Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine
Christine was happier than she had been for ages. Vodka could do that, she found. It was ages since she had been on a real drink-up, and today she had decided, quite suddenly, that it had been long enough between bouts. Starting early, she had bought a half bottle of Smirnoff from the local off-licence in Leigh-on-Sea, because they didn't know her there, and she had polished that off in no time in her car. She realised with a jolt that she had left the car somewhere, but she couldn't remember where. The police would find it, they always did, and they would have it delivered to the farm. It was handy being Mrs Phillip Murphy at times. She had gone to the Wheatsheaf next, a lovely old pub, and she had downed a lot more vodka there before walking to the Three Crowns, where she sat outside looking at the sea, drinking herself even further into oblivion. She vaguely remembered getting in a cab, or being put into a cab if she was being totally honest, and ending up at the Moonraker, which was where she was now.
She was looking at her son, and wondering why she was so anxious to get home. Phillip would be annoyed; he hated it when she tried one on like this, he said he was worried about what could happen to her. But she didn't believe him, she thought it was because he couldn't control her when she was drunk. The thought made her laugh.
'What's so funny, Mum?'
'Nothing. Why, who are you, the laughing police?'
Even Timmy smiled at that.
'I want to see my Philly, take me to see my Philly!'
'Philly is at home, Mum, remember? Finoula's there with him.' He was talking to her as if she was a child, and a stupid child at that. She hated feeling like this, maudlin and depressed. She wondered if she had any pills stashed at home. She didn't think she did, but you never knew; she was always the optimist.
As they drove along, she watched her son's profile, it was dark now but, in the light of the car, he looked like his father with his pursed lips and his obvious annoyance at her condition. She knew the boys hated her drinking, but they were grown men now. Philly was getting married soon. She was a grown-up as well - if she wanted to get pissed then that was her right, surely? It was probably in the Magna Carta or something. After all, she was an adult; not that they treated her like one, of course.
She tried to justify her drunkenness. 'My son was shot like an animal in front of me, and I
needed
a drink today, not every day like before, but just today.'
She thought the words were very profound, and she opened her bag to get her cigarettes. Timmy didn't even bother to answer her and, as she lit her cigarette, he said quietly, 'I don't like smoking in my car, Mum, if you don't mind.'
It was the way he delivered the words that set her off. Offhand, irritated, as if she was some kind of moron he was being forced to babysit. She turned on him then. 'Don't you talk to me like that! Who the hell do you think you are? This ain't
your
car, it's your
father's
car. Like you live in
his
house, and you eat
his
food. So don't you dare talk to me like that again, boy. I've had you and your attitude up to here.' She made a chopping motion across her own throat to emphasise her point. 'All that money for private school and you haven't even got any manners.'
Timmy sighed in annoyance; she was a fucking pain when she was like this. He knew one thing - he would never marry a drinker. Finoula didn't drink, and he wondered if Philly knew how lucky he was because of that. When he thought back to this woman's antics over the years…
'You're pissed, Mum. Just put a fucking sock in it, will you?'
It wasn't just the words, it was the complete dismissal in them, as if she was nothing, a no one. But she supposed, to her sons, that is exactly what she was. After all, she had never really been there for them, always too caught up in her own problems, in her nightmare that passed as a life. But this one here, her Timmy, her baby, for him to speak to her so disrespectfully somehow made it seem so much worse. But deep inside, she knew she had no one to blame for this but herself, herself and her weakness. If only she could have taken them as far from Phillip's orbit as possible, but he would never have allowed her to do that. She should have left them there, with him, and saved her own life, because they were like him, so very like him. In every way. Phillip had made sure of that. Especially this younger son of hers.
She knew she was crying, she could hear herself, and she wished she could stop.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty
'I've never seen your mum pissed, is she really terrible then?'
Finoula was genuinely interested. Philly had told her about his mother's 'problems' - he'd had to since she spent so much time at the house - but, in fairness, his mum had been pretty good recently, considering.
'Not terrible, more sad. She's always suffered from a deep depression. I think it started after Timmy was born, at least that's the impression I get from me nan.'
'Postnatal depression they call it, Philly.'
He shrugged in bewilderment. 'Whatever. Anyway, she goes on benders, but not that often these days. When we were kids she was out of her nut twenty-four-seven, on pills and booze. To be honest, I don't know how me dad's stuck it. In and out of rehab, it was like living with an old Amy Winehouse.' He was trying to make light of it, but Finoula could see that it hurt him.
'I like her, I think she's lonely, Philly. She always seems as if she's not really a part of anything, do you know what I mean?'
He knew exactly what she meant, and he loved her for it. She had sussed it all out, and he knew he was lucky to have someone like her, someone so understanding, and so kind.
