Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven
'You all right, Mum?'
Timmy was watching Christine from across the room. She looked spaced as usual, but he knew she wasn't on anything, she was just like Dilly Daydream, staring into space.
'I'm fine. Why aren't you at the airport with the others?'
He grinned. 'What, meeting up with the conquering hero? He's been on honeymoon, Mum, not a fucking tour of Iraq.'
He was good, she couldn't deny that. His words sounded like a joke, but she heard the underlying meaning. She watched him warily again, he was fascinating to her these days. She loved him - he was still her son, and for that she would always have some feeling for him - but it was not like before. It could never be the same again.
She glanced away from him, and saw him looking her up and down carefully in the huge antique mirror over the fireplace. Before she could stop herself she said innocently, 'Seen anything of Graham Planter lately?'
As she spoke she turned in the chair and looked him directly in the face. His pupils widened and for a few seconds his eyes were almost black. She knew that she had frightened him and she grew braver with the sensation.
'What makes you ask that?' He had recovered his composure now, but she knew he was rattled.
'I just wondered. It's funny, son, but he was never your friend. Then your dad said he saw you and him at the wedding, up by the big barn. That's where your father keeps those guns, ain't it? That Jamal delivers them. Contrary to popular belief, I see a lot more than any of you have ever given me credit for. Oh, and tell Graham I liked his hat that night at the club - nearly didn't recognise him in it.'
They were looking deep into each other's eyes now, and she could see a small tic pulsing at the side of Timmy's right eye. That she had rattled him, she had no doubt; she couldn't have made it any plainer. He knew she knew all right, he was just deciding what to do about it. It was like watching Phillip at work, it was almost uncanny. Her son had inherited his father's complete disregard for human life.
'Are you trying to tell me something, Mum?'
She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. 'Such as? What are you on about?'
'Well, that's what I'm asking you, ain't it?'
She sighed heavily, as if all this was well over her head, and she had no idea what he might mean. 'You are a bit odd today, Timmy. Been missing your brother I expect.' She smiled as easily as she could manage with the trembling that was now threatening to take over her whole body. But she was nearly there, and she knew she had to act as if she wasn't scared of her child in the least. 'He's home tonight. Oh, and they're staying here, by the way, not at the flat. Me and Finoula are going to look over the house tomorrow.'
He nodded as if in agreement with her, but he knew she was warning him that she would be watching him. Watching out for Philly.
'I've cooked them a lovely coq au vin, used a real cockerel. There's enough for you, if you've still got some appetite after my little bombshell.'
Christine had to make him think she wasn't afraid of him.
But it was hard, so hard. Still he didn't say a word, and as she looked at him she recalled what he was like as a kid; he could go quiet for days, and they had all laughed, and said he was deep. Deep, yeah, but also dangerous. If only we could have a glimpse of the future when our kids were small how much easier life would be.
She took a deep breath before asking quietly, 'Can I say something to you, just between us, like, Timmy?'
He nodded, she could see he was more than eager to hear exactly what she had to say for herself. 'Fire away, Mum. I've always got time for you.' The sarcasm was there, along with the pun, and the smile that went with it said it was meant as a threat. He was trying to intimidate her, and the knowledge didn't frighten her, it just made her more determined to tell him what she wanted to tell him. She stood up and poured herself a large brandy and, after knocking it back swiftly, she poured herself another one.
'Don't I get one, Mum? Or are you drinking alone as usual? Good at that, aren't you? But then you've done enough of it, I suppose.'
She didn't answer him. She just carried on with what she was doing, gathering her courage as best she could before it failed her altogether. Then, walking to where he was standing, just inside the huge picture windows, she stopped right in front of him. Looking into his face she said seriously, 'If anything happens to my Philly, I will hold
you
personally responsible. If he breaks a nail climbing out of his car, I will assume it had something to do with you. If he fucking so much as catches the flu, I will blame you, and if he
ever
gets shot at again, I will blow your fucking world so far into orbit, you'll be thumbing a lift from the Hubble Telescope to get back down to earth. Do you understand what I am telling you, Timmy?'
