by Martina Cole
She was excited about tonight, it was the first time Philly had taken her to one of their clubs. They normally went out to other places, neutral places in Romford or up town to the West End. She wanted to look her best, and show Philly that she was someone he could be proud of and, more importantly, that she was someone who could fit in with his family.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
'You sure you're all right, Mum?'
Veronica nodded, but she wasn't, she felt terrible.
'Listen, let me get the quack out.' Breda wasn't buying her mother's lies.
Veronica was already holding her hand palm up. 'No! Now stop keeping on about it. I'm under the weather that's all.' But she knew it was more than that, she just wasn't interested in what it might be. Veronica never went to the doctor, ever. They never told you anything you wanted to hear, it was all doom and gloom. Christ knew she was happy enough in ignorance.
'He'll find out what's wrong with you, and once he knows that he can treat you accordingly,' Breda persisted.
Veronica could hear the worry in her daughter's voice, and smiling now, secretly pleased at her daughter's concern, she said, 'Would you feck off, and leave me be. I'm not a spring chicken any more. Jesus, I won't be seeing sixty again, I'm just getting older, slowing down. You'll be the same one day and I hope that Porrick isn't scalding the heart out of you with constant questions.'
Breda sighed heavily. It was worrying seeing Veronica so thin and weak looking. She still cooked for them all, but it wiped her out these days. Breda had arranged for a cleaner to come in three times a week now the heavy work was getting too much for Veronica. There had been absolute murders when she had first arrived, but now her mother was thrilled with her. She was a lovely Polish girl, very willing, and very polite; she was also a good Catholic and she attended the same church as them, so that was really the deciding factor. But she also kept the place immaculate and, where her mother was concerned, that was the second most important thing. Breda knew her father was glad to get out of the house these days, it was as if the weaker Veronica got, the more frightened he became. He refused to discuss his wife's condition, and Breda knew the next step was to get Phillip involved. Once he arranged a doctor's appointment there would be no further arguments, she would have to go, there would be no getting out of it. Breda decided she'd talk to Phillip tonight at the club, then she could relax and stop worrying. It was weird really - Breda gravitated from wanting to punch her mother's lights out, to wanting to hug her on a daily, almost hourly, basis. Deep down, Breda loved her mother even though she accepted that her affections were wholly reserved for Phillip.
'Here, apparently Philly's bringing his bird tonight - we're going to meet her. She's Jack McCormack's youngest daughter and it's a love job by all accounts.'
Veronica was pleased, it was about time those boys settled down. 'What, Mad Jack's girl Finoula?'
Breda nodded. She didn't realise her mother had met her, but then her mother knew everyone who had some kind of Irish heritage.
'Oh, Jasus, she's a lovely girl - beautiful. I've met her a few times with her mother at seven o'clock Mass. She goes every morning with Mary Mac. Done very well at school, I believe. She did a business something or other - I can't remember what, but she runs her father's bookies, and runs them well, I'm told.'
Breda was amazed. She had found out more about Finoula in two minutes with her mother than she would from young Philly if she interrogated him for six months. 'I forgot you and Mary Mac were mates, how is she?'
'Very well, God bless her and keep her. The old breathing is bad, like, but she loved a fag that one. Always had one sticking out the side of her gob! Even when she was cooking!' Veronica laughed in delight at the old memory. She was glad Philly was seeing someone like them, someone who understood their world. Timmy's tastes were for the more refined, but sexually accessible females. In short, he never kept them longer than a few weeks, if that. 'Posh totty' was how Phillip described his younger son's girlfriends, and she knew it was a derogatory term, though she didn't really know what it meant. But like young Philly and his father, one day he would meet 'the one', and then he'd change his tune like they all did.
Except her Declan, of course - in his forties now and still without a partner, as they insisted on calling them these days. Mind you, the same could be said for Breda, but sure, Breda was more man than the men she came across in her work. Though her conquests weren't so young these days - well, not as young as they used to be anyway. Veronica chuckled to herself. Her daughter had the sexual appetite of a Titan, she got that from her - not that she would ever tell her that, of course, but back in the day!
Jamsie had four stepchildren, and now two of his own, so he'd ended up with six. She was pleased for him though - he had a good girl there, a damn fine girl. And Porrick, him and his little thing were married now, and she knew a child wouldn't be long in the offing with them two. Porrick never said a shagging word, yet him and his girl were always whispering and smiling. Sometimes it got on her nerves, but she kept that to herself. Porrick was her grandson and she loved him, but he was a fecking eejit to try to talk to for any length of time. Would aggravate a saint as her mother used to say.
Veronica had been thinking about her life a lot lately since this illness had assailed her. She was sure it was serious and all she wanted was to spend what time she had left with her family, however long or short that might be. Especially her Phillip, her boy, her heart.
As Breda left: the house, she pulled her mother into her arms, and she could feel the frailty of her body. Kissing her hard on the cheek, she said quietly, 'We need you, Mum, all of us, so please go to the fucking doctors, will you?'
