Chapter Thirty-Eight
In intensive care, Jamsie opened his eyes to find his mother sitting by his bed. It took him a few minutes to remember what had happened to him; when he did, he closed his eyes again, wishing he had never woken up in the first place. He heard his mother praying softly, could hear the gentle clicks as she passed the rosary beads through her fingers at the end of each prayer. It was comforting for him, reminded him of when he was a kid and she'd make them all say the rosary in May for Our Lady, Queen of Heaven.
He felt the sting of tears then; everything he had ever known was gone now, everything he had thought would always be there, that he had taken for granted, was gone. He had pulled some stunts in his time, and they were legion, but they were nothing compared to getting Declan put away. He had crossed a line, and there was no going back.
His mother leant towards him; he could smell the mints on her breath and, opening his eyes, he looked at her sadly. 'Mum?'
She stared into his eyes for a long moment before she said gently and forcefully, 'You should have died, Jamsie, you treacherous little bastard.'
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Veronica was worried. Phillip had been missing for five days, and she was once more sitting in her daughter-in-law's kitchen, watching her grandsons' antics, and hoping against hope that her boy would walk in the front door as if nothing had happened.
That was how these things usually panned out - after a bout of violence when he was young he would go off somewhere, and she would have the heart across her until he came back home. She wasn't frightened of anything happening to him, she was more worried about him hurting other people. He wasn't able to calm himself down, that was the trouble, and anyone in his path was easy prey. She knew from experience how he could get, knew that he was dangerous and incapable of controlling himself when things went too far. He had to hide away and try to wait out his immense fury. She knew the score, she was only nonplussed now because it was so long since he had experienced an episode like this one she had secretly hoped they were a thing of the past.
Yet if she was honest with herself, she doubted whether it was possible to grow out of that kind of anti-social behaviour. Phillip was, as her husband had once remarked, a complete nut-bag. She had laughed at the epithet at the time, but now it seemed to sum him up perfectly. She had seen Christine as his saving grace, had believed that his feelings for the girl proved he was at least normal enough to love on some level, and the same with the boys she had produced for him. Around his wife, he was a different person, the person Veronica knew he
wanted
to be. It was all a pretence, of course, she realised that now - his whole life was one big game. She looked around her at the lovely home he had provided for his family, and knew that, like Christine and his boys, this was his proof to the world that he was successful, that he was different to his peers. He saw himself as above everyone else and she knew how much store her Phillip put on how other people perceived him and his.
Now, thanks to Breda and that piece of shite Jamsie, he was back to where he was ten years previously. Between them they had destroyed their own family. She would never forgive either of them.
Her son might not be all the ticket in comparison to most other people, but he was her first-born and she loved him more than all the others put together. He needed her more than they did, even though he didn't actually realise that himself. Phillip was broken: it wasn't anything she had done, he had been born that way, and as such he was her responsibility. That, as far as she was concerned, was what being a mother was about.
Chapter Forty
Breda was like a caged lion. She sat in her mother's house and waited, feeling like she had the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head. She knew that Phillip would be back at some point, but when? And what kind of mood would he be in when he arrived? She could kick herself for forgetting just how dangerous her brother could be. She had really believed he would have thanked her for her actions towards Jamsie, and she saw now that it was this belief that had caused this terrible retribution to come down on her. She had really overestimated her own strength, and her brother's capacity for coping with serious aggravation. It was years since he had gone off on one; like her mother, she had believed he had, if not grown out of his rages, at least managed to control them.
Seeing how wrong she was had knocked her confidence completely. It reminded her of when they were kids and they had all been terrified of upsetting him. It was an unwritten rule in the household that Phillip and his strange moods, as her mother referred to them, were always given precedence. Her mother had almost made them seem normal, because she had learned to cope with them in a way that caused the minimum of fuss. They all knew, though, that Phillip was her mother's boy - especially her father, he had taken a back seat to him since he had thrown his first violent tantrum.
That Phillip could walk in at any moment and throttle her without a second's thought was forefront in her mind, night and day. Breda looked at her son and wondered if he was to be left motherless. Phillip was more than capable of seeing to that. Veronica would cover for him as per usual, they all knew that. Even if he murdered his own sister, her mother would see it as an aberration, not as a serious event. Where Phillip was concerned her mother could, and would, paper over any cracks, no matter how monumental they might actually be.
Christine had certainly gone up in her estimation, but then she
had
tried to warn the girl about her husband's capabilities. Still, Breda couldn't help feeling sorry for her; judging by the shock and the horror on her face as she witnessed her husband's handiwork, that night had certainly been a learning curve for her.
