The Family

by Martina Cole

  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.

  * * *

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  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.

  * * *

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  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.

  * * *

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  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.'