The Family

by Martina Cole

  'But he frightens me… I'm frightened of him…'

  Veronica could see the terror in her daughter-in-law's face, and her heart genuinely went out to her, but she also knew that this was not something the girl could show her husband. He wouldn't be able to cope with it.

  'And so he should! You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel afraid. But I'm trying to tell you, darling, you have to act like you're not scared of him. He needs you to try and understand him now, and that's what you are going to do.'

  They heard the car pull up on the drive and Veronica hugged the girl to her tightly. 'Now, remember what I said and take my lead, OK?'

  Christine nodded, her heart hammering in her chest; she felt almost faint at the thought of facing him. It felt as if she was about to welcome an axe murderer into her home and, in many ways, that was exactly what she was doing.

  The front door opened and his voice boomed out towards them. 'Where are my best girls, eh?' His voice was full of fun, sounded so natural and happy. Veronica winked at her then, and Christine could see the relief on her face.

  'The wanderer returns! Come away in, son, and let us get a look at you.'

  Christine couldn't believe how relaxed Veronica's voice sounded. It was as if she had forgotten everything that had happened. It was so surreal that Christine wondered briefly if she was caught in a waking nightmare.

  Then Phillip was there, in the room with them and she could hear the boys making their way to their father from the playroom. She wanted to run - pick the boys up, and leave the house, but she knew that wasn't an option. Phillip looked wonderful, he was clean, smartly dressed, his hair was freshly cut. He had his handsome smile turned on full beam, and she knew this was a definitive moment in her young life.

  'She's been worried out of her mind, Phil, but I told her you had a lot of things to sort out. There's a chicken casserole in the oven - I'll serve it up, while you two get reacquainted.'

  Veronica bustled from the room, taking the boys with her. It didn't escape Christine's notice that Phillip had ignored the boys, he was concentrating on her, and her alone. She was amazed to realise that she was crying, the tears rolling freely down her lovely face.

  Phillip went to her and, as he put his hand out, she felt herself flinch. She saw the horror on his face at her reaction and, looking into his eyes, she said brokenly, 'Oh, Phil, I was so scared something had happened…'

  It was the right approach, he shook his head slowly and, taking her in his arms, he enveloped her in a hug that almost took the breath from her body.

  'Oh, darling Christine, I'm sorry, babe. I had a lot of things to sort out. I didn't want to bring any of it here, into our home. I knew my mother would take care of you.'

  He pulled her away from him and kissed her deeply on the lips. She could feel his tongue sliding into her mouth, and had to stifle the urge to gag. Pulling his face noisily away from hers, he looked at her seriously. 'Don't ever be frightened of me, Christine, I could never hurt you, babe. Outside in the real world, I have to be a different person to survive. But in here, in our world, it will always just be us.'

  She knew somehow that it was a veiled threat, but following her mother-in-law's lead she forced herself to smile at him. 'I'm just glad you're home safe and sound, Phil.'

  Then the tears began again, and he held her and comforted her until eventually she calmed down.

  * * *

  Book Two

  Tell me what company you keep and I'll tell you what you are

  Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616) Spanish adventurer, author and poet

  Man, biologically considered, and whatever else he may be into the bargain, is simply the most formidable of all the beasts of prey and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its own species

  William James (1842-1910) American philosopher

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-Five

  1998

  'Come on, boys, it's time we got going.'

  Christine smoothed some lipstick on her lips, as she hunted for the keys to the Range Rover. She could feel Phillip's eyes on her and, turning, she smiled at him. 'All right?'

  He answered her truthfully, 'Very, especially as you seem a lot better in yourself, mate. Are the new tablets any good?'

  She nodded. 'I feel much better inside meself, Phil. It's like the doctor says, depression is an illness, and it can happen to anyone at any time so, like any illness, I have to get it treated. But these new pills make me feel a million dollars.' She was telling him what he wanted to hear, she always told him what he wanted to hear. For years she had lived beside a man she was terrified of, and the fact that he treated her like a queen just made it all feel worse.

  'Well, don't forget tonight we've got Ricky Thomas and his wife coming to dinner. I have a bit of business with him. Are you sure you'll be OK? We can get a chef in, or me mother will cook for us.'

  She laughed then. 'I've got it all in hand, Phil. We're having crab cakes to start, roast lamb for the main, and I've already knocked up a lemon posset for dessert. Lastly, we've got a fuck- off cheese board for the wine and brandy. I'll be fine - I love cooking, it relaxes me.'

  He grinned, relieved that she wasn't under any undue pressure. 'Well, you're a blinding cook, sweetheart. How lucky was I, eh? Beautiful, clever and a wonderful wife. Fantastic mother, and still the only woman who interests me.'

  She turned away from him then, unable to look him in the face. When he spoke like that all it did was make her panic inside. She felt as though he was constantly reminding her she was his.

  Philly came into the kitchen; at thirteen he was already big for his age, and he had the dark hair and the blue eyes of his father.

  'All right, Dad? Can I come to the arcade again this weekend?'

  Phillip smiled. ' 'Course you can, you can work the change booth for me. At least I know I can trust you!' They laughed easily together.