Breda had been aware of her utter incomprehension of the scene in the kitchen. It would have forced Christine to rethink her whole life, and she would now be realising she was absolutely trapped. That she had, in effect, married a nutter - a handsome, charming nutter, but a headcase all the same. Christine was sensible enough to understand now that she could never leave Phillip, that he would not countenance it, would see it as a personal affront. He was more than capable of turning on her should she displease him, and the fact that Christine was having to take that onboard saddened Breda. That night she could almost feel the girl's dismay as she saw what she had tied herself to. People wondered why Breda was so set against being tied to someone for any length of time - well she had been brought up with three brothers and she had learned one important thing: men were basically scum.
She watched as her father poured himself another cup of tea and carried on happily reading the racing form in the
Sun.
She envied him his complete acceptance of his way of life. He had not been affected one iota by recent events - in fact he seemed to hold her entirely responsible for everything. As he said, over and over, you ask for something often enough, and you'll get it tenfold. Like her mother, he felt that Phillip could do no real wrong, and any trouble he caused was because other people didn't understand him. So this was all
her
fault now, even Jamsie had not suffered as much flak as she had over it all. King Phillip had been upset, and that would never do. For as long as he brought in the wedge her father would see no wrong in him.
Well, perhaps she
had
asked for this, even she was aware of that much. She had pushed him too far, and that was not a mistake she was ever going to make again. If she survived this she would ensure she never again gave her brother reason to doubt her.
Chapter Forty-One
Jamsie awoke to see his brother looking down at him; the eyes were cold and the smirk was clearly evident. He was leaning over him in the bed and, to anyone outside their family, he looked genuinely concerned.
'How are you feeling, bruv?'
Jamsie's mouth was dry, and his heart was crashing in his ears, he was hoping he was imagining this. He looked around to see if Phillip had a knife or box cutter on him, something that could do the most damage in the quietest way. Phillip seemed to read his mind and he laughed softly. Pulling up a chair he sat down easily, his long legs crossed neatly and his arms lying carelessly along the sides of the upholstered chair. He looked for all the world like a man without a care. He grinned. 'She gave you a serious old battering, didn't she?'
Jamsie watched his brother warily, he knew that anything could happen when Phillip was like this, and anything often did.
'Cat got your tongue? Seems a pity considering you can't keep your fucking trap shut normally. A very chatty little fucker by all accounts, especially when it comes to family business or getting yourself out of schtook. All this over a few keys of coke. Amazed there was any left for the Filth to find - you tend to Hoover it up in vast amounts, don't you? Trouble is, bruv, if you'd come to
me
I could have sorted it, and it would have all gone away, but not you, Brain of fucking Britain. Now, thanks to you, and your grassing, we're
all
in a fucking muddle. Poor Declan, stuck in stir, as stoic as always, doing his time with the minimum of fuss - can't wait till he hears the latest, can you? His temper isn't as epic as mine, but he can come a pretty close second, don't you think? But I digress. I have sorted it for you and Breda, so all's not lost, as they say. Now what's left for me to do is to decide how best to pay you out, and I can assure you I will be thinking about it long and hard. You will have my undivided attention, not just for the piss-take with Declan, but because you made my wife see a side of me that I would rather she had never known about. You made me look a mug in front of her, and that is a cardinal sin where I am concerned. I deserve to be canonised for the saintly way I have treated that girl, and now, thanks to you, she's frightened of me. She's wondering what she's lumbered herself with. Bless her heart, she doesn't understand the world we inhabit, and I never wanted her to. So, as you can imagine, all that damage is going to deserve some serious retribution, and revenge is basically my middle name.'
Phillip was talking rapidly, his tone friendly, but the manic look in his eyes was enough to tell Jamsie that he was in a very precarious position. Phillip was capable of taking him out
now,
in full view of everyone. Jamsie kept his mouth shut and waited fearfully for Phillip to make a move.
Phillip was looking on at his little brother as if he was a fly struggling in the bottom of the toilet pan. He was enjoying Jamsie's discomfort immensely, but was sensible enough to know now that he mustn't give rein to his true feelings, not yet anyway. This ponce needed to stay around for a while, just for appearance's sake if nothing else. Plus, he would enjoy making him wait - it would add to the torment.
'Don't worry, bruv, you're safe enough for the moment. I promised your mummy I wouldn't harm you. She's worried about you, see, but then she should be, shouldn't she?'
Jamsie still didn't answer him, but he felt a small surge of relief at his brother's words. His mother would fight for him, he was sure of that, and Phillip would listen to her.
