by Martina Cole
'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.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Two
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.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Three
'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.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Four
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.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Five
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?'
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Six
'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.