Veronica realised she must look much worse than she thought if Breda was so worried. The knowledge depressed her. She wanted another few years, see them all settled properly, and she would go happily to her maker. After all, that was what happened to everyone, wasn't it?
'Get yourself away, child, and tell me about Finoula and Philly tomorrow. I'll be beside meself until I know what happened.'
Breda left her mother, but she was anxious, and she knew that she had to tell Phillip to get her sorted out. Christine would make sure the doctor was good, and she would go with her to see him. Christine was great like that, she was dependable when it was something important. She did the jobs no one else really wanted to do, and for that Breda would be eternally grateful. The last thing she wanted was to be dragging her mother to the doctor against her will; as her father always said, her mother could make the top of the morning sound like a declaration of war. No, it would be much better if Christine took her.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six
Declan was tired. He had just reached Southend Seafront, and now he was sitting like a lemon in the traffic - he should have left his place earlier. With the top down on his BMW convertible he could smell the salt, and the even heavier smell of the doughnut stands which was making him hungry. He had to stop eating - he was getting like a fucking elephant - but it was living alone, he didn't eat properly, but knowing that still didn't make him stop.
As he sat there in the sunshine, watching the girls go by in their skimpy summer clothes, he wondered how the night would be in the club. There had been a lot of trouble in the main nightclub. They had revamped it a year earlier, renamed it Legends and, for some reason, the last few months there had been nothing but fucking trouble in there. Not just fighting - that he could cope with. It was a nightclub in Essex after all and that was part of the Essex experience - a great night out involved a good drink and a good fight, it was almost mandatory really. No, it was the drugs, and the atmosphere they brought with them. There were new dealers coming in all the time. People they didn't know, had never heard of. Like most sensible club owners they used their own people. The franchise would be given to someone who would then deal discreetly and lucratively and they would also take the flak should the Filth decide to
raid them. Not a problem in their clubs admittedly due to Phillip's connections, but every now and then there was a fake raid to make things look good. People paid a fair wedge to deal in peace, and so someone muscling in was bound to cause trouble. Which it had. The only thing was they were from out of the county, and all of them were apparently working for a ghost. The man they said had approached them was long dead. A very long time dead. He should know, his brother had killed him. It was Billy Bantry.
There was definitely serious skulduggery afoot, Declan would lay money on it. But until they could pin down who had actually given out the franchises, they were no better off. Every description was different, so that meant there was more than one person at work here. It was vexing, because they really didn't need any aggro at the moment; things were going so well, it would be a shame to have to go to war. But a war it would be. Phillip was livid, and taking it all as a personal insult. It would never occur to him that a lot of people thought that the Murphys had a bit too much for their own good and that a bit more of their largesse should be spread about locally. Well, Phillip wouldn't swallow that and, if Declan was honest, neither would he. They were businessmen, not fucking probation officers; there was no law that said they had to make sure strangers were doing all right. It was laughable really. At the end of the day, what did people expect from them? Fucking charity by the sounds of it.
Oh, Declan was annoyed and he was asking round anyone and everyone he could. Trouble was, no one seemed to be off- kilter to them and everyone had a viable excuse for their behaviour. Which left only one thing for definite. Some fucker somewhere actually thought that they could get away with something this fucking outrageous. It was insulting more than anything, and Phillip was losing patience by the hour, hence their constant presence in the nightclub.
Whoever this was would trip up sooner or later, and when they did, he and Phillip would be ready for them.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven
'This place looks fantastic, Philly, really upmarket.'
Finoula was impressed and Philly was revelling in her adoration. He knew this was a decent venue, and something to be proud of. Philly saw himself as a bit of a catch, and he was glad he had won this girl beside him. She was a blinder in every way. A good laugh, fabulous body, a good brain in her head, and a fantastic fuck - what more could a man want from life? He was going to marry her, and he was not going to wait about either. Like her, he wanted kids, and he wanted stability. What he didn't want was someone like his mother, but there was little chance of that: Finoula didn't drink, had never even tried cocaine, and she didn't feel she had lost out because of it. She could sip water all night and still have a blinding time. She was the girl for him all right.
'Come through to the VIP bar, babe.'
He walked her carefully through the crowded club and, seeing the way he was treated by the punters and the staff alike, she felt so proud to be with him as his girl. This was the life for her, this was what she wanted: the respect and the kudos having the name Murphy would bring her. She was already a McCormack and that had given her a small taste of what a name could do for you in life.
