The Family (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

    Christine was aware that whatever her husband was up to was serious. He had closeted himself in the office block he had created for himself in what had originally been outhouses and stables, and now there were men she'd never seen before visiting him at regular intervals. Normally he had the same people come to the house, and even they didn't come often enough for her to really notice their presence. The last few days though, the drive was like a council car park, and men were coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

    It made her feel nervous, but she knew this was all part of Phillip's world, and that she had to stop worrying about it. She felt it was her youth that let her down; she didn't understand the economics of her husband's lifestyle, and she was annoyed with herself for worrying about what he might be up to.

    As she made a pot of coffee she heard the back door open and she smiled as her husband came into the warmth of the kitchen. The seriousness of his expression vanished as he saw her and she felt the pleasure his presence always brought her.

    'They're going home, darling, you'll have peace and quiet in a minute.'

    She smiled at his words. He knew she hated the constant noise of the cars on the gravel drive. It was loud, and it often woke the kids up as it could go on into the night.

    'That grub smells handsome! You're really getting to be a good little cook - even me mother said that you're a natural and she don't like anyone else cooking for her lot.'

    Christine almost beamed with pride at his words; if Veronica had actually said that, then it was high praise indeed. 'I try, but I've a long way to go yet!'

    She knew she was doing well, she liked cooking these days, enjoyed the simplicity of it. The chopping, the peeling - she liked the combination of manual labour and the unknown. She was forever trying out her own recipes, new combinations of herbs and oils. As they had an orchard and plenty of land, she was learning about growing her own vegetables, and had even planted a small herb garden. The gardener Phillip had employed had been more than happy to explain the intricacies to her. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. And the boys just loved being out in the dirt trying to help her dig and sow.

    Phillip laughed, then, looking into her eyes, he said seriously, 'I got rid of everyone for a reason, Chris. I've got a couple of blokes coming to the house - they're Old Bill, and I want to see them in the front room here, not in the offices. Is that OK with you?'

    She smiled happily, deliberately overlooking the serious tone of his voice. "Course. You don't need to ask my permission.'

    He always looked too big for the kitchen, too tall and too wide. Though it was a large room, it had a low ceiling, and that made him seem huge in the confined space. Today he looked almost sinister in the late afternoon twilight. She knew he was gently warning her about something, and that he expected her to understand and comply with whatever he wanted to do.

    'They're here on the quiet, Chris, they are going to tell me who served up my Declan. You can't ever let on you saw them here, or spoke to them, to anyone. Do you understand that? Not even to your mum, or
my
mum, not to
anyone.
'Specially not Breda.'

    Phillip could see the confusion in his wife's eyes, and he was genuinely sorry for having to do this to her, but he had to make sure she understood the importance of what he was saying to her. But she was a good girl, his Christine, she understood the value of keeping her nose out of things that didn't concern her. Unlike most women he knew, she didn't feel the need to be involved in every second of his life; she accepted him without questions of any kind.

    She was a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother, and a fantastic lover. She kept his home spotless, and she still had a good body. He was thrilled with her, and he hated having to bring her into all this aggravation. But she needed to be aware that what occurred this day had to be kept as quiet as possible. He knew he needed to impress this information on her, but that she would heed his warning. She was nothing if not sensible.

    'When you find out who it was, what are you going to do, Phil?' Her voice was quiet, matter-of-fact.

    He shrugged, his smile once more without warmth. 'I'll mark their card, Chris, that's all, darling.' He opened his arms in a gesture of innocence, as if he was completely unaware of what she really meant by the question. It was like a game they played where he told her blatant lies and she accepted them as truths. 'What do you think I'm gonna do? I need to know for the future. Fuck me, Chris, this is my brother we're talking about. Even the Filth think he was stitched up. That's why they are coming round here, to set the record straight.'

    She turned away from him, and poured them both out a mug of coffee, the strong aroma of the freshly ground beans heavy in the air. She knew he was bullshitting her but, then again, that suited her down to the ground. Someone had once said that knowledge was power, but, as far as she was concerned, in this world she lived in, knowledge caused nothing but trouble. So she turned the other cheek as always, pretending she was happy to go along with her husband's lies and subterfuge.

