It was Breda who worried her. Breda was very upset about it all and, typically, was being very vocal about it. She could never keep her trap closed. It would be the ruination of her eventually. Not that she would listen to anyone's advice. But one day her big trap would bring her trouble of Olympian standards. She never considered how her actions might affect the people around her. It would always be her weakness, and it would surely be the thing that would eventually lead to her own downfall. She didn't have the brains to keep herself and her business private.
As Veronica opened the oven door, and took out the huge forerib of beef she had been roasting for the best part of the day, she heard the front door open. She was basting the meat when her youngest son came into the kitchen. He smiled craftily as he said to her, 'That smells handsome, Mum. How long until dinner?'
Her James, her Jamsie, was big and good-looking, and had the brain capacity of a gnat. She could see that it was better for Declan to go away than this eejit, even though she knew that Declan was worth ten of his little brother. Unlike Declan, Jamsie wasn't cut out for prison, though in reality who was? But the difference was, of course, that Declan could cope with the confinement, would do his time in relative comfort, and with the minimum of fuss. He would get himself settled, and make use of his time there.
None of them thought that much of poor Jamsie. He was a bit of a loose cannon. Unpredictable. He had been like that since a small child. Jamsie wouldn't have been able to do the time quietly and patiently. It wasn't in his make-up; he was a brawler, unable to control his emotions, or contain his temper. Without one of his brothers guiding him, he would make a serious fuck-up within days. She smiled at him sadly. 'Not long now, Jamsie, go and get yourself washed up. I'll make you a cup of tea.'
He nodded absent-mindedly, and she realised he wasn't thinking about his brother's confinement; all he was interested in at this particular moment in time was filling his belly. The knowledge disturbed her more than she would ever admit. She busied herself with the meal, but her heart wasn't in it any more. She made a pot of tea and waited patiently for the rest of her family to arrive. She knew that they would descend on her as usual; it was Friday night, and that was family night in this house. Normally she lived for these occasions, it was what kept her going. Tonight though would be the first real Friday night without her Declan and she was feeling his absence acutely. He was her second son, the sensible son. He was away, really away, not on remand any more, but with a proper prison sentence hanging around his neck. All hope of an acquittal was gone now.
Seven years he had been given, seven long years for the possession of firearms; it should have been much longer she knew that but the knowledge didn't help her any. It broke her heart to think about it. She knew he wouldn't do the whole stretch, only two thirds of it, and with his time on remand it wouldn't even be that long. He would be out in less than three if he didn't play up or, more to the point, have a tear-up with someone in there and add to his sentence. But it still hurt her deeply; she hated that her child was locked away from society, locked away from her. Whatever the courts might think about him, he was still her boy, her flesh and blood. He would always be her baby. That was the cross that women had to bear; no matter what your children did, they were still your children, and you loved them no matter what.
Unlike her husband, who had gone to the pub as usual, who saw his son's prison sentence as an occupational hazard, Veronica felt Declan's loss deeply. But for all that, she also knew she had to carry on as usual; they were a family, and as a family they were stronger. As a family they would cope with Declan's absence, and ensure that he was well looked after. Phillip would see to that. He was the main earner and the one they turned to for guidance. It was what he did, looked out for each of them one way or another and, in all fairness, he did it very well.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
'Come on, Chris, get a move on. Me mother will be panicking. You know how she loves the Friday night dinners, how she depends on the boys coming round. Now more than any other time.'
Phillip was trying to act as if nothing had really changed, as if everything was normal. Christine watched him as he changed his shirt, and combed his hair. She knew he wouldn't let his real feelings show, he would see that as a weakness. He was holding it together for all their sakes. Especially hers. He still had the power to make her want him more than anything or anyone in her life. Except for her boys, though even then she wouldn't want that to be put to the test. But she couldn't escape the fact that Breda and her words had depressed her, frightened her. There was a naked truth to them that couldn't be denied.
'I don't really feel like it tonight, Phil. The boys are tired, and your mum must be devastated about Declan. I think we should give it a miss.'
She saw Phillip smile, but the smile had no real warmth to it. She had encountered this smile before, every time that she had gone up against him. Not that she had done so often, there had never really been any need to. But the few times she had that smile had told her that he was humouring her until she backed off and did exactly what he expected of her.
'My mum will need us there tonight, Chris. Think about it - she's just lost one of her sons, she'll want her family around her tonight more than ever. The kids will take her mind off her loss. She adores them.' He stared at her for long moments before saying quietly, 'I need my family around me as well, I've lost me closest friend, as well as me brother.'
He sounded so sincere, and looked so inoffensive and surprised at her demeanour and her refusal to accompany him to his mother's house, that she knew anyone witnessing this exchange would not think he was being at all unreasonable. And he wasn't, not really. He had every right to expect her to go along to his poor mother's with him. So why did she feel she was being coerced into going? Because she knew, deep down inside, that if she didn't do as he wanted, he would not let it rest. She was expected to do as he wanted; refusal wasn't an option. She knew that somehow he would make sure she accompanied him to his mother's house. She could see the confusion on his face, his shock that she might even contemplate defying him, and she knew she was already beaten.
