The Family

  Declan could feel himself blushing, and that annoyed him.

  'Oooh, Declan's doing a cherry. What's the matter with you, man, you could do worse. She's good-looking, she's willing. Knock yourself out a couple of kids with her - if you don't start soon you'll be too old to play with them.'

  'Fuck off, Phil. You know my thoughts on marriage. It doesn't appeal to me.'

  Phillip laughed, but it was hollow now. 'Can't say I blame you. I love my Christine, but she's fucking hard work. If I could just get her back to her old self - to how she used to be before…' He left the sentence unfinished.

  'Come on, Phil, let's get going. The sooner we get this over with the better.' Declan had no intention of getting into a big conversation about Christine, because they had been over this time and time again, and there was nothing anyone could do for her. Personally, he thought that she might benefit from Phillip divorcing her, but he kept that little bit of wisdom to himself, knowing that Phillip might not appreciate the sentiment. But it was obvious to everyone around them that Christine's problem was her husband, and his problem was her. It was something that could never be resolved to the satisfaction of either of them - they were like a circle, a wedding band, they didn't know where they began, and they certainly didn't know where they were going to end. One thing he knew for certain though - with Phillip and his beliefs there would be no divorce. He was in this marriage for the duration, and he believed that he had to cope with whatever was thrown at him, because Christine was his wife, and they were married in the eyes of God. Even though their marriage was destroying her on a daily basis, they would only part in death, and that was what was so tragic about it all. He had a feeling that when it happened, it would be Christine's death that released her, not his brother's. Even if that meant she achieved it with her own hand.

  Oh no, marriage was a mug's game all right, and he was well out of it. As his mother always said, there was more ways to skin a cat, and many ways to scratch an itch. And that was exactly what women were to him - an itch that you scratched for momentary relief.

  As they drove along the embankment they were both quiet, each filled with his own thoughts. The good humour they had shared seemed to have evaporated, and they were both aware of that.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighty-One

  'What will your dad do, Philly?'

  Philly shrugged nonchalantly; he didn't want his friends to know how worried he really was about what had happened. 'Well, suffice to say he won't be happy about it.'

  Graham Planter laughed nervously. 'It was funny at the time, but now I ain't so sure.'

  'We were out of order, Graham, and my dad will be more annoyed about that than he will at us being pissed. He's funny about respecting the people who work for us. He says that the least we can do is treat the employees how we would like to be treated ourselves - it's something he has hammered into us all our lives.'

  Billy Jameson said sadly, 'I wish we'd just gone home, don't you?'

  Philly wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer.

  The front door slammed, and the boys heard someone taking the stairs two a time. Within seconds the bedroom door was banged open and Phillip Murphy stood there like some kind of avenging angel.

  'You fucker! You rude, arrogant little fucker!'

  All three boys were tense with fear, the man looked like a maniac. You could almost feel the rage seeping out of his pores.

  'Get out, you two, and don't let me see your faces here again.'

  The boys were rooted to the spot in fear, and didn't move until he bellowed, 'I said, out!' Then they scurried from the room as fast as they could, leaving poor Philly to face his father's wrath alone.

  Phillip slammed the bedroom door behind him, and stood in front of it, his arms crossed and his face set like concrete. 'Now, I want your version of events, and make sure you tell me the truth, boy, because I know exactly what happened -1 watched it on the CCTV cameras.'

  'I'm sorry, Dad-'

  'Bit late for that, son. Now, either tell me what happened in graphic detail or kiss goodbye to the next six months of your life, because I'll ground you like an errant dog, as big as you are.'

  Even at nineteen it didn't occur to Philly to remind his father that he could vote, get married, or drink in any pub he chose to. His father was the law, and that was a fact of life in this house.

  'I was drunk. We went to the arcade and I asked the old boy for money to use on the machines. He said no. So I went in the booth and took it. He tried to stop me and I pushed him out of the way, and cunted him. He fell over, and I kicked him.'

  Philly's summary was short, precise, and told the main facts of the story without over-dramatising it or making excuses for himself. He knew that it was the only way he would get out of this with his skin intact.

  'He's sixty-seven years old and he's worked that booth for over fifty years, and you think because you're my son you have the right to treat him like garbage? Is that what this was all about?'

  Philly was shaking his head now in utter despair because, in reality, that is exactly what he had thought at the time. 'No, Dad, I swear. I was drunk, I know I was out of order. Fucking outrageously out of order, and I know you have every right to be annoyed. I can't make any excuses for my bad behaviour because there ain't any. I just want to take me punishment like a man.'

  Phillip laughed nastily. 'A man you ain't! Nineteen and bullying pensioners, a nice old bloke who would lay down his life for me. An old man who was just going about his own business. If a stranger had done that to him, I would have hunted them down and flayed them alive.'

  Philly closed his eyes in distress, knowing his father spoke the truth. Phillip Murphy looked after all the people who worked for him, and he made sure they were safe, even getting the women cabs home if they worked late shifts. He was a good employer, and that paid off because his workers were loyal; he remembered all their names, and asked them about their families, and their kids or grandkids. He never forgot them at Christmas, and they knew they could come to him with any problems, major or minor, and get a fair hearing. It was all part of Phillip Murphy's big 'I am' act, but Philly wouldn't say that to his father either.