    'OK. Whatever you say, Phil. I never discuss anything with anyone anyway, why would I?'

    He slipped his arms around her slim waist and hugged her to him, enjoying the slightness of her frame, and the familiarity of her body. He felt himself getting hard, and she smiled at his reaction to her.

    'You're a blinder, Chris, do you know that? Together me and you will go places. We'll fucking own the world.' He spoke to her in a hoarse whisper, but she could hear the determination in his voice, and she wondered briefly what the price would eventually be for their good fortune. Everything they had they got at someone else's expense, so there had to be a price eventually, she was convinced of that much. It kept her up at night, was the reason she popped her happy pills as Phillip called them.

    But she didn't answer him, instead she turned and pushed herself tighter into his embrace, kidding herself that what she didn't know couldn't really hurt her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

    Breda was angry. She had heard the chatter about Phillip and his cronies, had seen that he was more than aware of his brother's incarceration being through a grass, and knew that he was moving heaven and earth to find out who the said grass might be. She also wondered why she was not party to the investigation - that really rankled. She understood Jamsie being sidelined, he was a prize cunt in most respects. But she saw herself as a valid and important member of the family businesses. After all, she brought in a serious earn, and that alone should be enough to include her in everything that was going on; if she was a bloke, of course, there wouldn't be a problem. So being overlooked like this pained her. She worked as hard as any of the men around her, harder in some ways because she had to constantly prove herself worthy of her position. Well, she was determined that this time she would prove her real worth.

    She had never wanted the married and pregnant life, she had too much go in her to settle for some bloke. She wanted to be someone in her own right, achieve things through her own graft. It was the eighties, women were running the country now, and were more than capable of making their own lives, their own luck. She knew she should have moved into her own drum by now. But, in all honesty, her mother's house suited her these days. She had a babysitter on hand, as and when she needed one, and she had all the perks of a family life and none of the hassle of the bills and the loneliness living alone would incur. Besides, her mum needed her at home - Veronica Murphy had trouble letting her daughter go, and Breda knew that worked in her favour. She was still blessed with an almost-single life; her parents allowed her the freedom she craved, and in return she allowed them unrestricted access to their first grandbaby. That was something no one could put a price on. That her son took second place these days to Phillip's offspring she didn't let bother her too much. She had what she wanted and that was enough for her.

    As she drove along a dark country lane in Upminster, she looked out for a dark-green Land Rover. Spying it, she slowed down and then parked neatly behind it. She sat in her silver BMW and waited patiently for the man she was meeting to slip into her passenger seat. Smiling slightly, she watched him as he walked slowly towards her - this was a man she had bedded on more than one occasion. She hoped that there might be a bit of sexual palaver after they had talked. She remembered he was well endowed - not exactly possessed of any finesse in that department, but what he lacked in technique he more than made up for in willingness, and that, as she always said, more than compensated for the lack of small talk.

    As he slid into the seat beside her she was aware of him in every way. The excitement of what she was about to find out only made her feel more powerful sexually. It was about power with her. Always about the power.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Peter Knolls was dressed for work. As a nightclub doorman, he wore an expensive suit and hand-made shirts, and God help anyone who came within two feet of his attire. He was big in every way and he knew it. His sheer brute strength had made him feared and that was a big help in his chosen profession. The rougher clientele of certain establishments were much less likely to kick off when Knollsy, as he was known, was on the door. He was also a dyed-in-the-wool racist, and unafraid to use a firearm. He had all the natural accoutrements his job required, and then some. Add to that his fascination with the female form, and his reputation for shagging till the crack of dawn if he could stay up late enough, and his job was made for him. He spent all night watching strange and collecting phone numbers, while deciding who could deal in his club and who couldn't. He earned a serious wedge and he loved hurting people; all in all it was his dream job. He also listened to everything around him, and his natural quietness made people forget he was there. This stood him in good stead; he was happy to pass along information for certain monetary rewards. Which was what he was about to do now, only this time he was worried about what he had heard whispered. Not that it affected him as such, but because it was such an explosive bit of knowledge, worth a good deal to the right people.

    'All right, Breda? You look well, love.'