'She don't mean any harm, Finny, but sometimes when we were kids, she was so embarrassing, pissed out of her nut, talking shite.' He started to laugh then. 'She came up the school once in odd shoes. Honest, me and Timmy nearly died, they were different colours and everything - she was
so
drunk the school wouldn't let her drive home again, so me dad came and got us. But she was doing her crust, effing and blinding.'
'What, your mum?' Finoula's voice was incredulous, she couldn't imagine Christine Murphy being like that, she was such a nice woman.
Philly nodded at her and said seriously, 'The drink and the pills change her, she's like a different person - it's mental to see her. She talks like a drunken road builder.'
'I hope she's all right tonight. We'll look after her, yeah?'
He nodded, hoping that his mother wasn't on one of her rants against his father. 'Everyone always talks about her when she was young, how pretty she was, how clever. To me and Timmy it's like they're talking about someone who died, because we don't remember her like that at all. See, me and Timmy, we only remember her drunk or stoned, or both. Trying to kiss and cuddle us, and all we could smell was stale breath, and vomit. That was how bad it was at times.'
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One
Timmy watched his mother as she listened at the doorway to Philly and Finoula chatting unawares. She had her hand at her throat, and her eyes screwed shut. He wondered if she realised just how much she had neglected him and Philly over the years so she could drink.
She had wandered inside while he had parked the car and called his father to see where he was. Seeing the devastation on his mother's face at what she had heard made him feel bad now, because no one should hear that about themselves, not even her.
Phillip came in just as she was opening a bottle of white wine in the kitchen and, as he opened his mouth to protest, she put the bottle down on the side and, running to him, she threw herself into his arms. As he held her close, she kept repeating over and over again, 'What have I done?'
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two
'You have what is called a gastric ulcer, Mrs Murphy, and once we get you on the medication the pain should subside greatly. You just have to take better care of yourself. Other than that, you are as well as a woman of your advanced years could expect.'
Veronica didn't like this doctor, he was an arsehole of the first water, talking to her as if she was a newspaper or something. She didn't care how much he charged, he needed to be taken down a peg. 'Is that so, Doctor? Well, let me enlighten you now. My son has paid a fecking fortune for your opinion, and my advice to you is next time you have a woman of
my advanced years
in your office, remember to talk to her as if she was a grown-up and not a shagging errant teenager. Because, for all your grand education, you could do with a few lessons in good manners and social interaction.'
The last bit was something Finoula had said about Gordon Brown, and Veronica felt it was a good put-down; she only hoped she had used it in the correct context.
Christine and Breda didn't laugh until they were out of the consulting room, then the two of them started to roar.
'Fucking hell, Mum, what brought that on?'
Veronica was still annoyed, but she could see the humour of the situation. 'Who the shag do these people think they are?
Talking to me as if I'm a fool. And with that eejit Phillip paying him good money. I might not be in the first flush of youth, but I'm not in me fecking dotage yet.'
Christine took Veronica's arm. 'Come on, let's get to mine. I've put a casserole in the simmering oven and it'll be ready when we get there.'
Secretly Veronica was over the moon. She had thought as they all had that it was going to be bad news, but it wasn't. God had seen fit to give her a few more years, as she had requested, and she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her. The anxiety had been keeping her up at night. An ulcer of all things! Who would have thought it? A little voice inside was telling her it wasn't even caused by worry - it was guilt. But she ignored it, just as she had been ignoring that voice for years as well.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three
'This is beautiful, Christine. Would you teach me to cook?'
Christine smiled at the wonderful girl her son had somehow managed to bag. She was lovely, really lovely, and not just in looks. She was a kind girl and so thoughtful.
"Course I will, Finny! Anything you particularly want to know how to cook? If you start with things you like it's easier. Then as time passes you go on to more complicated things.'
'Like life?'
They both laughed.
'Yeah, I suppose that's a good comparison. But you and Philly seem so happy, love, I don't think you have anything to worry about there.'
Finoula grinned, her perfect, overly white teeth looked incongruous in the early morning light that flooded the kitchen. She was like a photograph, not a real person, but Christine knew that was how girls were now. They were fighting off ageing before their twenty-fifth birthdays, and everything was about how they looked, not how they felt inside. Maybe they had the right idea. It was the whole Cheryl Cole concept and look how successful she had been! If girls nowadays had an original thought it would die in their heads of loneliness - all they cared about was being pretty. Christine knew she was being harsh, because this girl here had more than a good brain, she had the street smarts to go with it.
'I do love Philly, Christine, he's my world.'
Christine knew Finoula spoke the truth and, having been in the same position once, she couldn't help but be frightened for her. Grabbing her hand tightly, she said seriously, 'That's a good thing, my little love, but remember what I am telling you now. He'll always have his life and his job, but you'll end up at home with the kids, and that can be the most rewarding job on the planet, but also the loneliest. Always keep something for yourself - get a good nanny, au pair, whatever, and make a life for
yourself
outside your front door, outside your marriage. Don't be dependent on any man - eventually they resent you for it. Keep your friends, even the ones he doesn't like, and make sure you see them regularly. Don't become just a wife - it's never enough for most men.'