As Philly grabbed her hand and walked her into the VIP bar, she felt the excitement welling up inside her. She could see the envious glances from the other girls there, could almost feel their jealousy, and their surprise at Philly Murphy acting like a love-sick teenager, because that was just how he acted around her. It was part of his charm for her, as though he was lucky to have her. He had told her he loved her, and she knew it was true. Life was just getting better and better.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight
Phillip watched the room through the two-way mirror behind the bar area. All the bars had them; it was the only way to stop thieving and people giving the drinks away for free. Though, in fairness, their staff were loyal and honest enough. It was the agency fuckers you had to watch out for. They were only there for one night and they went all out to make sure it was a good earner for them. That is until they were caught, of course - then they realised they had skanked off the wrong person. He was watching the VIP bar, eager to see this little bird of Philly's and, when they walked in, he had to admit she was a looker. She could have stepped out of the pages of a magazine, but then that wasn't too hard in Essex. All the girls were lookers. It was almost a genetic thing - they knew what was in fashion, what wasn't and where to get whatever they wanted. Even through the mirrors, Phillip could see she was special though, and watching his son's beaming face as he escorted her to the bar, it was clear that she was going to be a part of their lives from now on. She was from good stock, and it seemed like she could handle herself; if she ran the bookies as well as he had heard, she would be an asset to them. She had a business degree by all accounts, so she wasn't the usual tits and teeth - she had a bit of nous as well. His Philly had done well by the looks of it.
Christine watched as her husband spied on his son and his new girlfriend, because that was exactly what he was doing, spying on them, and it annoyed her.
'Come on, Phillip, let's get out there and say hello. She looks like a nice girl.'
'I just wanted a sneak preview. If she was a Hammer Horror I was going to fuck off home to avoid them!'
Christine laughed despite herself, Phillip could be amusing when the fancy took him. Through the mirror she saw Breda walking towards Philly and his girl all smiles and camaraderie, and she felt a rush of affection for her sister-in-law. She might get on Breda's nerves at times, but she knew Breda felt a lot of guilt over what had happened all those years ago, and genuinely cared about Christine. Breda just wanted everyone to be happy, everyone in her family anyway. As Christine watched her with her elder son it occurred to her that Breda was probably closer to him these days than she was, and she was amazed to find that the realisation didn't bother her as it would have once. She had learned to live with a lot of things over the years, and she had also accepted that it wasn't what happened to you, it was how you dealt with it. And she dealt with things as and when they happened now, she didn't let herself get in a state over things she had no control over. It wasn't an ideal life, but it was the best it had been in years, and all because she made a point of not letting herself think too much. That had always been her trouble.
'She's very pretty, Phillip,' she commented to her husband.
He nodded, but she knew that the girl's looks wouldn't affect him - if she was seventy-five, he would still want her rather than anyone else in the world. She told herself that it was a compliment, most fathers would have been drooling over this little girl and her tight young body. She decided the girl had a lovely smile, and that she liked the way she looked at her son, as if she had been given a lovely present, and was thankful for it.
The gunshot, when it came, was deafening, even though they were inside the offices away from the club itself. As her son sank to the floor, and young Finoula started screaming, Christine realised that it was her Philly who had been the target, her baby had been shot, and blood was seeping through his lovely suit and on to the carpet she had chosen so carefully.
She could hear someone screaming, screaming louder than everyone else, and it was a few seconds before she realised that the terrible noise was coming from her.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine
'He's still in the operating theatre. This is fucking madness.' Phillip's voice was loud in the small room, loud and aggressive sounding. 'Who would dare? Who would fucking dare!' He kicked the wall in outrage, and the thud was audible to them all.
Declan didn't answer him; he was thinking exactly the same thing, so it was pointless repeating it. If the lad died, he knew there would literally be murders, though the way Phillip was acting now, he wouldn't put it past him to take out the poor surgeon if he didn't tell him what he wanted to hear.
'Will you calm down, Dad! For fuck's sake, this ain't helping anyone, is it?' Only Timmy could have got a
way with that, and even Breda was impressed that the boy was saying what they all wanted to but daren't. Even more astounding was the way Phillip swallowed it - anyone else would have been dismantled in seconds. 'Whoever is behind this is a fucking dead man, Dad, that's a given. Let's just concentrate on getting him better first. How's me mum? Has anyone been down to see her?'
'She's all right, Timmy, I sat with her until the sedative worked,' Breda said from her place beside Finoula, who looked bedraggled and covered in blood. Finoula had held Philly in her arms until the ambulance had arrived, and travelled with him all the way to the hospital. She had been outstanding, and they knew she would be accepted by every one of them for this night's performance. If Philly survived he would be a lucky man to get this girl full-time, and they would tell him that as well. Phillip, especially, was impressed with her; he knew she had been terrified, yet she had lain over Philly, as if protecting him from further harm. The girl loved his son, of that there would never be any doubt.
The door opened and they looked expectantly towards it. When Mad Jack walked in, Finoula ran to him and, bursting into tears, she sobbed brokenly, 'Someone shot Philly, Dad! Some bastard shot my Philly.'
As he held his daughter to him, Mad Jack looked at Phillip and shook his head sadly. It said a lot for him that he didn't question what had occurred, or make a scene about his daughter's condition and the danger she had been in. Like everyone in the room, he saw this as an occupational hazard. And, like them, he would move heaven and earth to find the culprit. This was personal now - whoever had done the dirty deed had risked his daughter's life in the process.
