The Family

by Martina Cole

  And his Christine, she had looked fantastic. Really gorgeous, and everyone had remarked on it. She had stayed on water all day too, only sipping at the champagne for the toasts.

  Oh, he was like a dog with six lamp posts, he was so happy. It had been a triumph for him, and now he was savouring the feeling that came with it.

  'Come on, Christine, one glass of brandy won't kill you! Join me in a toast to our son and his lovely bride.'

  She moved closer to him on the sofa, and nodding she said happily, 'OK. It was a lovely day, wasn't it?'

  'It was a perfect day, and did you see the way everyone was looking around? We fucking showed them all right, they know the real score now.'

  Christine felt a moment's sorrow for this big, ignorant lout she was married to. When he talked like this she saw the child inside him, always trying to prove that he was someone, that his family were someones. She closed her eyes and savoured the Courvoisier; he still had cheap taste in brandy, for all his expensive bottles, he still felt the Big C, as he called it, was the only brandy to drink. It wouldn't surprise her if he didn't even like it, it was just another part of his persona. He should have been an actor, because he could act the part of anything with conviction. At the moment he was the proud father, who had just seen his elder son married. But he wouldn't have thought about the happy couple once, though the speech he gave didn't reflect that - it had been amazing. All he was really interested in was what other people thought of the day, how it would have shown him in a good light. It was always about him in the end. He hugged her to him, and she could almost feel his satisfaction.

  'Lot of old faces here today, Christine.'

  'Yeah, Phillip, four hundred of our closest friends!'

  Even he laughed at her droll delivery. 'All right, Christine, but you know me, I like people to see how well we're all doing.'

  She nodded. She wasn't about to start a fight, she couldn't be bothered any more if truth be told. It was easier being nice to him, pretending everything was fine. And occasionally, like now, (and she hated admitting this, even to herself) Phillip, when he was happy and content, could be very good company. At moments like this, she could almost pretend they were young again, before she had found out the truth about her husband.

  'People were impressed all right. Fucking hell, I was impressed, Phillip, and I helped arrange it!'

  He laughed in delight; it was just what he needed to hear, and his Christine like this was the cherry on the cake for him.

  'Did you see Mad Jack with those amuse-bouche things! Fucking hell, Christine, he looked at me and his face was so bewildered I just burst out laughing. I told him later though that you had to explain them to me the first time! He's a great man. Philly did well with that girl, she's got a bit of savvy. Reminds me of you, back in the day.'

  She smiled, but she didn't answer him, she wasn't getting into any conversations that might open up old wounds. 'Your mum enjoyed herself too. She loves a show-off - she's worse than you!'

  He made a wry face and she laughed.

  'Probably where I get it from, eh? Timmy seemed a bit subdued. I thought he would enjoy the party more. I mean, he didn't really mix that much, or was it me imagining things?'

  Christine thought about it for a few seconds before she said slowly, 'Now you come to think of it, he was very quiet. Mind you, Phillip, they are close those two. Seeing his big brother married off probably made him realise things would change between them now. Especially as Finny wants a baby soon as they can manage it.'

  'You're right. I saw him up by the big barn with that horrible little fucker Philly used to knock about with, I couldn't stand him. Graham Planter - snide of the first water, him. All the Planters are the same. His father's a fucking grass, everyone knows that; you can't deal drugs like they do in full view of the Filth and not get a fucking serious talking to. He's never been nabbed once, and that tells me one thing - he's offering the Filth an alternative income. Scum. I kept me temper though, but Timmy could see I wasn't impressed. I told him last year that I didn't want Planter in the arcades. Timmy was all right about it then. He should never have found his way to the wedding reception.'

  'Did you say Graham Planter?'

  Phillip nodded; the memory had marred his perfect day now, and that rankled. 'Our Timmy can be a right awkward ponce at times, don't you think, Chris?'

  She was nodding but thinking of nothing except the fact Graham Planter had been up by the barn. He had not been at the reception, she would have noticed him because his face was stamped on her memory. Graham Planter had shot her Philly. When everyone else had been looking at Philly's wounded body that awful night in the club she had noticed him. He was older, and he had one of those stupid flat caps pulled over his eyes like the DJs wore, but she had recognised his face. He had been Philly's childhood friend not Timmy's. So why would he have been with Timmy at the big barn? She felt sick at the thoughts that were suddenly going through her head.

  'Where is Timmy anyway? Did he go back to his flat or stay here?'

  Phillip frowned. 'He was drunk, so I assume he's upstairs in his old room. Why?'

  She shrugged as if she wasn't that bothered. 'I just wondered, that's all.'

  But the shine had gone from the day, and her nerves were once more jangling inside her body. She threw back the brandy in one gulp and then, holding her glass out for more, she said with forced joviality, 'Fuck it, Phillip, let's have a party, shall we?'

  He laughed delightedly. 'Anything you want, darling, you've got it. We made history today, you and me. It was perfect, babe. Everything was just perfect.'

  * * *

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five

  Finoula and Phillip were at the Hilton Heathrow. They were flying to LA the next day for their honeymoon and they were both happy, tired and randy.