  Just then her younger son wandered in to the room. Philly and Timmy were so similar they were like twins born a few years apart and it was uncanny how like Phillip they were - she saw nothing of herself in them. Little Timmy was quieter than his brother though; they all joked that he was deep waters, but, if she was honest, she worried that he seemed to have a bit too much of Phillip's nature in him. Philly had a temper too, but it was quick to flare and just as quick to die out. Timmy, on the other hand, had a temper that was phenomenal in its intensity. She had been forced to remove him from his first playgroup over it - he fought the other kids like a tiger for almost no reasons at all.

  'Come on, you two, get in the Range, and no arguing who sits where, OK? Mummy has to have peace and quiet while she's concentrating on her driving, so don't let me hear any fucking stories today about you two rowing, and I mean it.'

  Both boys nodded; when Phillip swore they knew he meant business.

  'See you later, Dad.'

  Christine ushered them from the house and, as she pulled out of the electric gates, she saw Declan on his way in. He waved at her, and she automatically waved back. She liked Declan; he had been good to her over the years, and she had come to rely on him. He was the voice of reason, and strangely Phillip listened to him and respected what he said. These days Declan was the only person on the planet who her husband listened to. Somehow he kept Phillip from going overboard, and for that alone she would be eternally grateful.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Ricky Thomas was a big man in his early fifties. He had a young, new wife called Deandra - she had given him two new kids, a boy and a girl, and he had given her a lovely house, new tits and all the clothes she could buy. It was strange because they actually did care about one another. Deandra had been brought up on a council estate, with a piss-head for a mother and an errant father. Ricky was everything she had ever wanted in a man; he was a father, a lover and a friend and she adored him.

  'Look, Dee, Phillip Murphy can fucking whistle - he's not getting anything from me and I'm going to tell him that tonig
ht, so stop worrying, will you?'

  'He's weird, Rick, he scares me.'

  'Well, he don't fucking scare me. I've been around the pavements a bit too long for all that old fanny and, besides, he's a businessman at heart. He'll understand I don't want to get rid and that'll be it.'

  'Everyone he falls out with either disappears, or has a bad accident - look at his fucking mate Bantry, he's like the poor relation these days. Phillip Murphy is the fucking main face of that operation.'

  'Oh, Deandra, will you put a fucking sock in it, girl, it's too early in the morning for aggravation of the ear drums. Go and help the au pair or something.'

  She laughed despite herself, he could be funny, could her Ricky. But she had a bad feeling about this business with Murphy.

  He had taken over most of the seafront in Southend; buying people out, running them away. She knew how much money there was in the games - after all, it was their livelihood - but she felt that Murphy wanted the whole thing and would stop at nothing to get it.

  Ricky lit one of the many cigars he would smoke that day; he was worried all right, but he wasn't about to let Deandra know that. Tonight he had to keep his wits about him and, in the process, stop his livelihood from slipping into Murphy's clutches. He would sit in his house, chat with his Stepford wife, who always looked like she was about to bolt from the room, and eat his grub, all the time being a jovial and congenial guest. He would then tell him in as nice a way possible that he had no intention of selling his arcades, and that there was more than enough room for the two of them. He knew Phillip Murphy had moved in on two clubs recently, and was making a play for everything on the front, even the hot-dog stalls and the fast- food outlets. It seemed he wanted to be king of the seafront. Well, Ricky was fine with that but he was not going to add his own little bit of Essex to Phillip's pile.

  He was nervous though, and that annoyed him. It wasn't in his nature - he was a big, gregarious and, sometimes, hard man. This young Phillip Murphy was an anomaly to him, part of the new breed of young Faces - all money and violence, no finesse and certainly no real intelligence. It was the nineties for fuck's sake, all that threatening and posturing went out with the ark. That was for the drug dealers and the foreign fucks, not the locals; they stuck together to make sure the new breed of eastern Europeans didn't infiltrate their patches. Phillip Murphy was a grade-A cunt, and that was his last thought on it. Unfortunately, Phillip Murphy was on his mind all that day, and Ricky knew he was playing a dangerous game with him. The only thing left was to find out who was going to be the victor.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Declan sipped his coffee and listened to Phillip's new game plan. It amazed him that he really believed Ricky Thomas would roll over without a fight, and he said as much. 'Hang on a minute, Phil, Ricky's family have had that arcade since the nineteen twenties. It's a family business - his grandfather started it, and it's all he's ever known. I think you're being a bit premature assuming he's going to swallow without a fight.'

  Phillip listened intently to his brother, let him have his say. He was always polite with Declan, he was the one person whose opinion he was even remotely interested in. But he had made up his mind and this was made evident by his next remark. 'The thing is, Dec, I ain't giving him a choice here; he either sells to me at a decent price, or I'll get it by fair means or foul. It's what I want, it's perfect.'

  Declan sighed heavily. There was no more to say and they both knew it. It was futile labouring the point; Phillip had made his mind up and that, basically, was that. Declan felt a pang of sorrow for Ricky. He was a nice bloke, out of his league of course, but a nice fella all the same.

  'What about this place? How's the pig farming going?'

