up there, and he would see to it that they heard his version of events. Never knew when you might need someone somewhere, or something, so it was best to make sure you always kept a degree of friendliness with certain people. Anyway, once Piper was gone, it would leave a space that someone would feel the urge to fill, and whoever it was would owe him big time for his trouble.
Phillip lit his cigar as they walked back to the house. Oh, what exciting webs we weave, when first we practise to deceive.
'You're joking, Declan.'
Declan shook his head in annoyance. 'Why would I fucking joke about something like that, Breda?'
'When did he decide this?'
Declan shrugged. 'Who knows when he decides anything? But I talked to him and he's determined.'
Breda sat down at her desk, she felt as if someone had actually deflated her. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, she was so shocked she couldn't really take it all in. 'But they are only lads still. He can't expect them to go through with it, surely?'
Declan shrugged again; he was angrier than he had been in years, angry and disgusted at what Phillip wanted to do, not just to his boys, but to himself. Why would anyone want that for their kids?
'He's calling it "blooding" them. I've already pointed out it ain't like they will be on their first pheasant shoot. They will be killing a person, a real human being.'
Breda didn't answer him. Her mind was working overtime. If Phillip was bringing the boys into this side of it all, then he expected them to become major players, and if that was the case, where did that leave her and poor old Declan? Admittedly there had been a cooling off between them on Declan's part recently – not that Phillip had noticed anything. But she had, and she knew what had caused it. Declan must feel what she was feeling now, he had to see that Phillip, with his usual disregard for anyone else around him, was taking the boys on as if his brother and sister didn't exist. Well, she would make sure it didn't happen to her, she would prove herself to be indispensable. But it still didn't change the fact that, because of the lads, she was now worried about even having control of the arcades. A few weeks ago she had felt as if this was all she had in life. Now, if she wasn't careful, she wouldn't even have that. There was no way she could work for the boys, not until they were old enough to understand what they were doing anyway.
And what about her Porrick? He was older than the boys, and he was sidelined as a fucking strong arm. Even though she knew he wasn't capable of much else, it still rankled. It seemed as though Phillip was gradually easing her and now Declan out, and she guessed, rightly, that Declan was having the same thoughts, though he would not voice them until he had considered how to explain his actions.
'Supposing they fuck up? He'll go ballistic.'
Declan didn't even bother answering that. That was exactly what was worrying him. The trouble with Phillip was he assumed everyone was as willing to kill and maim as he was. Declan knew it was part of their world, but he was sensible enough not to court trouble. Phillip, on the other hand, could find trouble within an order of silent monks if the fancy took him. He could be one awkward ponce. And when he decided he wanted change, he made sure those changes were implemented. It was sad really, because Phillip was an excellent businessman – none better. But it was this side of him that was the problem, and it was coming to the fore more and more lately.
It always seemed to coincide with Christine's going off her trolley, Declan had noticed. When she wasn't around, or playing up, as Phillip so nicely put it, it seemed to make him more paranoid, more determined to prove himself. When she was away it was as if he knew he had a free rein and acted accordingly – he wiped people out on a whim. Christine seemed to keep him on an even keel, if not inside the household, at least outside it. Christine's opinion of her husband was very important to him, more important than it should be really. That boat had sailed when he had shown her his true self. Because that was the start of all their problems, especially Christine's – she had never been the same since.
Now it appeared that Phillip was determined to get the boys fully involved and, in some ways, that would be seen as natural to most people. But those boys hadn't been brought up on the estate like his generation of Murphys had. They didn't understand death, not really. The closest they had ever come to it was playing fucking Grand Theft Auto, and that wasn't the same thing at all – no matter what people thought. Killing people up close and personal took a lot of bottle, and Declan's big worry, if he was really honest, was that the boys would take to it, and that would be the finish of them.
He lit a cigarette, and coughed harshly; he really should start on the cigars like Phillip, they were better for you.