'Oh, cheer up. You really do have a reprieve, bruv. The only proviso is that you never ever find yourself in the same room as me. As far as I am concerned, you're dead. If I go to Mum's - which I will, often - you make yourself fucking scarce. You keep as far away from me as is physically possible and that way me and you will be all right.'
His mocking tone was all too evident to Jamsie and he knew he was getting off lightly. Phillip was warning him in more ways than one, was telling him he was finished with him completely, not just as a brother. He had no job and, without his brother's protection and goodwill, he had no chance of getting one either.
'For all Breda's a cunt, she's a
loyal
cunt, and that counts for something at least. Overnight, you have helped to destroy not only your own family, but also everything I have worked for, and that is something I will
never
forgive, Jamsie. I'll get my own back one day, remember that. You are living on borrowed time, you treacherous cunt, and that time is running out every second of every day. But, mark my words,
bruv
, you're a walking dead man.'
Standing up, Phillip winked at him jauntily and, turning, walked quickly away. Jamsie watched him as he left the ward, his clothes perfect as always, his demeanour friendly to everyone around him.
Jamsie was aware that he really was living on borrowed time. Closing his eyes, he felt the weakness wash over him again, and was frightened that the tears in his eyes were about to spill over and shame him even more.
Chapter Forty-Two
Christine looked at her sons in their beds and felt the panic rising inside her once more. It seemed impossible that she was looking at such normality, when her life as she knew it had ceased to exist. Since the incident at Veronica's house she had been living on her nerves. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Phillip as he had been that night, but it wasn't the Phillip she had fallen in love with, it wasn't the man who had fathered her children; she saw a monster who had no control over himself whatsoever.
Since that night she had felt that she was slowly sinking into the quicksand that her whole life had been built on. When his mother had rung her and begged her to get to the house, she wasn't sure what she had expected to find - a family argument obviously, but nothing like what she had been confronted with. She kept seeing Breda on the kitchen floor, battered and bruised and, more frightening than anything, allowing it to happen to her. Breda, who normally had a row like other people had a cup of tea, had been terrified and, worse than that, she was completely accepting of her brother's outrageous behaviour. Christine felt that her whole life was a lie; everything she had believed in, and her future, had disappeared overnight.
She thought of the few times she had disagreed with Phil; he would smile at her somehow, nothing violent or intimidating, but something in his face had told her to back down, and she always had. She understood now that a small part of her must have already realised that to oppose Phil wasn't something anyone in his orbit did lightly. That even
she
was dependent on his good humour, his being happy.
He had looked absolutely demonic, like something from a horror movie; the devil himself could not have been more frightening in the flesh. When she thought of him in church beside her, taking Communion, smiling at the people around him, proud of his family and his beliefs, it was like she was thinking about a completely different person, someone else entirely. She couldn't equate the loving husband and father with the bullying maniac she had seen with her own eyes.
That
Phillip Murphy was someone she had never really met, but she knew now that the manic-eyed, vicious man she had encountered was the
real
Phillip Murphy. He had hidden it well, she had to give him that, he had known how to suppress that part of his personality. But it still didn't change the fact that that was who he really was, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was stuck with this stranger for the rest of her days. And, more to the point, so were her sons. She had given her boys a father who was capable of literally anything and now she had seen him in his true light, fear was bearing down on her like a lead weight. A part of her hoped he had done something, had been arrested and locked up, and that was why he was missing now. She didn't want him back in her life or her sons' lives. She wanted nothing more to do with him.
Christine Murphy wanted out of her marriage, out of this life, but she knew that would never be an option for her. Phillip would make sure of it.
'Come down and have a cup of tea, child.' Veronica's voice was quiet, and Christine automatically turned and followed her from the room. She had made her mother-in-law promise to stay with her until Phil came back, as she couldn't face dealing with him alone. Veronica had readily agreed, which told Christine just how much danger she and her boys were actually in.
As she followed her mother-in-law down to the kitchen, her beautiful home didn't interest her any more. Now it felt like some kind of prison, somewhere she was being forced to reside, even though she hated it with a vengeance. She felt a wave of sickness wash over her, and knew that if something didn't happen soon she would snap. It was like waiting for a bomb to explode, only this bomb was flesh and blood, and he wasn't going to disappear after the explosion. The boys were laughing and playing, the radio was on in the background, and the smell of chicken casserole filled the house. All these things, such normal, everyday things, just made the days seem more and more surreal.
As Veronica said frequently, like some kind of mantra, life, such as it was, had to go on. You got up, and you got on with it. Well, Christine wasn't sure she was capable of going on. Only time would be the judge of that.