Chapter Thirty
Jamsie was stoned - not just mellow, he was stoned out of his nut. As he rolled himself another joint he wondered at how easy life could be if you just had the good sense to plan everything down to the last detail.
June Pines was lying in the bed watching him languorously. Say what you liked about Jamsie, he could fuck for England, stoned or not. He was a waster, as her mother was constantly reminding her, and she knew that well enough. It didn't stop the attraction though, in fact it only enhanced it for her. He was good-looking and she liked the danger of him. She liked the knowledge that his name was feared around their way, and she got a kick out of the fact that her mother was more than aware of it. If she was honest, she would admit that it had been a big part of his initial attraction for her; now it was developing into a genuine romance, at least she hoped it was. She had been round the turf more times than a greyhound, and she knew that there were not many who could satisfy her like Jamsie Murphy. Christ Himself knew, she had tried out enough blokes in her lifetime. In fact, she was considering a move if this thing with Jamsie didn't work out. Her reputation was preceding her these days and only being with someone like Jamsie could hold the remarks in check. She had a cousin who lived near Birmingham who said that she was welcome to come and share her flat with her; she had a baby and, by all accounts, the talent up there was for the taking. It was something to think about anyway.
She took the joint gratefully from Jamsie and pulled on it deeply, letting the grass envelop her mind and iron out any problems she might foresee. She loved the feeling of floating above herself. Feeling the fluidness of her own body. Jamsie was noisily trying to clear his throat and, as he coughed over and over again, his eyes caught hers and they both started to crack up laughing, as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.
Really
laughing, their eyes running with tears.
The peculiar buzz that grass produced had reduced them to hopeless wrecks of laughter, but now they were quiet again, both engrossed in their own thoughts. Jamsie was lying beside her, and she was tucked under his arm, enjoying the feel of him, the smell of him. Somewhere outside a car went past and the familiar sound of Bob Marley was wafting up the stairs. 'Redemption Song' was one of her favourite tracks. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, she felt so relaxed again. The sound of feet on the stairs didn't bother either of them at first, but the door being kicked in alerted them both to the fact that something serious was about to occur.
Breda Murphy's red, furious face told them that it was trouble. As Breda and her henchmen dragged Jamsie bodily from the bed, screaming obscenities at him all the while, June was relieved that the woman hadn't come looking for her. She looked angry enough to commit murder.
As June scrambled into her clothes and ran terrified from the chaos in the bedroom, she decided there and then that Birmingham was suddenly the high spot of the universe. She was packed and on a train north within two hours. She had a feeling she should get out of Dodge, as her father was always remarking, his penchant for the cowboy films of his youth always spattering his daily conversations. She liked Jamsie a lot, but his family, especially his sister, seemed to feel differently about him. She didn't know what had caused the commotion but she was sensible enough not to hang around to find out.
She didn't know that much about the gangster lifestyle, but even she knew that when your own sister and three men with baseball bats set about you, it was a serious breach of familial etiquette. She repaired her make-up, got herself a coffee and sat back in the train seat with a sigh of relief. This was just the push she needed to start her young life anew. She had no intention of being pulled in as a material witness by the Old Bill. As far as she was concerned her life in the Smoke was well and truly over. She sighed with relief; it had been a close shave all right, and she wanted to put it as far behind her as possible. She wondered briefly if Jamsie was OK, then she forced him from her mind. She knew that whatever happened, she would be the furthest thing from
his
mind, and she was determined to return the compliment.
Chapter Thirty-One
Phillip was seething, only now the anger was directed at his sister. How dare she take this matter into her own hands! Who the fuck did she think she was?
As he drove towards his mother's house he could feel black fury consuming him. Not that anyone looking at him would see that of course, at least no one who wasn't really close to him. He knew his biggest strength was the fact he never look harassed about anything. He always looked cool, calm, and, as his mother often joked, collected. But inside he was a writhing mass of hate and that hate was right now directed at Breda. She had gone too far this time. Fucking baseball bats in public, letting the world know their fucking business. He had already received three calls about it before he had left the house. What did she think, that her little escapade would be overlooked? She had just advertised to the world that their brother was a fucking grass, and she thought that would help them in some way? Why not go the whole hog and have it advertised in the fucking
Romford Recorder
and the
London Daily News
? The silly, stupid bitch. And as if that wasn't bad enough he now had to go and sort out his fucking mother, who was terrified of what was going to happen to her only daughter, let alone her fucking battered and bemused son! It was like living in a circus, they were all fucking clowns of one type or another. He was already trying to minimise the damage that dozy mare had caused; the Filth were being weighed off, and that wasn't fucking cheap at any time. Breda had made them look like a bunch of muppets. Incapable of getting their own house in order in a private and dignified manner.