'Come on, Breda, let's go and get drunk.'
She laughed as she said sarcastically, 'As Phillip always says, when in doubt, do a Christine!'
It was the nearest they had ever got to running Phillip down, and it showed them both just how the times were changing.
Jonnie Piper was with two of his best men, Colin Banks and Jerome O'Grady. They had worked for him for years and, though not real players in his main games, they were both more than capable for what he needed from them this night. Plus they were dispensable – always a handy trait in this kind of scenario.
'You've got to get to the farm and we'll walk the land, which Phillip will insist on because even he wouldn't kill me in his kitchen – no matter how much he pays Lily Law, no Filth will swallow a blatant piss-take like that. When we get to his barn, the big barn, I'll take him out, and then you take out his boys. We can leave them where they lie – let that old fucker who works for him discover them. I know Declan won't be there, he's meeting with Jimmy Mac at the arcades. Even Phillip wouldn't want his boys to be in on a kill, so he must want information from me about the euros. Either way, you make sure you're there for me, right? If there is a welcome committee, then we sort that as and when.'
Both men nodded. They had already done their homework, and they knew exactly how they would enter the premises and leave it. It was all sorted, except for the actual kill, and that would take seconds. It was fifty large each, up front, and that was not a bad wage. Though both knew that considering it was Phillip Murphy it should be a lot higher, which was why they were secretly a bit miffed about it.
'I want them shot in the head and then the face. This is a fucking warning now to every cunt who thinks they can fucking have me over.' This was personal, and Jonnie was angry. He laughed suddenly. 'I bet his old woman will be over the moon. According to my wife, all ain't as fucking rosy as he would have people believe.'
Jerome O'Grady said seriously, 'I don't think she'll be too thrilled about her sons though, especially shot in the face.'
Jonnie waved his hand at the man in a gesture of irritation, he was a fucking moron to state the obvious so he ignored him. 'Murphy needs removing, and so does his fucking progeny. Fuck them, fuck them to hell and back. But I will have the fucking last laugh.'
'What about Declan and the sister? Won't they be looking for revenge?'
Colin always thought things through and, nodding in his direction, Piper said nonchalantly, 'First, I have a feeling they might not be as fucking angry as they make out. Anyway, once Phillip's gone, so has their strength. Phillip is the one people respect, without him they are fuck-all.'
'What about his mates, have you thought about them?'
Colin was getting on his nerves now, and with thinly disguised annoyance Jonnie said quietly, 'People like Phillip Murphy don't have real mates. What is this, Colin, fucking twenty questions?'
Colin wasn't fazed at the man's words. 'I like to get things straight in my mind, that's all. Look at every eventuality, that way you don't fuck up.'
Jonnie calmed down at that; the man was only covering all the bases, which is exactly what he was paying him to do. 'Yeah, well there's that to it, I suppose, but I am going to enjoy telling people that I think Bantry took him out. See how Declan and that coon-shagging sister of his react to that little gem of information, shall we?'
As Colin's mother was white and his father a Jamaican, he wasn't thrilled at Jonnie's offensive words, but he didn't say anything, not yet anyway. There was plenty of time to react when the dirty deed was over.
O'Grady was watching the clock; they had a lot of preparation to do before the night's work, and he said as much. 'Look, Jonnie, we need to go and get ourselves in position, but don't worry, we've got your back, no matter who he might have with him, OK?'
It was exactly what Jonnie needed to hear. He wanted all this over with so he could get back to Liverpool. Fucking southerners! All they had going for them was a milder climate – other than that the place was a shithole, full of blockheads and fucking thieves. But he felt better now it was all in place, he was even toying with just taking Murphy's knees out at first and letting him watch his boys die. Like Phillip, Jonnie Piper could be really nasty when the fancy took him, especially when he felt he was being had over. And as he was being had over, royally, it was going to stop tonight.
'Are you frightened, Philly?'