  'Fucking Los Angeles, I still can't believe it! I bet that was your idea?'

  Finoula nodded and laughed. 'Your mum asked me where we would really like to go, and I said I wanted to shop on Rodeo Drive, eat at The Grove, and see the Hollywood sign. Plus, I thought you might like a few days in Vegas!'

  He popped the champagne with a flourish. 'I'd go to a caravan in fucking Norfolk if you were there in the nude! But I can cope with LA and Vegas. At least there will be a bit of currant bun anyway.'

  She took the champagne flute and said dreamily, 'What a day, Philly! It was so wonderful, I've never been so happy.'

  He could hear the tears in her voice, and he felt a rush of pure love wash over him. 'Come on, Finny, don't start crying now. I want me leg over!'

  She couldn't help laughing at him, and his choice of words; he was funny was her Philly. She knew how lucky she was. 'There'll be none of that, mate, not now I'm a respectable married woman!'

  It was an old East End joke; both had heard it a hundred times before but they still laughed together.

  'What about the farmhouse and all! My dad did us proud today. He thinks the world of you, Finny. I think your dad's a bit of a hero to him, you know. They get on so well, don't they?'

  She nodded. Her father had been taken aback by the scale of the day's activities, but he was pleased for her, she knew that. Jack had known he couldn't compete with Phillip Murphy, and he had stepped back and let the man have his way, well, let Finoula have her way really. Her and Christine's. Christine had such exquisite taste - you only had to look at her own home to see that, and between them they had arranged everything exactly how they wanted it. The only blight on the day was remembering what Christine had warned her about. She shivered, as if a goose had walked over her grave as the old dears would have described it.

  Philly noticed and said in a concerned voice, 'You all right, Finny? You better not be coming down with anything.'

  She smiled, but the ghost of fear was still on her shoulder. 'I'm fine, Philly, just tired out with the excitement of the day.'

  But a cloud had passed over her happiness, and she felt an inexplicable urge to pick up the suitcases and run
away, away from everything, not just for a few weeks, but for ever. It wasn't an option though, and she consoled herself with the fact they had so much to look forward to - a new home, a new life, and a baby at some point in the future.

  Philly grabbed her none too gently, and pulled her into his arms on the king-size bed, spilling the champagne everywhere.

  'Come here, you silly mare! Let's consummate this marriage, it's all I've been thinking about all day. I hope now it's legal it will still be full of the usual excitements!'

  As she lay with him, she forced the worries from her mind, telling herself it was just wedding-night nerves. After all, it was a big step they had taken, and in a Catholic church as well. This was for life, and that was a very big commitment. For both of them.

  * * *

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six

  Christine waited until her husband was asleep, then slipped from the bed and crept down to the kitchen. She was worried, really worried, and her first thought was to get herself a drink. So she opened a bottle of vodka and, sitting at the kitchen table, poured herself a large glass, added a couple of ice cubes, and tossed it back in two gulps. Then she poured another immediately, waiting for the trembling to stop. Lighting a cigarette, she pulled on it deeply, blowing the smoke out noisily. Then getting up she raced through to the downstairs bathroom. Standing on the toilet seat, she placed her hand behind the cistern and, frowning, she realised there was no little plastic pack of pills hidden there. Phillip had probably had the place swept by the drugs squad.

  Back in the kitchen, she took another deep draught of the vodka. But it was no good, she still felt unable to think about the problem in hand. It was all too outrageous, but she knew in her heart it was the truth.

  Timmy, her younger son, and the person Philly had chosen as his best man, was behind his shooting. He had wanted his brother dead, of that she was sure.

  She felt the sickness assail her once more. What the fuck had she bred? Was it Phillip's fucked-up DNA, or was it because she had been drunk most of their lives and they had been left to drag themselves up? Was it because Timmy felt, as the younger son, he wasn't getting what he felt he was entitled to? Or was it because, and this was her real belief, he really was his father's son? Like Phillip, he removed any obstacle that might be in his way. Looking back he had been that way as a kid, but she hadn't realised it till now. Quiet little Timmy, who you overlooked because, unlike Philly, he didn't demand, or shout about his feelings. He just waited, and waited, and then took what he wanted at the appropriate time. He was the good boy, the good son. Philly had been seen as the little bastard, but he'd just been like other boys his age. Foolish, selfish, but not really bad. Jesus Christ, how had her life come to this? She felt the useless tears of futility and anger, and wondered what she was to do with this knowledge now she had it. She thought of Philly, on his honeymoon and unaware that the person he thought was his best friend, as well as his brother, was behind his attempted murder.

  Who could she tell? That was the thing. Phillip was questionable, she knew that. He would probably just weigh up the pros and cons and decide which boy he was going to keep! Declan? He might be worth approaching. Once it would have been Breda, but she would not tell her any of this. Something had happened between her and Phillip, and he treated her like some kind of Mafia don these days. Asking for her opinion on everything, and giving her the most lucrative Legends to run for him. She was overseeing the boys and they answered directly to her. So Breda wouldn't want to rock any boats - even her Porrick was now on the proper payroll, running a new business Breda had set up putting fruit machines in pubs and cafes. No, Breda was too close to Phillip at the moment, it would have to be Declan. But she knew Declan wouldn't be able to keep something like this to himself. He would see it as something Phillip needed to know.