  'Old Donny didn't tell me about it. He wasn't about to grass you up, but one of the girls ran it by me. She was so disgusted at how you behaved she kept the CCTV as evidence. Marvellous, ain't it? Me own son hasn't got the decency to tell me, but a seventeen-year-old college student felt I should know what my son was capable of.'

  'Like I say, I was drunk…'

  The fist when it shot out, got him square on the chin, and knocked him backwards over his bed, until he landed in a heap on the floor under the window seat.

  'Drunk. So that's your excuse, is it? You treacherous little cunt. Well, you can get up, and get down to the car, because me and you are going to do some serious apologising, then we are going to have a long heart-to-heart about the perils of drink, and the treatment of people less fortunate than ourselves.'

  Philly pulled himself up from the floor and, rubbing his chin, he felt the lump already forming there. It was the first time his father had hit him in years, and he had forgotten just how strong the old bastard was. He understood his father's fury - he wasn't so much annoyed at what Philly had done, but was more concerned with how it looked to people outside of the family. Appearances were everything to his father, he lived for his reputation, not just as a serious Face, but as a man. Philly had worked out years ago that it was all an act, his father's whole life was an act, from his church-going to his philanthropic enterprises. He was a fucking fake, and on every level. Philly knew this because in many ways he was just like his father, he was learning the ways of their world, and this would be a lesson for the future.

  He wouldn't fuck up like this again, of that much he was sure. He needed his father's support and favour if he was going to get where he wanted to go in life. And that was further than this ponce, of that much Philly was determined.

  * * *
>
  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Donny was embarrassed and it showed. He took the apology well, and shook hands with the lad. Everyone who witnessed Philly's humiliation was secretly pleased to be there and see it. He was an arrogant little fucker, and it was very satisfying to see him cut down to size. Phillip Murphy was a hero to these people, especially now, making his elder son apologise to Donny in full view of everyone. That was how it should be; Philly had treated the man appallingly, and it was right he should pay for it. This scene would be the talk of the seafront for weeks, and that was something the lad had to know, and it only added to his humiliation.

  'I'm so ashamed, Donny, that one of my boys could act like that. Well, you and I both know that drink and youngsters don't mix.' Phillip was making the old man laugh, being affable and friendly, the big man. Philly wished he had a gun, because he would happily blow the fucker away at this moment in time.

  'He's a good lad, Mr Murphy, and I've never had a problem with him before. I blame those mates of his, they were egging him on.' Donny was trying to make excuses for his employer's son and that was not lost on Philly, who finally had the decency to feel a sliver of remorse.

  'Well, Donny, I can guarantee I won't be drinking again for a long time. I really can't apologise enough, it was out of order. Every time I think about it I could die of shame.'

  'We're like one big family here, Donny,' Phillip added. 'And if anyone hurts my family, no matter who they are, they pay for it.'

  It was what they all wanted to hear, and Philly had a sneaking admiration for his father's spin on what had been, after all, a terrible act of arrogance on his part. Phillip looked like the big benevolent employer, but Philly knew that he would climb over their dead bodies if it got him what he desired.

  Back in the office Philly waited to be asked to sit, he knew the protocol by now. Phillip was still incensed at his son's behaviour, and how it reflected on him.

  'You done good, kid, but I warn you, one more incident like that and you're on your own.' Phillip saw the shock on his son's face and smiled at Philly's stupidity. 'You're out next time on your arse. Fending for yourself. You've got a bit too much of my brother Jamsie in you, and I intend to make sure that gets knocked out of you sooner rather than later. Bullying is easy, anyone can be a bully. But in this game, you get on a lot better and a lot quicker by looking out for the people who handle your money on a daily basis. This is a cash business, and goodwill goes a lot further than a good hiding, remember that.'

  Philly nodded.

  'Now, about the drinking. I am going to arrange for you to have a blood test every week, and if I find any drugs in it, I'll brain you where you fucking lie. This wasn't about drink and we both know that, so what had you taken?'

  Philly had been expecting this; he could never get one over on his father. 'I'd had an E. I was out of me brains.'

  Phillip nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Drugs are for the dimlos, not for the likes of us. Drugs make you stupid, make you forget what you're doing. They make you a cunt in my book, and everyone else's. So make sure that's the last time you do anything that stupid.'

  Philly nodded again, seeing his whole social life dissolving before his eyes. He was nineteen for Christ's sakes, not a little kid.

  'And one last thing. You need to start treating your mother with some respect, or I'll rip your fucking head off and use it as a football. You have been acting the cunt for a while now, and I think it's about time you grew up.'

  Philly didn't answer that. He honestly didn't know what to say.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  'Come on, Christine, you know it makes sense.'