'You're right, Phil. What was I thinking? You've lost Declan.'
She saw him physically relax and, realising that he was under immense pressure because of his brother's prison sentence, she felt ashamed at her actions. Breda had once more made her doubt her husband's loyalty. Breda might think she was a fool, but Christine knew she needed this man and all that he stood for. He had given her his name and his children. What more could she ask of him?
'Me mum is the one I'm worried about, she'll be bereft. It was a gutter, but we can't change it, we just have to swallow our knobs, and get on with it.'
That would be his last word on the matter. Like her, he felt the less said at times the better.
'Come on, Christine love, chop chop. We ain't got all night.'
Phillip was laughing as he hurried her along, but she could still feel a slight atmosphere between them. It always appeared when she questioned their lives, when she felt the uncertainty of their future. She knew he saw it as a reflection on him, on his ability to take care of his family. And she hated herself for doubting him. But it was at times like this, when real life forced its way into their home, that she sensed just how precarious their life and all it entailed really was.
Ten minutes later, as they were settling the boys into the back of the Land Rover, Phillip grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his arms. She felt his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, and she accepted the kiss willingly. He held her tightly to him, whispering into her hair, 'I feel bad enough as it is, Chris, me mum's fucking destroyed with it, don't you make me feel worse. I'll sort this, darling, I'll sort this before you know it.'
Her heart went out to him. She could hear the desolation in his voice, knew then that he was feeling the loss of his brother far more than he was letting on. She was thrilled that he was willing to show that to her, and her alone.
He would never let anyone else see how he was really feeling. She wished Breda could see this side of him, could understand that this was why she didn't need to listen to gossip or know too much about what went on in her husband's life. She was just glad that it wasn't her Phillip doing seven years, she would rather it was anyone but him. Now they had to go and face poor Veronica, and that was going to be very hard for Phillip to bear. He felt responsible; they all worked for him in one way or another. He kept each of them financially, even his father was on the payroll now.
She saw little Philly watching his parents closely; his handsome face seemed to understand exactly what was going on around him and, for a split second, the fear gripped her once more. It was as if he had inherited his father's ability to look inside her head and pick out her thoughts. Breda always made her feel like this too, with her friendly warnings, and her insistence that Christine should know more than was good for her always left her nerves in tatters. She knew that she had to be strong for Phillip now, knew that he needed her. Anyway, what was a few years in the grand scheme of things? Declan would be out and about before they knew it. Phillip had done everything he could to help him, and he would have to look out for them all on his own now Declan was banged up. He needed her to be strong for him. She was determined not to let him down.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eileen Booth sat at the table and watched her daughter warily. She knew that having slammed the phone down on her earlier in the day, Christine might well decide to continue the argument in front of her in-laws.
It was the first time Eileen Booth had ever felt nervous of her daughter, in fact she couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous about anything in her life before. She was determined to make her peace with Christine, she was not about to let anything ruin the life she had become so fond of.
Eileen felt almost ashamed at how grateful Veronica had been at her coming round. Veronica had been touched because she had truly believed Eileen was coming over to show her support at this awful time when, in reality, she had not even thought about how Declan's going away might affect anyone other than herself. She was only there because her daughter had finally had enough of her, and she was desperate to try and build some kind of bridge between them in case she and Ted were cut out entirely from the Murphys' orbit. Even Phillip seemed to think she was here to show her solidarity, and that told her that Christine had kept their argument to herself. She was unsure what she was supposed to say, but she was not going to leave until her daughter was once more back onside. Ted might not feel the need to be here, but she did; someone had to look out for their future earnings.
Other than James, who had wolfed down his dinner as usual, the food Veronica had prepared had pretty much gone uneaten. It sat on the plates, gradually drying out as they all discussed the day's events. Phillip was putting a good spin on it, and no one was brave or foolish enough to contradict him. Breda was keeping a low profile tonight, and Veronica Murphy was secretly glad about that much anyway. She wasn't sure she could have coped with any kind of conflict this night. And God Himself knew, her Breda wasn't exactly renowned for her tact. She was heart-sorry for Phillip, he was obviously as distraught as she was at the turn of events. Getting up, she went to the cupboard above the sink and she took out a bottle of Paddy. Opening it with a flourish, she said loudly, 'Get the glasses out. All this moping around isn't going to get our Declan home.'
Christine watched as her mother-in-law tried to make the evening almost bearable, and was impressed at how the woman suddenly lifted the atmosphere until it was almost jovial.
'Before we know it our Declan will be back amongst us, regaling us with stories about his exploits inside.'
It was as if Veronica had given them all permission to stop worrying. Christine knew that this was how things were dealt with in this family, you accepted the bad and you made a point of not letting it get the better of you.