Well, he was going to take her down a peg, and she would remember this fuck-up until the day she died.
Chapter Thirty-Two
'What possessed you, girl? Your own brother!'
Veronica's voice was thick with tears, she was still unable to comprehend what had taken place in her own family.
'He grassed up Declan, how many fucking times, Mother!'
Veronica screamed back at her daughter, her thick Irish accent even more pronounced with her anger. 'I don't believe it! I won't believe it! James Joachim Murphy might not be the brightest star in the constellation but he wouldn't be that fecking stupid. Use your head, Breda! He'd have to be halfway to the county home to even
dream
of doing something that fecking stupid.' She looked to where her husband was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a large Scotch. He shook his head at her then, refusing to get involved.
'Will you talk some sense into your daughter, Phillip, not just sit there like the fecking village idiot.'
There was dread in her voice now, fear that all she had heard was true. If it
was
true her Jamsie, the biggest eejit this side of the Irish Sea, would indeed be safer in a mental institution than in his own home. Breda was bad enough, but Phillip, her eldest, he would be like a man demented. There was no way he would let Jamsie walk away from something like this; it was inconceivable that it could even have happened. Surely they had it wrong and some begrudger was telling them lies to try and cause trouble between them all? Wasn't it bad enough she had lost her lovely Declan without them taking her Jamsie away from her as well?
'Phillip will kill him stone dead.' Her voice was higher than ever, the terror making her feel faint.
Phillip Murphy Senior got up slowly and went to his wife. Veronica allowed him to pull her into his arms, to hold her - she knew she needed holding at this moment. She had to calm down, get herself sorted so she could talk to her eldest son, make him see that it was all a load of old shite. That his brother wasn't capable of such skulduggery, that he wasn't bright enough to do something so underhand, so treacherous.
For the first time ever, Veronica saw her family as other people saw them: violent criminals with no scruples whatsoever. She could hear the talk now as if the voices were in the room with her.
'Look at them Murphys, even their own flesh and blood aren't safe. Their own brother!
' It would never be forgotten. It would be dragged up and remembered on regular occasions. They would be seen as animals, wild animals with no care for anyone - not even their own. She knew that they were talked about now - their lifestyles, their way of going on, but that was normal, that was just gossip. There was even an edge of respect for them in it, but there wouldn't be any more. The tight-knit Murphys were no more. They would now be seen as people who turned on their own.
Breda had caused more trouble than she realised with her actions this night. And now they had to wait and see what the upshot was going to be, because it was Phillip who would decide the outcome, and Breda should have understood that from the start. As she watched her daughter, trying to pretend she wasn't bothered about the aggravation she had caused, she was filled with regret for what her family had been reduced to. No one knew her children's faults better than her; after all she had birthed them, each one, she knew their weaknesses, as well as their strengths. But for all Jamsie's stupidity, unlike this daughter of hers, he honestly didn't have the sense to work out that every action had a consequence. Her Phillip, on the other hand, had known that from a very young age, he didn't shit unless he had planned it down to the last detail. Breda should have used her loaf, thought about what she was doing. Her youngest son was fighting for his life in hospital and she couldn't even go to his side until she had sorted out the situation here first. She daren't leave Breda alone with her brother - otherwise the chances were she would be visiting two of her children in intensive care instead of one. How had this happened to them? It was as if overnight her family was being decimated before her eyes; their closeness which she had been so proud of was gone and her children were suddenly enemies. Everything she had worked for since their births was destroyed.
Breda was sitting on the kitchen chair defiantly, looking at her mother as if
she
was the one who had done something wrong, as if this was
her
fault somehow. Veronica left her husband's embrace and walked slowly over to her. Then, taking her arm back, she slapped her daughter's face with all the energy she could muster. It said something for Breda that she didn't retaliate, that she took the blow without a word. She looked at her father, but he didn't react in any way. He had sat down again quietly, and resumed sipping his whisky. As if he knew exactly what was going to happen and there was nothing he could do about it. Or wanted to. And it was that, her father's reaction, or rather his lack of it, that finally convinced her how much trouble she was actually in.
'I did it for our Declan, for his being banged up. I did it for the family!'
Veronica shook her head sadly; the fight had left her now. 'No, you didn't, Breda, you did it for yourself, like you have always done everything for yourself.'
Breda looked at her father again and, when he deliberately avoided eye contact, she said with bravado, 'Phillip doesn't scare me, the man ain't been born who can scare me.'
