The Family (46 page)

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty

    This waiting was killing her. Christine was sick of this, so sick of it. Breda had been walking around with a child in one arm and a shotgun in the other, her sons were both acting as if this was normal behaviour. Her husband was obviously thinking she was out of it again, when she was saner than she had ever been in her life before, even with the pills her doctor had prescribed. She felt like she was in a play. Acting out a part. Yet this was her life.

    As she saw Timmy get up and go to pull his jacket on she said loudly, 'Where do you think
you're
going?'

    Timmy laughed as if she had made a really funny joke. 'Why, what's it got to do with you?'

    Breda was watching them as if they had both gone mad.

    'He's going to pick up some stuff from his flat. What's wrong with you, Mum?' Philly was genuinely perplexed; he was looking at Breda now, and they were both shaking their heads at one another, as if she was the nutter on the bus.

    'He ain't going nowhere.'

    Timmy had put his jacket on now, and he said tiredly, 'Why don't you go to bed, Mum, and let me get on with what I'm doing.'

    But Christine knew in her heart that if she let him leave this house, he would disappear from their lives, and none of them would be safe ever again. This son of hers would never rest until he had got his own back, not only on her, but on all of them.

    She had inadvertently stumbled across his real agenda, and he knew she was ready to let the secret out. He was leaving all right - leaving the family for good. But she wouldn't allow that, she was determined to make sure that he never got the chance to repeat his attempt on Philly's life. Whatever had made him like this, she would probably never know for sure, but she would protect Philly if it was the last thing she ever did.

    'You can't let him leave, Philly. Where's your father?' She wanted Phillip here, wanted him nearby.

    Timmy was pushing past her when Phillip walked into the room and announced, 'Declan is already at the barn, and he wants me to meet him up there. Apparently him and Jamal came in through the fields. Why the fuck would they do that? Has this whole fucking family gone funny tonight? He sounds as fucking nervous as you, Timmy.'

    Philly and Breda glanced at one another again, and Christine saw that they both guessed something was going down. But looking at Breda with her grandchild in her arms, and at her Philly, who didn't know his days were numbered, she knew she had to take control of this situation now. Timmy wasn't going to go anywhere without a fight, and Breda and that poor child didn't need to be caught up in the middle of this. She had made this happen, the least she could do was see it through to the bitter end.

    'You stay here with the baby, Breda, I need to talk to Declan about something. Philly, do me a favour, will you?' They were all looking at her again as if she had just grown an extra tit and was feeding a lion cub with it. 'Stay here and ring Finoula for me, me and her have a surprise for you.'

    She was talking utter shite, but she was desperate to keep them there so Timmy couldn't get away. Then she saw the lights from a car coming down the drive, and she felt the tension seeping out of her. He had done it. She had trusted him and he had done it for her. So when she burst into tears of relief, Baby

    Porrick joined in, only louder, and with much more energy.

    Phillip Murphy, shaking his head in bewilderment, went to his wife and said sadly, 'What the hell is wrong with you, Christine?'

    At that moment Jamsie Murphy came in the back door and, grabbing Timmy by the throat, said angrily, 'Wait till you see what I've got in my boot, you treacherous little cunt.'

    As Phillip and Philly stepped towards Jamsie menacingly, their only thought to protect Timmy who was now trying desperately to break free of Jamsie's chokehold, Christine cried brokenly, 'Leave Jamsie alone! Just listen to what he's got to say.'

    She was nearly hysterical with grief now, realising the enormity of what was going to happen, and knowing it was because of her. Timmy was looking at her with such hatred even Phillip was stopped in his tracks at the sight of it. It was so deep it was almost tangible.

    'You fucking drunk! You're scum, Mother. Fucking filth…'

    Phillip Murphy dragged his son away from his brother, all his anger at Jamsie forgotten now he was faced with his son's disrespect for the woman who had borne him. Forcing him to the ground he said angrily, 'You
never, ever
speak to her like that, do you hear me?' Then he hit him, and before she knew it Christine was watching her son being battered. She was nodding her head as if egging her husband on. For the first time ever, she was taking an active role in the family's penchant for violent retribution but, as yet, no one in that room except Jamsie knew why.