Philly thought about what his brother had asked, before answering him truthfully and with passion. 'I'm shitting it. Aren't you?'
Timmy nodded, but the truth was, he wasn't scared at all – he was excited, exhilarated even. But not in the least bit scared. He remembered as a kid he had dreamed of being like his father, of being without fear, and it had suddenly come to him that on the day he had taken out Joey White he had discovered his true self. He wasn't even twenty yet, and he was already on the cusp of serious crime, and serious crime meant serious respect. He felt like he was living in a Martin Scorsese film. It was every young boy's dream. He knew inside himself that he was born for this. Even more so than Philly. It was his destiny, and as cheesy as he knew that sounded, he honestly believed it. Timmy was champing at the bit to get this over with. He wanted to be blooded, he wanted to know what it was like to have the power of life and death. He wanted, if he was really honest, to be his father.
Phillip was visiting his wife and, as he looked at her strained face, he felt the usual rush of what he thought of as love.
There was, even now, something about Christine. From the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had wanted her, and he would never not want her. Of that much he was sure. He could cheerfully take her out at times, fucking strangle her, but he knew he wouldn't, because she represented everything he had ever cared about. Even like this, in rehab, her life in tatters around her, he still felt that pull. She was like something you know you can never have, but you long for it anyway. Even when he had got her, he had never really believed it. He could remember when she had felt the same, when she had run to him as soon as he walked through the door. When they had lain together after making love, and laughed and joked. He had felt like a real person then, the way he knew people were supposed to feel. Because until her, he had never really cared for another human being, not really. He had always seen the people around him as no more than acolytes, even his brothers and sister. They were safe only as long as they were useful to him.
He knew perfectly well he wasn't normal in some respects, but he used that as a strength – it was why he was so successful. Christine had, for a time, given him the belief that he could be like other men, feel as other people felt. Now, he was determined to make her see that he had changed, that he was the man she needed and wanted. He would make her believe it, he would get her back onside.
'Do you want another cup of tea, Christine?' His voice was gentle and full of care.
She shook her head, and tried to smile at him, she knew that pleased him. 'If I drink any more tea I'll wake up one morning and find I've turned into a teabag!'
He grinned, and she saw how good-looking he still was. 'Is it hard for you, babe, not drinking?'
It was the first time he had ever directly referred to why she was there, and it threw her for a few seconds. She wondered if he was setting her up, but looking into his eyes she felt instinctively he wasn't. She shrugged. 'Not any more, Phillip. It was at first.'
He nodded, and she saw the tears that were glistening in his eyes, and she felt almost sorry for him. 'I'm sorry for what I did to you, babe. I can't excuse it all, I was a bully, and I was a fucking fool. But you hurt me at times so badly, I had no choice but to lash out. I'm not making excuses, Christine, I just want you to know how I feel about you…'
She closed her eyes and swallowed audibly before saying quickly, 'I know, Phillip, I know how you feel about me. That's the one thing I am sure of, don't you worry.'
It was the nearest she would ever get to sarcasm and they both knew it. Phillip didn't react, he knew he had to keep his temper if he was going to salvage anything from their marriage. He smiled tenderly instead. 'Well, I can't help how I feel, babe. There will only ever be one woman for me, but I won't go on about it. Did I tell you the boys are cooking for me tonight at the house?'
She was amazed at his words, and he saw her face light up. 'You're joking?'
He grinned and, after stroking her face for a second, he sat back from her, as if giving her some space. 'Truth, as true as I'm sitting here. Cooking, your handsome sons.'
'What are they cooking for you?'
He laughed then, as if bewildered. 'Fuck knows, probably beans on toast!'
Christine had relaxed a bit, and her laugh in response was genuine. Phillip was lying through his teeth, of course, but she didn't know that. The charm offensive had begun, and he was going to make her love him again. He wanted it so badly, how could it not happen? She would be in here for ages, and that would give him the time he needed to bring her round to his way of thinking. With the help of the boys, he would get her back on track. He would once again be the man she loved and, this time, he would make sure he didn't fuck that up.