  Christine was laughing loudly and Breda was pleased to see her so happy. They were having lunch on the seafront at a smart little fish restaurant where the food was only surpassed by the view. Christine ordered herself a large dessert; even though she didn't really want it, she knew it would please Breda. It was strange but the two women had become very close over the last few years. Since Ricky's funeral, Breda had made a point of visiting her almost daily, and they had found that in actuality they had quite a lot in common. Christine knew that Breda did what she did out of genuine caring, but she also knew that she reported back to Phillip. Phillip had been uneasy that she might talk about Ricky's murder to the doctors, but he had not realised that if she had been going to tell anyone the truth about her life, she would have done it long ago. Too many people depended on Phillip for their livelihoods, her own parents included, and she would never do anything to jeopardise them or their safety. She wouldn't trust her loving husband as far as she could throw him; he would take her father out just to get even with her. He was like God in many respects - he could be kind and loving, or he could be vengeful. She knew he saw himself as the nearest thing to God on this earth, so the simile was quite apt.

  'I bet Philly's not happy, Breda, he's like his father in many ways. He worries too much about other people's opinions.'

  Breda nodded in agreement. 'That's true, Chris. But I think Phillip was right to make him apologise in public. What he did was bang out of order.'

  'He's a bully, he talks to me like shit half the time.'

  Breda didn't answer her. She knew that Philly was ashamed of his mother, and that it made him feel guilty. But she understood the boy's dilemma in a strange way. He had his father on the one hand - a respected and well-liked man - and, on the other hand, he had a mother who was a drunk, a prescription junkie and the apple of said father's eye. She knew how hard it was for the boys.

  'Shall we get another bottle of wine, Bred?'

  'If you like. Jamsie's driving, bless him.'

  'Has Phillip spoken to him yet?'

  Breda shook her head in consternation. 'Never a once. In all these years, Chris. It's unbelievable really.'

  Christine signalled for another bottle of wine and said resignedly, 'No, it ain't. You and I both know he's more than capable of worse than that.' She said the words without any malice whatsoever, as if she had finally accepted the way of her world and could live within it. It showed Breda just how far her sister-in-law had come.

  'Why don't you leave him, Christine? I know he wouldn't like it, but he loves you enough to let you go. He only wants what's best for you.'

  Christine grinned; her white, even teeth were expensively capped, and her make-up was as always perfect, she looked like any other rich woman who lunched their days away Except her eyes were dead, they held no real life behind them. 'Now, you and I know that he might love me, but he wouldn't let me leave him - he would see that as a failure and you know my Phillip. He doesn't cope well with failure. Poor Philly failed him with his bad behaviour and look where that got him. No, Breda, I'll never leave him, love, and when I do it'll be because one of us is in a body bag.'

  Christine laughed at her own wit, but the truth of her words stayed with Breda for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  'You ready, Dad?'

  Phillip nodded and, finishing his cup of coffee, he kissed Christine on the cheek and then stood up, yawning widely. 'You and your rugby, Tims, fuck knows where you inherited that from.'

  Christine didn't even look up from her Daily Mail as she said quietly, but forcefully, 'My father - he's always loved the rugby.'

  Timmy saw Phillip's jaw tighten in annoyance, and wondered why his mother had to antagonise him all the time. It was as if she had come full circle, from the timid wretch to this woman who goaded her husband at every opportunity.

  'He has sat on his granddad's lap and watched it since he could first walk, Phillip. Philly was football, like your family, and Timmy was a rugby boy, like mine.'' The inference being, how could he have not known that?

  'I wasn't really asking that as a question, it was more of a statement, Christine.'

  She shrugged nonchalantly. 'Well, I'm glad we sorted all that out.'

  Phillip threw the car keys at his son and said quietly, 'Go and get in t
he car. I want to talk to your mother in private for a minute.'

  Timmy did as he was asked without questioning it. At seventeen he was a big lad, hence his being a rugby prop but, like his brother, he did what his father asked him without question.

  When they were alone Phillip knelt down by his wife's chair and, putting his index finger under her chin, he forced her face round so he could look into her eyes. 'Now, Christine, I love you very much, but you are starting to get on my fucking nerves. If you challenge me once more in front of the boys, or anyone else come to that, I am going to get very angry indeed. Now, I'm pleased you are feeling better, and I am over the fucking moon that you are much chirpier, and chock-full of banter and chat. But one more crack like that and I'll put my hand right across your lovely face. Do you get my drift?'

  Christine was shaking with suppressed anger, but she was also pleased that the fear of him wasn't paralysing her as it used to when she offended him in some way. But she knew not to push him too far; after all, this was Phillip Murphy and she must never forget that, or what he was capable of. She nodded her understanding and he smiled at her then. That wide, all-encompassing smile that told everyone that all was right with the world.

  'Good. I'm glad we got that sorted out.'

  It was the first time he had ever come back at her like that, and she knew she had to have pushed him too far at last. That he had spoken to her like he had proved to her that even he had his limit, and she knew she would have to be careful in the future.

  When he left the house she felt the anger returning once more, and wondered at a man who could still want someone who so obviously loathed him. She took an extra few pills, and washed them down with her first drink of the day. She liked the numbness of booze; it evened out the edges of the world and made her forget for a while that she was like a caged bird. The cage was lovely, there was no doubt about that, but it was a cage all the same.