    Jamsie went to her and, taking her gently by the arm, he pulled her to one side. 'It's all right, Christine, you did the right thing, love.'

    She was nodding again; tears were still running down her face, but they were silent tears now. 'I know, Jamsie, I know. But it's still hard.'

    Phillip had stopped punching Timmy and, standing up, he looked from his wife, to his brother, to his son. Timmy was just lying there, looking at them all, no emotion showing on his face, nothing. Then he turned to his father and said laughingly, 'I was this far -' he held his finger and thumb about an inch apart - 'this far from taking you and him out. But I tell you now,
Mum,
I don't regret a second of it. I just wish I'd taken you out years ago. Because you're nothing, you're just a drunken fucking no one, who let
him
rule all our fucking lives.'

    Phillip was amazed at the diatribe, and even he was loath to ask what it was about, but he couldn't help himself. 'Right, I've just about had fucking enough of this shit. What the fuck is going on here, people?'

    Philly and Breda were watching it all like a nightmare they had accidentally stumbled into, even Baby Porrick had quietened down as if interested in finding out what the hell was actually going on.

    Christine exploded angrily, and with utter credibility, 'For crying out loud, Breda, will you take that child from the room? He doesn't need to see any of this!'

    Breda, for the first time ever, did as she was asked without an argument. She had a feeling that whatever this was about, she didn't want to know, and she certainly didn't want to get involved.

    Christine looked at her husband and, nodding her head towards her brother-in-law, she said with conviction, and searing clarity, 'Now then, Phillip. You better listen to what Jamsie has to say, and you, Philly, had better get Graham Planter out of the boot of Jamsie's car.'

    For once, to her amazement, they did exactly as she asked.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-One

    Christine was sitting on the sofa in the semi-darkness, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, when she finally heard the back door open, and footsteps walking across the kitchen flags. She looked at the doorway, and saw the figure of her husband standing there. Even in the half light she could see the devastation on his handsome face.

    'Is it over?'

    He knew exactly what she meant, and he nodded.

    'In the furnace, is he?'

    He nodded again, almost imperceptibly.

    They were both quiet for long moments, and she knew there had been a subtle shifting in their positions in the last few hours. Phillip had not imagined anything like this could ever happen, it was beyond his comprehension really. She knew he would not see it all for what it was, that Timmy had turned out just like him, and had acted just as
he
would have acted had he been in his position. Timmy had learned subterfuge and treachery at the knee of the master, but Phillip would see this as someone else's fault, mainly Timmy's.

    'Are you all right?'

    She nodded in the darkness, then, leaning over, she turned on the lamp nearest her. Its light was as unexpected as it was brilliant. She saw her beautiful room, the antiques, the expensive carpets and curtains. Saw the beauty of her surroundings, as if for the first time, knowing she had made it all so lovely to cover up the muck and the filth that it represented.

    'Do you want another drink?'

    She sighed. As bad as it was, she also felt as if she had finally shrugged off some of the fear that she had lived with for so long. 'Yeah, why not.'

    He poured them both drinks and, as he handed her the glass, she saw the bruises on his hands and the blood that he had not bothered to rinse off properly. She knew then that her son had not died an easy death, and yet at this moment she didn't care. She felt nothing, but this feeling of numbness would eventually pass, and then it would hit her like a ton of shit.

    'I still can't believe it, Christine.' And he couldn't, she knew that.

    'I am leaving you, Phillip. I should have left years ago. I can't live like this any longer. You got what you wanted, you finally made me a part of all this whether I wanted it or not.' She gestured around the room to emphasise her point. 'I had to choose between my sons, and I did what I thought was right. I know I was right, I
know
I was. Even though this will all haunt me for the rest of my days. But I
am
leaving you, Phillip, and if that means I end up in the furnace, then so be it.'