  She felt a wave of nausea once again, the worry inside her gnawing at her, making her feel like she had years ago when her nerves had started. It was the same hollowness in her stomach, the terror of each day and what it might bring down on them all. But even that was nothing compared to this latest trouble. Her own son, her baby, wanted to take out his own brother. She was too frightened to ever say any of this out loud.

  Suppose she was wrong? Suppose she had got the wrong end of the stick? Maybe it was like what Phillip said when he ranted about the judicial system, he was always going on about circumstantial evidence. How people might look guilty, but that didn't mean they were. He could go on for hours about the subject, and frequently did. She was pretty sure that wasn't the case here, but she still grabbed on to the thought. So, with Declan and Breda out of the running there was no one else she could trust enough to tell. Even her Philly would think she was just off her chump again - she knew how crazy it would sound.

  It was weird, her intuition was eating her up. Phillip mentioning Planter's name was fate, and she believed in all that - she believed things were meant to happen. Like Philly surviving the gunshot wound - he had survived because he had just stepped forward to kiss Finoula, and that had stopped the blast from hitting its mark. It had to be a death sentence Timmy ordered for Philly - there was no reason whatsoever for him to just get his brother shot, that had no value to him or anyone else. She had not been married to Phillip Murphy all this time without picking up some bloody tips on how their world worked.

  Philly was away for ten days, but he had to be back to sort out the clubs for the spring openings. Phillip always had them professionally cleaned and any necessary repairs made; it was important that the places looked new and smart, as befitted the clientele. Philly and Timmy would be working flat out on that, as well as everything else that made up their job descriptions. So she had ten days to talk to Timmy, and carefully gather as much information as she could. She only hoped she had the guts to go through with her plan. When Timmy discovered she had sussed him out would she be next on his list? There was so much to think about, and so much to worry about, not least the fact that her child was capable of killing his brother. A brother who was just starting out on his married life, and who had no idea what had really happened to him. The worst thing was, she knew that if Timmy had tried to kill her husband, his father, she wouldn't have lifted a finger to stop him. But then, she assumed Phillip would be next on Timmy's list.

  She was in a quandary all right; she had to decide which of her sons would live. Because even she knew that Timmy couldn't be allowed to ever get a chance like that again. Philly didn't deserve any of this, and that was what was so bad. She would have to choose between her sons, but she knew, deep inside, that she already had. It seemed that the hypocrisy that Phillip had instilled in them all, so many years ago, was still alive and rampant inside her as well these days.

  If someone had said she would one day be faced with a dilemma like this she would have laughed in derision, yet, thinking back, it was a wonder something like this had never happened before now.

  * * *

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven

  'You all right, Mum?'

  Timmy was watching Christine from across the room. She looked spaced as usual, but he knew she wasn't on anything, she was just like Dilly Daydream, staring into space.

  'I'm fine. Why aren't you at the airport with the others?'

  He grinned. 'What, meeting up with the conquering hero? He's been on honeymoon, Mum, not a fucking tour of Iraq.'

  He was good, she couldn't deny that. His words sounded like a joke, but she heard the underlying meaning. She watched him warily again, he was fascinating to her these days. She loved him - he was still her son, and for that she would always have some feeling for him - but it was not like before. It could never be the same again.

  She glanced away from him, and saw him looking her up and down carefully in the huge antique mirror over the fireplace. Before she could stop herself she said innocently, 'Seen anything of Graham Planter lately?'

  As she spoke she turned in the chair and looked him directly in the face. His pupils widened and
for a few seconds his eyes were almost black. She knew that she had frightened him and she grew braver with the sensation.

  'What makes you ask that?' He had recovered his composure now, but she knew he was rattled.

  'I just wondered. It's funny, son, but he was never your friend. Then your dad said he saw you and him at the wedding, up by the big barn. That's where your father keeps those guns, ain't it? That Jamal delivers them. Contrary to popular belief, I see a lot more than any of you have ever given me credit for. Oh, and tell Graham I liked his hat that night at the club - nearly didn't recognise him in it.'

  They were looking deep into each other's eyes now, and she could see a small tic pulsing at the side of Timmy's right eye. That she had rattled him, she had no doubt; she couldn't have made it any plainer. He knew she knew all right, he was just deciding what to do about it. It was like watching Phillip at work, it was almost uncanny. Her son had inherited his father's complete disregard for human life.

  'Are you trying to tell me something, Mum?'

  She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. 'Such as? What are you on about?'

  'Well, that's what I'm asking you, ain't it?'

  She sighed heavily, as if all this was well over her head, and she had no idea what he might mean. 'You are a bit odd today, Timmy. Been missing your brother I expect.' She smiled as easily as she could manage with the trembling that was now threatening to take over her whole body. But she was nearly there, and she knew she had to act as if she wasn't scared of her child in the least. 'He's home tonight. Oh, and they're staying here, by the way, not at the flat. Me and Finoula are going to look over the house tomorrow.'