Finoula was a bit shocked at what her future mother-in-law had just said, but she understood she was trying to help her, and she was also perceptive enough to see that she was telling her the truth. Finoula grinned at her conspiratorially. 'Don't worry, Christine, I've already decided to keep my hand in with the bookies. I think if I was at home all day I would go off me nut!'
She realised what she had said, and just stopped herself from apologising. Christine, however, laughed at her choice of words. 'Well, take it from someone who's experienced exactly that - it's no fun, I can tell you!'
They laughed together companionably and, once more, Christine wished she had heard her sons talk about her years ago. If anything could have stopped her drinking and pill- popping, it would have been the words she had heard from her elder son the other night. Listening to her Philly telling this girl what he had really thought and how he had felt over the years had been the jolt she needed to finally clean up her act.
The real surprise had been how pleased she had felt to see
Phillip standing there. She had seen the sad look on his face, because he knew how much it would have hurt her; Timmy had obviously filled him in on the night's events. She was amazed at how eagerly she had run into his arms. He had seemed like her lifesaver at that moment, she had felt such relief at seeing him in the kitchen. She had to admit, no matter what had happened over the years between them, he would
always
be there for her, and she was aware that she had always relied on him for that. No matter how much she had hated him, she had still needed him.
Her life was set now and she would never get away - not unless one or the other of them died. But there was still hope for Finoula, and she wanted her to have her eyes wide open to the life she would be taking on when she married a Murphy The lying, the deceit, the knowledge that her husband could be taken from her at any time; either with a gun, as had been proved already, or by a court giving him twenty years. She wanted this girl to know that the security around her would be suffocating at times - armed men patrolling the grounds because of a deal that had upset someone enough to want them all dead. She would have to learn about keeping her thoughts private, because a careless word could bring terror to her doorstep. And stashing every receipt because you might have to prove purchase one day for the most mundane of things; the tax were shit-hot, and the one set of people you couldn't buy. There was still so much this girl had to learn. She might have the benefit of being Mad Jack's daughter but, in comparison to her family, Mad Jack was an amateur in the criminal stakes.
Finoula hugged the woman who would soon be her mother- in-law. She really liked her, and she sensed that she was very unhappy. 'I can't wait to start learning to cook properly. Philly always talks about what a good cook you are. Your food's legendary.'
She was being kind. Christine knew her son loved her food, but she had a feeling he would much rather she had served it to him sober.
'Even the doctor thinks he's putting on weight properly, and you cooking him such wholesome food has been a real help.'
She smiled, but she didn't answer the girl; instead she walked to the kitchen door and motioned for Finoula to follow her. As they walked up to the big barn, Christine observed the girl's pleasure in her surroundings.
'It's a huge place, isn't it?'
Finoula nodded.
'When we bought the house there were only a couple of acres, but we own everything now. Do you see that farmhouse over there in the distance?'
Finoula nodded; it was a nice property, really big and it had wonderful brick chimneys.
'Phillip's giving it to you and Philly as a wedding present.'
Finoula looked at Christine to see if she was joking with her; she clearly wasn't, because she looked very serious and contemplative.
'The people who owned that house had farmed there for over two hundred years. Phillip offered a fair price for it and they refused. Eventually, after their water supply had been poisoned, and their barn burnt to the ground, he got the place for a song. They live in the village now, their children spread all around the country. They were nice people, they even brought us over some lovely cuttings when we first moved in…'
Finoula was nonplussed. She didn't know what Christine wanted her to say, didn't know how she was supposed to react to these revelations.
'I don't want to hurt you, Finny, all I am trying to say is that things in this family aren't always like they seem. Not with Philly - he's a diamond - but we always get
everything
we want. Remember though, it's often at someone else's expense.'
Finoula nodded. She understood and she knew this woman was only trying to help her. Even though she had a strange way of showing it.
'Enjoy that house - it's crying out for a family - but never forget how you came to acquire it.' She waited for the girl to digest her words before she added, 'And see that building there, with the huge chimneys?'
Finoula nodded.
''Never
go in there, and
never
ask about what happens there.'
'Why? What happens there that's so mysterious?'
Christine smiled, an enigmatic little smile. 'I don't know. What I
do
know is there's an unspoken rule in this family, and it's that the big barn is off-limits. You'd do well to remember that, Finoula, and never question
anyone
inside or outside the family about it.'
Finoula was uneasy now; there was more going on here than met the eye. But she consoled herself with the fact that this woman was off her tree most of the time, and this was probably one of those days. The pleasure she was getting from her surroundings was gone, however, and the huge open spaces were suddenly not beautiful and picturesque, but isolated and frightening.
'Come on, let's go back and make a pot of coffee, shall we?'
Finoula agreed in relief, but although they chatted about normal things for the rest of the day, Christine's words stayed with her.