He didn't even flinch at her words, but she could tell he was worried, and wondering how to get out of this without anyone else finding out the score.
Timmy scoffed at her, 'Like anyone would listen to
you\
You're a drunk, Mum.'
She could feel the heat enveloping her body, and she knew he could smell her fear.
'You're a joke to everyone in this family, Mum, especially
your
Philly. No one would give your story a second's credence.'
'I'll be watching you, boy.'
He grinned then and, pushing his face close to hers, said quietly, 'And I'll be watching
you
, Mum. Keep that in mind, won't you?'
Before she could answer him, the door crashed open and Philly's voice was booming out. 'Hello, Mum, the wanderers have returned!'
Timmy pushed her gently out of his path, sidelining her and, holding out his arms, he said to his brother, all smiles and familial affection, 'Fuck me, look at you, bruv, brown as a berry! And where's the lovely Mrs Murphy? Don't tell me she's fucking left you already.'
As Finoula came into the room, Christine said her hellos and then, using the excuse of needing to check the dinner, she almost ran to the kitchen. What had she started? Oh dear God in heaven, what the hell had she started? She was so afraid of her younger son, she was beyond relieved to have her husband in the house with her.
That alone told her just how bad things really were.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight
'Please, Phillip, I've never asked you anything about your work before, but please tell me what's going down. I can sense that something is different.'
Phillip Murphy looked at his wife, clearly weighing up how much to reveal. It annoyed her more than she believed possible. Her new-found interest in everything pertaining to the businesses and the boys was getting a bit wearing as far as her husband was concerned, but she didn't care. She had to know.
He shrugged suddenly, as if he had decided something very serious, and said, 'Someone is coming to pick up the guns. Now, can we drop it, Christine, please? You know I don't like to discuss things like this, especially with you. What's come over you lately, mate? You're either stoned on the pills the doctor gave you, or you're following me around like a fucking puppy. Is something bothering you, Christine? Because if it is, you only have to tell me and I'll sort it for you.'
She felt the urge to laugh out loud; he was starting to sound like Florence, her therapist of old. And, like Florence, she could just see his face if she told him what was actually on her mind. Phillip didn't even come into the equation any more - in fact, she could cope with him, and since the shooting he had been really good. It was the boys that were sending her off her head.
Her Philly didn't even guess there was anything untoward going on with his brother, and that was the most frightening thing.
'I've got a funny feeling on me that's all, Phil, it's since Philly, you know…' she trailed off.
Christine only had to mention the shooting and Phillip was immediately all husbandly concern. He understood how deeply she had been affected by it, and Phillip had always admired how much she cared. Christine knew he was fascinated by other people's emotions, and how they affected them and their everyday lives. On a basic level, he needed to observe them, so he could attempt to imitate them. It was how he had survived so long without being sussed out. So the briefest mention of Philly being shot, and he was all over her, worried it would make her ill again, make her have to go away from him again.
Christine also knew he was still puzzling over who the culprit could be, and she had nearly told him so many times in the last few weeks. But she couldn't. She was frightened - if she
did
tell him, she couldn't predict what he would do. Being Phillip Murphy, he would decide whether that was a sign of strength in his son, or a weakness that meant he had to obliterate him. Even though she felt he would choose Philly, with this man you could never be sure. Like King Herod, who had killed three of his own kids, Phillip had the capacity not just for great brutality, but also great kindness. He would also assume, as she had, that he was next in line for the chop. And she didn't want anything to happen to Timmy either - not because of her anyway. It was such a quandary, and it was her fault, all because of her, and a determination many years ago to best her mother. The more her mother had been against her marrying Phillip Murphy, the more determined she was to have him.
All she had wanted was to be a part of a big, happy family; well, she had got her wish - to be part of a big family anyway - for all the good that it had done her. She had married a murderer, and she had given birth to two sons, one of whom was capable of literally anything, and another one who she felt might just have a chance at a normal life because he had married Finoula. She was a sensible girl, a decent girl. Philly respected her, and the way she had acted after he had been shot had shown them that she had the staying power needed to be married to a Murphy. Christine had a terrible feeling on her that, many years ago, Veronica Murphy had thought the exact same about
her
where Phillip was concerned. Had seen her as his saving grace, because if he loved her so much he had to have some good in him. Philly was ruthless, yes, too caught up in his father's world, true, but he was basically a good person, a good man and, at the moment, Christine was holding on to that fact like a lifeline. She had to believe that some good had come out of her marriage or she would never rest easy again.
