The Family (33 page)

    Philly was in a daze, all he could focus on was the blood. It seemed to be everywhere now. He felt his eyebrow, it was sore, but it wasn't bleeding any more. It was a second or two before he realised it was coming from his mother.

    'Mum… Mum! What's wrong?'

    The terror in his voice communicated itself to the others in the room and, as Christine groaned in pain and doubled over holding her belly, Phillip said loudly, 'Oh, for fuck's sake! Call an ambulance.' Then kneeling back down he enveloped his wife in his arms, as if protecting her from the world. He was playing the worried husband now and, motioning to Jamsie, he shouted, 'Get Philly cleaned up and out of here before the ambulance arrives.'

    Jamsie had been watching it all as if it was a film. Philly was battered and bloodied and in obvious need of stitches, Declan was, for the first time in years, speechless and unable to do anything constructive, and Phillip was acting like the most concerned husband in the world. Jamsie wondered if being brought back into this family was something to be considered lucky after all. In fact, he was beginning to wish he was still the fucking outcast. At least then he would be spared all this shit. But he did as he was asked; where Phillip was concerned you didn't really have much choice in the matter.

Chapter One Hundred and One

    'Come here, son.'

    Declan heard Veronica's voice, and it broke him out of his reverie. He was still stunned at what had happened in Phillip's kitchen. Seeing all that, and knowing that it was just a normal evening for Phillip had reinforced his worries about his brother and his mental state.

    He had come straight to his mother's from the hospital; he was sure that would speak volumes to a shrink. But it was the only place he could think to go, because he needed help - they had to do something about Phillip. If he wouldn't listen to him, then Veronica was his only other hope. Phillip needed her to think he was the perfect son, the perfect provider. And she believed it, to his brother's face anyway; but really, she knew better than any of them just how off the wall Phillip really was. Declan loved him, he loved him dearly, but this time Phillip had crossed a line. It wasn't the businesses. Their business was about danger and death. They knew what they were doing there; it wasn't something Phillip would fuck up. What he
was
fucking up though was everyone around him, and that included Phillip himself. He had never been this bad before, and if he wasn't careful he would take his wife, his kids and his family down with him.

    'Are you listening to me, Declan?'

    He walked to his mother and hugged her and, as she instinctively hugged him back, he wondered how he was going to say what he wanted to say to her. She thought the sun shone out of Phillip, and that was half the trouble. She made him think he was normal.

    'Sit down, Mum, I need to talk to you. Can I get you a drink?'

    She smiled nervously. 'Do I need one?'

    He didn't answer and, as she settled herself down at the kitchen table, he poured them both large Irish whiskies. Placing them on the table he sat beside her, and as Veronica looked at him he wondered how she had managed over the years. She had fed them, clothed them and, in her own way, loved them. Though most of her love had been for her first-born, her Phillip.

    She had married a waster, a man who without her would have faded away into the background of life. She had made him work, made him get up and get out there, and she had taken each penny and stretched it into a pound. His father was basically lazy, and they all knew it, he was a born taker and, in a way, that's where Phillip had got it from. His old granddad used to say Irishmen were either drunks or workers, and occasionally a mixture of the two. The workers worked till they made it, the drunks complained about missed chances. Phillip worked, but he begrudged anyone else having an earn; like their dad, he thought everyone else had that bit more than him. But whereas his father would bemoan his fate and lived for the pub, Phillip went out and earned - no one could take that away from him. Like the old man though, Phillip thought the world began and ended with him, and his wants and his needs.

    '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.