Phillip Murphy Senior looked at his wife and smiled for the first time in days. 'Pour me a shot, love, it's not the end of the world. He's lucky he hasn't been captured before this. Fuck me, he's lucky it was only a seven! Three sawn-off shotguns and an assault rifle in his boot! They could've thrown away the fucking keys.'
Breda chipped in then with, 'Not to forget the conspiracy to murder charge that was miraculously dropped at the last minute. Fucking Filth couldn't pin the tail on a kiddie's donkey with a miner's lamp and a detailed map!'
Everyone was laughing now, joking about it, the whisky was flowing and the tales of Declan and his exploits over the years were coming thick and fast. The evening had taken on a party mood. Declan's brothers and sister were all pleased to celebrate him and their obvious love for him. They could pretend he was with them now, a part of them once more. Now that the shock of his sentence had worn off they were able to see that in actuality he had got off lightly. He would do his time, and be back among them soon enough.
Christine was pleased at the change in the atmosphere, and she felt herself relaxing; this was what had made her want to be a part of the Murphys, this love that they had for each other. This loyalty that they all had in abundance. The way they could be fighting one moment, and in the next lined up together against the outside world.
Eileen Booth was frankly bewildered. How could they laugh and joke about something so awful? How could they not see that they should be ashamed of their son's predicament? It was as if they thought what had happened was acceptable. Normal, even. But, then again, she supposed it was to people like them.
Philly ran through the kitchen then, pretending to shoot his little brother. He screamed out at the top of his voice, 'Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!'
Jamsie shouted out, 'He's a fucking Murphy all right!'
As Eileen watched her only daughter laugh along with them, she knew then that she had lost Christine to this family, and she would never get her back.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Christine was aware that whatever her husband was up to was serious. He had closeted himself in the office block he had created for himself in what had originally been outhouses and stables, and now there were men she'd never seen before visiting him at regular intervals. Normally he had the same people come to the house, and even they didn't come often enough for her to really notice their presence. The last few days though, the drive was like a council car park, and men were coming and going at all hours of the day and night.
It made her feel nervous, but she knew this was all part of Phillip's world, and that she had to stop worrying about it. She felt it was her youth that let her down; she didn't understand the economics of her husband's lifestyle, and she was annoyed with herself for worrying about what he might be up to.
As she made a pot of coffee she heard the back door open and she smiled as her husband came into the warmth of the kitchen. The seriousness of his expression vanished as he saw her and she felt the pleasure his presence always brought her.
'They're going home, darling, you'll have peace and quiet in a minute.'
She smiled at his words. He knew she hated the constant noise of the cars on the gravel drive. It was loud, and it often woke the kids up as it could go on into the night.
'That grub smells handsome! You're really getting to be a good little cook - even me mother said that you're a natural and she don't like anyone else cooking for her lot.'
Christine almost beamed with pride at his words; if Veronica had actually said that, then it was high praise indeed. 'I try, but I've a long way to go yet!'
She knew she was doing well, she liked cooking these days, enjoyed the simplicity of it. The chopping, the peeling - she liked the combination of manual labour and the unknown. She was forever trying out her own recipes, new combinations of herbs and oils. As they had an orchard and plenty of land, she was learning about growing her own vegetables, and had even planted a small herb garden. The gardener Phillip had employed had been more than happy to explain the intricacies to her. She was surpr
ised at how much she enjoyed it. And the boys just loved being out in the dirt trying to help her dig and sow.
Phillip laughed, then, looking into her eyes, he said seriously, 'I got rid of everyone for a reason, Chris. I've got a couple of blokes coming to the house - they're Old Bill, and I want to see them in the front room here, not in the offices. Is that OK with you?'
She smiled happily, deliberately overlooking the serious tone of his voice. "Course. You don't need to ask my permission.'
He always looked too big for the kitchen, too tall and too wide. Though it was a large room, it had a low ceiling, and that made him seem huge in the confined space. Today he looked almost sinister in the late afternoon twilight. She knew he was gently warning her about something, and that he expected her to understand and comply with whatever he wanted to do.
'They're here on the quiet, Chris, they are going to tell me who served up my Declan. You can't ever let on you saw them here, or spoke to them, to anyone. Do you understand that? Not even to your mum, or my mum, not to anyone. 'Specially not Breda.'
Phillip could see the confusion in his wife's eyes, and he was genuinely sorry for having to do this to her, but he had to make sure she understood the importance of what he was saying to her. But she was a good girl, his Christine, she understood the value of keeping her nose out of things that didn't concern her. Unlike most women he knew, she didn't feel the need to be involved in every second of his life; she accepted him without questions of any kind.
She was a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother, and a fantastic lover. She kept his home spotless, and she still had a good body. He was thrilled with her, and he hated having to bring her into all this aggravation. But she needed to be aware that what occurred this day had to be kept as quiet as possible. He knew he needed to impress this information on her, but that she would heed his warning. She was nothing if not sensible.