Veronica laughed mirthlessly. 'I wouldn't be too sure about that, Breda. I think that man just pulled up outside.'
Chapter Thirty-Three
Phillip stood outside his mother's house for a few moments to gather himself together. He knew that he was still angry enough to let his sister have it. He could really hurt her badly if he wasn't careful.
This was the first public problem he'd had to face where the family was concerned. And it didn't come more fucking public than this. All his hard work keeping them on a low profile, making them part of the inner fabric of their world quietly and unobtrusively, was gone now. Thanks to Breda they were like the local fucking bully boys. He could hear his heartbeat crashing in his chest, even though outwardly he looked perfectly calm. The evening air was welcome, he gulped it into his lungs, enjoying the darkness and the solitude for another few moments before all hell was let loose.
The worst thing was that this confrontation with his sister had been on the cards for a long while - he just hadn't thought it would be over something this serious, over something so personal. He was frustrated that he hadn't seen something like this coming; it was, in reality, typical Breda, sticking her nose in regardless of the consequences. He knew she was stupid enough to think that people knowing what she had done to her own brother, and why, could only be good for the family. That's how fucking far from reality she actually was. Breda thought they should live like some kind of gangster film; she walked the walk, talked the talk, and looked a complete prat because of it. The reason he was so successful was because he didn't feel the need to become a parody of himself He had his businesses and they were legitimate - any moody enterprises were well hidden from the public face of the family. It didn't suit him to have Jamsie and Breda tearing around like the Krays on amphetamines, it drew unwanted attention to him. It was the old guilt by association - the fact the whole neighbourhood knew didn't augur well for the future. It was simple logistics. He had sussed all that out at an early age having worked for people with a measure of decorum and sense. He had learned and learned well, that people only knew what you told them - ergo, keep your trap shut and you'll be safe.
Now he had Declan to protect, and as for Jamsie - well, he knew exactly what was going to happen there. Thanks to Breda it had all come on top a bit too soon. Breda had gone too far - how dare she take this on herself. How dare she think she could get away with this as if it was nothing! As if he would not have anything to say about her actions. Who the fuck did she think she was?
There was a large part of him that believed she needed a serious fright, to understand, finally and irrevocably, that her behaviour was totally unacceptable. She needed a kicking, a real fucking hiding to show her just how serious he was. He automatically smoothed his hair, wiped his hand over his face, and straightened his clothes. He liked to be in control but, more to the point, he liked to look it.
As he made his way into the family home he felt the atmosphere and he was glad of it. He walked into the kitchen quietly, the reassuring smells of his childhood reminding him that this was his family and, no matter how great his ire, he had to keep this as low-key as possible. The raw terror on Breda's face told him that his sister finally understood the enormity of what she had done. It was a shame the silly bitch hadn't worked all this out earlier - none of this would have been necessary. But that was by the by now, he had to sort this and then get to the hospital, try and smooth over the cracks as per usual.
His instinct was to take Breda by the scruff of her neck and throttle her. But, of course, that wasn't an option. Not at this particular moment anyway. He could feel her eyes on him, feel the arrogance mingled with fear, as she stared at him.
Veronica ran into her son's path, her arms held out as if to stop him in his tracks. 'Now come on, son, calm down, she realises she's been a fool…'
He knew that his mother was terrified for her daughter; the fact she wasn't at the hospital with her son who was lying in a coma spoke volumes. Like any mother, she was trying to protect her young no matter what they might have done. He frowned at her then and, moving her gently from his path, he addressed his father. 'Get her down the hospital, to Jamsie. He needs his mummy at a time like this. Also, it will be damage limitation when the Filth start sniffing round.' He looked at his mother and, smiling gently, he said seriously, 'And they will start sniffing, Mum, so we have to box clever, eh?'
He was stroking her down, they all knew it. His father was already out of the chair and putting his jacket on.
'Listen to me, Phil,' Veronica tried one last time. 'I've lost Declan, and Jamsie never means the half of it, you know what he's like… He's a coward. And as for her…' She flicked her head towards her daughter. 'She's sorry. She knows she did wrong.'
'Come on, Mum, get yourself off, I need to talk to Breda alone.'
'You won't… Promise me, Phil…'
He could hear the tears in his mother's voice and was shocked to realise that she actually thought he was capable of killing his sister; seemed his mother knew him better than he thought. That was certainly something he needed to think about at some point. The main thing now though was to get his mother and father out of the house, and off to the hospital as quickly as possible. Only then could he talk to his sister without hindrance, and he used the expression 'talk' very loosely.