    It was a good few minutes before Phillip answered her. She was holding her breath in anticipation of his words, and they surprised her when they finally came.

    'Where do you want to go?'

    She knew what it had cost him to say that and, as much as she hated him at times, she felt a small spark of sorrow for him, because she knew more than anyone what it had taken for him to utter them.

    She shrugged. 'I don't care, Phillip. Anywhere. Spain maybe.'

    He nodded. 'Do you want the farm? You can have it, Christine, you deserve it.'

    She shook her head, and sipped deeply at her drink. It was seventy-year-old Scotch, and she wondered at how she could gulp it down and still feel as sober as a judge. But she supposed murder could do that to a person. She was probably still in shock.

    'You keep it all, Phillip. I never want to see this place again, to be perfectly honest.'

    'You can have whatever you want, Christine. I'll be generous. I suppose I owe you. I certainly owe you my life, and that's a big debt.'

    'You owe me Philly's life and all. God love him, I bet he's devastated.'

    'Well, put it this way, he ain't exactly celebrating, if you know what I mean.' Phillip tried to laugh it off, but even he was having trouble accepting what had happened.

    Christine placed her drink on the table and, getting up, she straightened her clothes. She could feel her husband's eyes watching her every move. 'I'm off then. I've packed a bag, I'm going to me mum's.'

    He nodded, and she knew he would let her go now. He had no power over her any longer. She was leaving.

    'I love you, Christine, remember that.'

    She looked down at him then and, smiling gently, she said frankly, 'No, you don't, Phillip, you never did. You don't know what love means and neither did our Timmy. But Philly does, so you can do me one last thing - promise me you won't take that away from him.'

Epilogue

I do not wish them [women] to have power over men; but over themselves

Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-97) A Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792)

The unexamined life is not worth living

Socrates (469
bc-399
bc
)

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Two

    'Hello, Finoula, how are you feeling, love?'

    Christine was visiting from Spain. She finally had the life she had dreamed of, and now she had a new grandson to celebrate.

    Finoula looked tired but outrageously happy. And that was how it should be - she had only given birth a few hours before, and she needed a good night's sleep and her husband to herself.

    Philly was so proud of his newborn son, he looked fit to burst. He placed him in his mother's arms carefully, and Christine looked down at the child with love already in her heart. He was dark-haired and blue-eyed. He was Phillip Murphy all over again, and she was surprised that it didn't bother her as much as she had thought it would.

    'He's beautiful, really beautiful.'

    'We like him!'

    Christine laughed at her son's unashamed pride in his new baby. 'I better warn you both that me mum's on her way.'

    They laughed with her.

    Then Phillip walked into the room and, looking into his wife's eyes, he said quietly, 'Hello, Christine, you look well, mate.'

    She took the compliment well, and she gave it straight back. This was their new way of communicating. It was all very civilised, and she knew she was very lucky. Phillip had let her go, and she knew how hard that had been for him. She wouldn't strong it in any way. There could never be another man, not that she wanted one. She would always have to see him from time to time, because of Philly, and now this little fellow. They shared a deep secret, and it was only because of that they could continue with their lives. 'So do you, Phillip. Isn't he gorgeous?'

    Phillip looked at the red-faced child and said seriously, 'Good genes, that's what it is, love.'

    She didn't answer him, the words provoked so many emotions in her. She saw the baby grab her husband's finger tightly and, pulling on it to show the child's strength, Phillip said loudly, 'He's a Murphy, all right! Another Phillip Murphy - we'll end up a dynasty if we ain't careful.'

    They all grinned happily, except Christine. She felt the urge to run from the room, run away from them, but she wouldn't. She was only over from Spain for a few days, then she would go back and resume her new life. They came out to see her often, Finoula and Philly, and they respected her decision to live so far away. What more could she ask for?

    Eileen and Ted burst into the room then. Both were overexcited at the birth of their first great-grandchild, and Christine stepped back, watching them all together.