After all, they had to have some of her in them, didn't they? They were carried inside her, she had given them half their DNA. Had the only thing she had given them been her weakness? Her Timmy had indeed turned out to be like the spit out of his father's mouth - someone had said that to her just after he had been born, and it came back to her now. Philly, on the other hand, looked like his father, but didn't have the same mannerisms like Timmy did. Philly did have his father's utter disregard for what other people wanted or needed though; it was all business to him.
She was worrying herself now with her thoughts. So she did what she always did, she just pushed the troubling thoughts from her head. Philly
wasn't
like his father, it was
Timmy
who had turned out like him, in more ways than one. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't think straight. But because of her history no one thought she was acting that strange, so it was giving her a bit of an insight into how bloody weird she must have seemed to them all, especially the boys. In some ways, for years she had never felt so normal as she did now. It was as if this had kicked her into touch, made her see her life and her sons' lives for what they actually were. This had to stop, this all had to stop.
The question was, how?
As Phillip left the house to go to the big barn, and get ready for the visitors, she watched Timmy and Philly from the doorway laughing together on the drive. Her heart was in her mouth as she saw Timmy look behind him, and straight at her; he waved in a friendly manner, and then Philly did the same thing. Timmy was acting as if nothing untoward had taken place between them, but she knew, deep inside herself, he was just waiting for the opportunity to finish all this off once and for all.
As she watched Philly walking towards Old Sammy, Timmy turned so he had his back to his brother and, making a pretend gun with his hand like a child playing at cowboys and Indians, he pretended to shoot her. He was laughing as he did it, and she knew then that it had gone far enough.
She walked slowly up to her bedroom and, locking the door, she took a deep breath. Then, her heart hammering in her ears, she picked up the phone and began to dial.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine
'Hello, Breda. Oh, look at him, young Porrick Junior.'
Phillip made a big fuss of his nephew's baby, and even though Breda knew that, in actuality, he had no real interest in it she played the game. With Phillip that was often the best way. She smiled at him and walked through to the kitchen to see Christine.
'All right, Chris?'
Her sister-in-law smiled, but Breda could see she was not right, she was a bundle of nerves again, and she sighed inwardly. This was a serious bit of business tonight, and she was relying on Christine to watch the baby for her while she was out at the big barn. Trust fucking Porrick to choose tonight to take his bird for a meal and the pictures. Still, she could have refused to babysit, they wouldn't have minded, they were pretty good like that. But she had loved this child with a passion since she had first seen his little scrunched-up red face. She looked after the child as much as possible, and her son and his bird were quite happy for her to do just that.
'You seem a bit preoccupied, are you sure you're all right, mate?'
'Fucking hell, Breda, what's this - act like the Old Bill night? I'm fine, just a bit tired that's all. Give me a fucking break, will you?'
Breda was taken aback. 'All right,
relax
, I was only asking,
Christine. You're fine. Fuck me, I get the picture.'
She stormed from the kitchen, and Christine felt a twinge of guilt. But it didn't last, she had too much on her mind, and she hoped to God that she had done the right thing. She felt sick with apprehension and fear at what was going to happen soon. She saw Timmy looking at her, and she turned away from him.
'Have you two had a fucking row or something?' Phillip was standing in the doorway, his eyes flicking from one to the other.
Timmy shrugged as if he didn't know what his father was talking about, and Christine just shook her head. But she was pleased to see that Timmy, for all his pretence at nonchalance, was actually nervous. The knowledge gave her a thrill, and she was ashamed of herself for it. But God, it felt good to know she was affecting him; it proved he knew she might be capable of taking him down.
'Don't be silly, Phillip! What would we argue about? Don't be so fucking stupid.'