'All right, Breda? Where's Declan?'
She shrugged her answer. 'I dunno, mate. He should be round somewhere, might be in one of the clubs, he's sorting out the stock today.'
Phillip nodded. 'You're looking well, Breda. How's things here? How's the boys doing, that Timmy especially.'
She sat opposite him; when Phillip came in he always took her seat behind the desk. It wasn't that he was making a point or anything, it was just where he felt he should be sitting.
'Both are good kids, emphasis on the kids, of course. But no, Phillip, they are really intelligent boys. Bit young for all this really…'
Phillip stopped himself from biting; Breda kept hammering on about their ages, and yet she had been laid down more times than a fucking medieval tankard by the time she was fifteen. So the constant reference to their youth was getting wearing. But he decided to take it as her being a good aunt, rather than because she feared they would be getting her job though he suspected that was the real reason. He could write the fucking script for the lot of them, and it annoyed him that they all thought he couldn't suss them out. There was a reason why they worked for him, and not vice fucking versa.
But, in fairness, Breda was good at her job, and that counted for a lot with Phillip Murphy. She was family and, as such, she should understand that his sons were family as well. If they had been cranially challenged like poor Porrick they wouldn't get a chance at anything decent. Phillip wasn't a fucking fool. He wouldn't shoot himself in the foot because they were his kids. If they couldn't earn they would be out. But they had nous, he had to admit that. Now what they needed was experience, and he would provide them with that as well. It's what any father would do for their kids – see they knew how to get themselves an earn.
Breda understood that she had pushed it far enough, so she said, 'Timmy will surprise us, I think. He's deep, Phillip. Still waters and all that.'
He nodded in agreement, satisfied that she had spotted the same potential in his boy that he'd seen. Timmy was going to be the driving force there, he would lay money on it. He felt magnanimous suddenly. His sister was a fucking grafter, and she would kill for him, he knew that for a fact. Smiling, he said seriously, 'Don't worry, Breda, you will always be close to me in the businesses. I have a few things to sort out, as you know, and then I'll want you beside me, you and Declan, because we'll have a lot more work to do. My boys can cut their teeth on this lot, all right?'
Breda almost cried with relief, and he was glad he had put her mind at rest. He had been going to leave her here, but she was a good girl, and she was honest, and she was family. He knew he could trust her with his life. Plus the boys adored her, and they thought the world of Porrick. Personally he thought Porrick was a shitbag, and he would love to know who the culprit was who'd fathered him. But that was a mystery to be solved on another day.
'I want you and Declan at the farm by eleven tonight, OK?'
He saw her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he stopped himself from smiling at her obvious surprise.
'Come on, Breda, you didn't think I'd leave you out of something this big, do you? This is a family celebration, darling.'
As an afterthought he said grandly, 'Bring Jamsie and all. Fuck it – let's have a family party!'
Breda was thrilled at the invitation and, going around the desk, she hugged him tightly. 'Thanks, Phillip.'
He grinned happily. 'Why are you thanking me? We're family, Breda, we look out for each other, girl.'
'Talking of family, Phillip, how's Christine?'
He laughed then, and so did she when he said cheerfully, 'Mad as a box of frogs, but she's getting there, mate. It's the best I've seen her in years, to be honest.'
'I'm glad, Phillip, I think the world of her, you know that.'
He did know it; it was the truth, and truth meant a lot to him. It occurred to him that he could use Breda's relationship with Christine to help get his wife back on track. If Breda said that he had changed, mellowed, then Christine would believe her, especially if Breda actually believed it herself.
He would play the long game; it wouldn't be the first time, and he was sure that it wouldn't be the last.
Philly watched Jonnie Piper like a hawk – he was fascinated by him. That he wanted his father dead, and yet was strutting about their kitchen acting like everyone's best friend, was just outrageous.