    He was staring at her ample breasts as he spoke and she laughed at his audacity. She lit a cigarette, the blackness around them was comforting somehow. It was funny but the dark didn't bother her, she had always embraced it. It hid a lot, and it encouraged you to think. The darkness of this lane was enveloping them, making them invisible to the world. Peter Knolls opened the window; he hated smoking, especially women smoking. It was a filthy habit and he loathed the way his suits stank after a night in the clubs. Breda, knowing this, blew cigarette smoke right into his face. 'What you found out, Pete?'

    'How much you got on you?'

    She sighed. 'Enough. Or would you rather I got Phillip to talk to you? Only he's the one who is moving heaven and earth to find out the score about our Declan. It's up to you.' She was cold towards him now, the hardness of her eyes evident even in the dimness of the car.

    'All right. Fucking relax. No need to get out of your shopping trolley.'

    He was offended and she knew that. It was a calculated gesture. She wanted him annoyed, she was making him aware of who was boss. She knew he could play the game, so she wasn't bothered about it. She had rattied him more than she thought and that was evident when he said quietly, 'You swear that you'll never let on I told you this, not to Phillip, Declan, anyone?'

    She frowned slightly at his words. 'Phillip will give whoever spills his guts the fucking Victoria Cross. I don't know where you've been hiding but he's given word that anyone with any kind of knowledge only had to let him know.'

    Peter Knolls shook his head sadly. 'He might not want to know though, have you thought about that? Neither might you when you find out, did that ever occur to any of you?' He was looking at her face now, staring into her eyes. 'I'm only talking to you now because we're mates.'

    She didn't answer him, she was already working out what he was actually saying to her. Or more to the point, what he was
trying
to say to her. It wasn't rocket science. She looked him in the eye as she said, 'Before we go any further, how did
you
come by this information?'

    Peter sighed again. He wished he had never come now, he was in well over his head already. Breda was one thing, but Phillip, he was a different entity entirely. Whereas Breda was all action, quick words, and hasty decisions, Phillip was the opposite. He thought things through, so not only did he make the right decisions, but he also made them at the right time - generally a time that was very advantageous to himself. Always his justice was swift and without any preamble. It was all very easy to Phillip Murphy. He never troubled himself with what ifs, or if onlys. You fucked up, you paid the price.

    Peter's worry was that Phillip might turn out to be one of those people who felt the need to shoot the messenger; after all, this wasn't something he would want broadcast to the nation.

    'You've come this far, you must know you can't go back now. Is it Jamsie, is that what you're trying to tell me?' Breda was screwing up her eyes at the incongruity of it. James was a fucker, a fool, but he wasn't a grass - was he?

    Peter Knolls shrugged. 'Jamsie was caught with three keys of cocaine and a fifteen-year-old girl in his car; he was out of his nut. He was caught over by Heathrow, and the Filth there were convinced he was part of an importing ring. You know how thick they are on the airports, like anyone would try and bring it that way! He offered a deal to get out of it. Sorry, Breda, he might be your brother, but he's a fucking waster. Anyway, the Filth took it and one of them is on my payroll, he bounces for me on the side. A big cunt, all brawn and no brain. He let it slip one night when he was in his cups, so to speak. Jamsie was playing up and they had a bit of a confrontation. I heard the gist of it, and now I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not. On the one hand, if he was my brother I would want to know, on the other hand, if he was my brother I'd rather
not
know. So there you have it.'

    Breda was quiet for long moments, her heavy breathing the only sound in the car. 'Who's this Filth? What's his name and where does he live?'

    'What are you going to do, Breda, go round there and knock on his front door?' His voice was slightly mocking and that fuelled Breda's already gathering anger.

    'I ain't scared of the Filth, I ain't scared of no one, and that includes my brother Phillip. He'll want to know what you told me, you do realise that.' She threw the last bit in to frighten Peter, to pay him back for his disrespect of her and her reputation, a reputation that was gaining momentum by the week. She would not be treated like a second-class citizen by anyone, especially not nightclub doormen whose only job requirements were a broad chest and a penchant for fighting drunks. She wasn't going to let him have his wicked way either. He could kiss that goodbye and all.