Phillip laughed at her but said seriously, 'You haven't stopped effing and blinding all day, Chris.' Turning to Timmy he said, 'And as for
you..
.' He smiled half-heartedly before pointing his finger at him. '
You
are acting like something is on your mind too. So why not cut the fucking bullshit, and tell me what's occurred? Not another fracas like last night, I hope.'
Timmy pushed past his father, but he was careful not to be too aggressive. 'I don't know what you're on about, but about Mum's swearing, I think you're spot on. She ain't stopped since this morning.'
Christine went to the huge larder and opened it. Inside it was neatly stacked with jams and chutneys, bottled fruits and veg. To her, all it represented now was the hours she had spent trying to act like a
real
wife, a
real
mother. Feed the kids, make the jams, and pretend your life was fine.
But they had needed more than sustenance - they had needed a mother who had the guts to take them away from the hurt and the anger they had been born into. In her heart of hearts though, she knew now that for Timmy it would still have been the same. He had his father's personality for, like Phillip, he only understood his own needs, and his own wants. They would always be the most important things to him.
The larder also held the household cigarette quota and, opening a carton of Marlboro Lights, she ignored her husband's questions and said instead, as normally as possible, 'What time's Declan and Jamsie getting here? Will they want feeding?'
Phillip walked into the larder with her and, shutting the door behind him, he said quietly, 'Look, Christine, I don't know what's going on here, but it all feels a bit odd. Now tell me, has Timmy upset you? Because if he has, I'll fucking knock him out. He's getting too lairy by half lately. Do you know what he did yesterday?'
She shook her head and whispered, ' 'Course I don't, what happened?'
'He only went and hammered one of my best fucking customers. Slapped him all round the fucking arcade. In full view of the other punters.' He shook his head in disbelief at his son's idiocy. 'I've told him time and time again,
never
lose your rag in public, and
never ever
let anyone see you raise your hand to anybody. That's what God created dark alleyways and fucking empty houses for. Privacy means no witnesses. Honestly, it's like he's fucking simple or something lately. You talk to him, and he's fucking miles away and, to be frank, Christine, he's getting on my wick.'
It pleased Christine that she was getting to him, that Timmy was anxious about her and what she knew. He was worried all right. Worried she would be believed. Well, if it went to plan, she would show him once and for all who was fucking stupid. She knew he had thought she was too weak, too frightened, to tell anyone what she knew. But now he wasn't so sure.
'Phillip, will you promise me something?'
He nodded. 'Of course, anything.'
'Will you keep near me and Philly tonight?'
He laughed tiredly and said in disbelief, 'You and Philly?'
She nodded. 'Yes, Phillip,
me
and
Philly.
Just promise me.'
He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, and she was reminded yet again just how good-looking this man she had married was. Phillip could see she was desperate for him to tell her what she wanted to hear, so sighing heavily, he said in his best placating voice, 'If it will make you happy, darling, then I promise.' He laughed, all joking and full of mischief. 'Cross me heart and hope to die!'
She smiled back at him, playing along as she had for so many years, and realising, not for the first time, just how fucking wearing it could all be. 'Good.'
She felt better now and, going back into the kitchen, she called her elder son in and made them both a stiff drink. Sitting at the big scrubbed pine table she chatted to her son about his new home, his new wife, his new life. And so began her vigil. Phillip was as good as his word and came in and out often, giving her a conspirator's wink every time to cheer her up. She was aware that Breda was annoyed about her monopolising the men. Especially as she had to empty the holdalls containing the handguns and the sawn-off shotguns herself. Eventually though, Philly got up and excused himself from the kitchen. As Christine wandered into the large sitting room, to catch sight of Timmy sitting there calmly with Philly, she nearly walked into the coffee table. Steadying herself, she went over to the window and stood with her back to the room, looking out.
Breda looked at her strangely and said, 'Are you feeling all the ticket, Christine? You seem nervous.'
She turned on her then angrily. 'I'm fine, Breda. What's the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Because the mood I'm in girl, you are liable to get one.' Christine's words caused a hush in the room. She saw her husband and sons stare at her as if they had never seen her before.