Philly knew he had to act like he didn't know what was going on, and he felt he was doing a pretty good job of it. Piper would be feeling secure in himself, because he'd assume that Phillip Murphy wouldn't want his sons involved in a murder. But, as his father had explained to them earlier in the evening, that was the genius of the whole plan. It didn't occur to Philly for a moment that no decent man would be dragging his boys into something so serious and so dangerous. Most hardened criminals wanted their kids to be anything but a villain. It was why you earned, to give your kids better opportunities than you had had. Any decent man who had sat in a prison cell for any length of time wouldn't want that for their kids. They would rather see them out and free, not banged up. That was the hardest thing for any parent. But Philly and Timmy took every word out of their father's mouth as gospel; they didn't yet understand that it was really only ever going to be about him and what he wanted, never about anyone else. That was Phillip Murphy – it was how he was made.
Philly felt he was on the cusp of greatness, and he was looking forward to the night's events. He was a bit frightened that he would let his father down in some way, but he was mostly excited about doing something so outrageous, and dangerous. He still couldn't believe his father trusted them both enough to be involved. If he needed any more proof in his father's belief in them, this was it.
'Come on then, lads, who wants to walk the land with me?'
It was just what Jonnie Piper had been waiting for and, picking up his large Scotch, he said jovially, 'Fuck me, Phillip, I thought you'd never ask.'
They laughed as they walked out the back doors, and changed into Wellington boots. Phillip always kept spare sets for anyone who might be visiting, he knew better than anyone the damage dirt could do to a decent pair of shoes.
As they began the quarter of a mile walk they were joking around, and Jonnie Piper was sorry about the boys, because they were nice lads. But needs must and all that – he couldn't leave them as witnesses and, once the dirty deed was done, he would put it out of his mind as always. This was kill or be killed, like war, and these lads were what would be known in wartime as collateral damage.
It was a bright night, and the moon was full, and their voices were loud as they ambled slowly towards what was misleadingly called the 'big barn' but was, in reality, a huge chimney stack with ornamental brickwork, and solid hardwood doors. It looked more like a chapel than a furnace room. Phillip had given the local planning officer a serious drink to get the fucker built in the first place, but it had been worth every penny. After all, Phillip never skimped on quality, that was part of his charm.
Colin Banks and Jerome O'Grady were in the barn, ready. They were calm, and waiting patiently for the night's events to unfold. Both were used to this. Colin had committed his first murder when he was seventeen – he had glassed another lad in a pub in Liverpool's Knowsley district. He had done eight years of a life sentence, and came out far more knowledgeable about murder than when he had gone in. Jerome O'Grady, on the other hand, had learned his trade as a drug dealer's apprentice and he had learned early that if you tucked up a drug dealer, you were dead. It was a real cut-throat business, and that was no pun. He had got fed up with it because it was too obvious, and the likelihood of getting banged up too risky. He now worked for people like Jonnie, clearing up their shit for them, and he and Colin made a good earn. Far more than if they were in a normal legal line of work.
Funny thing was though, people still looked down on them – he assumed it was because they were like the grim reaper. Jerome's wife thought he was a courier; she was far happier thinking he was bringing in diamonds and gold, or even cocaine, than knowing what he really did. Now that would freak her out. Colin's wife thought he was a debt collector, and the way she spent she must think he was collecting for Asil Nadir. But it worked for them and, once tonight was over, they would have a drink, get their pay and fuck off home. One good thing about it, as Colin was always saying, the hours were great, and you could piss off from the wife in peace because you could say you had to go to work and she wouldn't question it.
They both heard muted laughter and, even though the only light was from the moon coming through the skylights, they had a pretty good view of the door. They settled themselves in position. They had chosen American handguns for the job; both were untraceable and had been supplied by Jonnie. The Colt 45 was a big gun, powerful and intimidating. Not something most people would pick in this day and age, but it was the gun of choice for the old die-hards.