  Phillip grinned. 'Fucking lovely, we decided on Old Spot, a real English pig. Come and have a look at them, they are fucking phenomenal, Declan. Do you know pigs will eat literally anything? Bone, skull, you name it. The only thing they don't eat is the teeth of a carcass - well, they do eat them but shit them out afterwards! And the chickens are amazing. It's like watching a soap opera - one of the cockerels gives each hen a quick shag first thing every morning, randy fucker he is.'

  Declan laughed. 'How's the old boy Sammy working out?'

  Phillip was pulling on his wellies as he spoke. 'Come and have a looksee. The cottage is finished and I think it's the best digs the poor old fucker ever had. I had Sky put in for him, he's over the fucking moon. But there ain't a thing he don't know about farming or animals. He's like having me own personal Jack Hargreaves, I could listen to him for hours. I've got a couple of the lads working for him too. The kitchen garden is three times the size now, and the polytunnels are all bursting with produce. Honestly, the difference in the taste of the food is amazing. And even more amazing is that young Timmy is turning into a right Farmer Giles - he loves the land. Reckon it must be the Irish in us, eh?'

  'Farmer Giles, he got piles then!'

  They both laughed as they crossed the yard towards the new piggery. The sounds of the smallholding were wholesome and innocent, pigs snorting, hens clucking and, in the distance, the sheep were dotted about the top field; it was idyllic, it was beautiful and well looked after. Nothing was too good for Phillip's livestock. He had created an oasis for himself, they were more or less self-sufficient now, and this farm was Phillip's number one priority. He fed the whole family on his produce and he was rightly proud of that fact. He had added to the land over the years; through threats and intimidation he had taken on all the surrounding houses and fields. He was like the lord of the manor, and he took his place as the head of the community very seriously indeed.

  It was yet another facet of Phillip Murphy's weird and wonderful personality.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Breda was tired. She had had a very late night with a young Jamaican fella with bushy dreads and arms like legs of lamb. She was sated, happy and late for a meeting.

  Breda had changed a lot in ten years. She had taken to wearing power suits and expensive shirts, and she ran the clerical side of the games enterprises, sorting out the staff, the wages and other mundane matters that Phillip saw as beneath him. She loved every second of it. She kept a beady eye on everyone, made sure no one was making any money for themselves, and the few times she had found thieving among the staff she had meted out a swift and painful retribution. She had everything she wanted really - respect (her number one priority), money (her second priority) and a job that was interesting, exciting and gave her the chance to show off her skills. Phillip was thrilled with her, and that was the main thing.

  Today though, she was having a meeting with a gun specialist who she had come across through a favourite pastime of hers: looking for men of a certain age and disposition. Her criteria were pretty basic: young, healthy, muscular and black. This particular man was called Daniel, and he was a gun runner for the Jamaican Yardies. He could get the best quality guns on the pavement for a fraction of the usual price. They were brought in quickly and safely by boat, and they were distributed with the minimum of fuss. As all the guns were preordered, there was no need to stash them, or find the buyers. It was a pretty neat little operation, and Phillip was pleased at her acumen in getting them all in on the ground floor. The Jamaicans were notoriously difficult to work with, having an inherent distrust of the white Anglo-Saxon male. Somehow Breda had inveigled herself into their world, and she fitted in perfectly where a man wouldn't have been given such a chance. She got on well with Daniel on all levels; they were two of a kind, so understood each other perfectly. The guns she procured were clean, of a superior nature, and didn't have any local bodies on them. She was selling them on for a good profit, and that was as always the bottom line with Phillip.

  She was also well in with her mother at the moment because, after all these years, she had talked Phillip into letting Jamsie be her driver. Phillip had never spoken a word to Jamsie since he grassed on Declan, had never even looked directly a
t him. He always removed himself from Phillip's presence as soon as he heard him enter the house. Even on Christmas Day, as soon as Phil turned up with his family, Jamsie had to go upstairs out of his sight. No one commented on it, it was surreal almost. It was stranger still because Declan had long forgiven him. But it was better than the alternative, and that was Jamsie being murdered by his brother. Jamsie hadn't touched a drink or drugs since he had came home from hospital. It was as if he didn't trust himself to be out of control; he needed to be in his right mind. Now, because of that, he was the perfect driving material, and he was grateful, so grateful, to be even a small part of the family firm. It was a thawing of sorts on Phillip's part, but there was still a very long way to go. Breda thought he was humouring her to please their mother but, either way, it was seen by everyone as a coup on her part, and that pleased her very much.

  These days she was a really big part of the family firm and, because of that, she had utter respect. Everyone in their orbit treated her with the reverence she felt she deserved. Like Jamsie, she had learned a valuable lesson about how best to get on in the family, and that was by listening to Phillip, taking onboard what he wanted from her, and making sure any orders were carried out to the letter. Having Declan there was an added boon. When he came home, he took up the reins with Phillip, and his presence was a much-needed buffer between them all and Phillip. Forever the voice of reason, Declan was the only person alive that Phil would even entertain being questioned by.

  All in all the Murphys' lives were good, and they could only get better. Breda couldn't be more pleased to be an integral and important part of it all.