As the door opened, they were both ready, holding out the guns as if they were playing a part in a film. The two boys were amazed to see them there, and Jerome saw the fear cross their faces as they took in what was happening.
He felt almost sorry for them.
'Let it go, Veronica, will you? I'm sick of hearing about it.'
Phil Senior was annoyed; he wanted to watch the telly, not have another post-mortem on his son's life. As far as he was concerned his Phillip was a fucking lunatic, but a well-heeled, functioning lunatic. The boys had to learn a craft at some point, so why not now?
Veronica was not pleased at her husband's reaction to her worries. She expected him to agree with her, that was how it had always been. Plus she was genuinely worried. In contrast to her Phillip she wasn't sure that her grandsons were capable of making a living on the rob. They were too well brought up after all the money her son had weighed out for their educations. 'Don't you ever think about anything else except drink, sport and telly?'
She watched as her husband shrugged in the chair. 'What else is there to think about in this house? Unlike you, Veronica, I ain't obsessed with my eldest son, am I?'
She stood up, and he saw the anger burning out of her bones. He knew he had gone too far. But he wished she would for once stop talking about Phillip; she was like a fucking stuck record, saying the same things over and over again. Who gave a flying fuck? Not him that was for sure.
'You bastard! You ain't interested in any of your children, that's the trouble – you never were. You ain't interested in fuck- all unless it's the pub.'
He got up and, going out to the hallway, he pulled on his coat.
'Where are you going at this time of night?' Veronica said, following him out.
'I'm going to the pub, there will be afters there, as per usual, and I can sit in peace and have a drink without you giving me GBH of the earhole.'
When he had slammed the front door she walked back into the front room and started to tidy up furiously, removing her husband's glass, the plate he had used for his sandwich, and fluffing up the cushions on the chairs. She hated him at this moment in time, really hated him. She was half tempted to phone Phillip and tell him what his father had said. But she wouldn't. Phillip would kill him, and she knew that as well as she knew her own name. But she was so worried about those boys; they were far too young for the firm, far too young and far too naive. She had a bad feeling on her about it, and she couldn't shake it off. She just didn't want anything bad to happen to them. It was a filthy, dangerous game Phillip was in and, even though her whole family were involved somehow, she didn't want it for Christine's sons. Because Christine would never be able to cope with them being a part of their father's world and, if she was really honest about it, neither would she.
Phillip saw his sons' faces, and stifled the urge to laugh. They were both white-faced with shock and horror at what they had walked into. They were diamonds the pair of them, twenty-four carat gold. He looked at Jonnie Piper, who was smiling triumphantly. Jonnie was standing there like he owned the fucking gaff, short-arsed and full of bravado. Phillip acted shocked, worried, but he wasn't – the man hadn't been born yet who could scare him.
'What's going on, Jonnie? What the fuck are you doing?'
Jonnie Piper laughed, the relief now it was actually happening was almost overwhelming; once he had outed this ponce he was home and dry.
'What's it look like?' He was all loose limbed and, thanks to the expensive whisky his host had kindly provided for them, he was almost in a party mood.
Suddenly Timmy took a run at Jonnie and, using his sheer size, knocked him off his feet. Then Philly was on him as well. Phillip watched, proud of his sons' bravery and, pulling them off the man, he said loudly, 'All right, you lads, relax. These two are with us.'
Jonnie Piper lay on the floor, felt the cold of the concrete even through his good suit. He glanced at the two men he believed he could trust and felt the sick sweat of dread as it drenched his body.
Jerome laughed before saying, 'You know your trouble, don't you, Jonnie? You're a fucking cheapskate.'
Jonnie knew when he was beaten. He had cut his face on his whisky glass when Timmy had taken him down. He was bleeding heavily, but he knew that was the least of his problems. Philly and Timmy now realised that it had all been set up by their father, and they were relieved as well as vexed.
Phillip hugged his boys to him. 'You were fucking great, but lesson number one, my sons, never believe what you're told, no matter who is doing the telling, right?' They nodded in unison like little boys in front of a teacher. 'You never walk into any situation like this without a weapon, or back-up, such as these two nice gentlemen here. But for all that, you've got heart, and that's ninety per cent of our game. I'm fucking proud of you, at least you would have gone down fighting.' He looked at Jonnie Piper and said, 'They did good, Jonnie, don't you think?'
Jonnie nodded his agreement, but he didn't really give a fuck – all he could think about was what Phillip had in store for him. He wouldn't put anything past Phillip Murphy. After all, he wouldn't be too happy about anyone trying to take out his lads, no one would.
'Can we get this over with, Phillip?' Jonnie's voice was low, and Phillip had to admire the fact he wasn't begging like many other men would be.
'Do it.'
Colin and Jerome each shot Jonnie Piper three times, and the two young lads watched, fascinated, as he bled out on the concrete floor. Afterwards, Colin lit a cigarette while Phillip poured them drinks from the bar he'd had put in for events such as this. All the time he kept a close eye on his sons' reactions.
Philly had already shrugged it off, it was over and done with, but Timmy, he could see, wasn't in the least bit calm yet. He was breathing heavily as Phillip saw him walk over to Jonnie's body. Lifting his foot, he crashed it into the man's face with every bit of his considerable strength. Even Jerome and Colin winced at the sound of crunching bone and sinew.
'Fucking piece of shit! Thought he was gonna fucking take us out.'
Philly pulled his little brother away and, putting his arm protectively around his shoulder, he said quietly, 'Calm down, will you? Dad wouldn't let anything happen to us.'
Phillip Murphy knew then, that out of the two, Timmy would eventually be the brains of the outfit. Unlike Philly, who was a good kid, Timmy would never trust anyone again. Not after this. He would use it as his yardstick for the future. It had been a good learning curve for them both. It was really only Breda's outrage at him wanting them to be blooded that had made him change his plans to have the boys kill Jonnie. Now he was glad he had because it had given him a valuable insight into his sons, and the differences between them. Philly was weaker – not physically, but mentally. Timmy took onboard everything, and he would use the knowledge to his advantage. Philly would be a good leader, but Timmy had the potential to be a great one.
'Come on, boys, drink up and let's get this ponce into the furnace. Then you two can scrub and bleach the floor. Remember, industrial bleach removes everything a forensic will be looking for. So pour a whole drum down the drains, all right?'
They both nodded.
'Right then, young Colin and young Jerome, your poke is waiting for you in that cupboard over there. Separate bags, and used notes as requested.'
Phillip waited until they had removed their money, checked it, and put their weapons inside the bags he had provided, before he opened another cupboard and brought out a large pump- action shotgun. He shot the two men one after the other, the sound deafening, even over the roar of the furnace. Then, looking at his sons' stunned faces, he said jovially, 'Lesson number two, never leave a fucking witness, it only causes you worry. People talk and, with the best will in the world, you never know when, where or to whom they'll do that talking. Now the only people who know what really happened in here are us. And we're family, so that don't count.' He waited till they had digested that bit of information before clapping his hands and saying loudly, 'Come on then, chop chop, this lot won't get up and jump into the incinerator themselves!'
He left them clearing up and walked back towards his house slowly, well satisfied with the night's events. He heard cars pulling up, and knew that the rest of the family had arrived. He was in the mood for a party now. He had everything he wanted and, more importantly, he had everything Jonnie Piper had wanted. His boys were both going places, and he would work hard at winning back his wife's affection; he would be successful, he was sure of it. He would get his family back proper, because at the end of the day, family was all you really had, all you could really rely on. And he had a family to be proud of, a family that most men could only dream of having.
Phillip Murphy was a very happy man.