The Family

by Martina Cole

  Phillip nodded at her, and she sat down at the table quickly.

  'Tomorrow, Breda, I want you to start asking around the front about people's opinion of us, especially me. It's come to my attention that we're being cunted up hill and down dale. I want to know who the culprits are, and then I want them dealt with. If we start letting people get away with insubordination we lay ourselves wide open to being mugged off. I want this nipped in the bud.'

  Breda nodded sagely, wondering what the fuck Phillip was on about. She wasn't going to ask him though - Declan would fill her in on the score at a more appropriate time. She could see

  Phillip was on one, and she knew the best thing to do was keep quiet, keep her head down, and agree with whatever he said to her.

  Declan passed her a cup of coffee and she sipped the hot liquid gratefully. 'I'll get on it first thing, and see what I can find out.'

  Phillip went on, 'Yeah, it pays to keep people on their toes. By the way, we're taking everything Ricky's got, and we're taking it for a third of its value. You need to find out exactly what that is. He'll accept, don't worry about that. But I want you to deal with him, OK?'

  She nodded once more. Seems the big party night all ended in tears. Still, she would find out everything soon enough. 'I have the figures on me desk, I'll let you know first thing.'

  'You're a good girl, Breda. How's that treacherous bastard Jamsie doing?'

  She smiled sadly. 'All right. Mum's thrilled anyway. But, in fairness, Phil, he don't even drink a shandy these days, let alone snort anything. I think he's a changed man.'

  'He would fucking need to be, wouldn't he?'

  She didn't answer him, she knew he was looking for a reason to take his ire out on someone and Jamsie was not going to be his whipping boy tonight. Not if she could help it anyway. 'By the way, I got the firearms, they get delivered next Thursday. I've taken the liberty of renting some garages in Chigwell. They are down a little lane, and it's not somewhere the Old Bill frequent. They're owned by a retired colonel who's fallen on hard times. Basically he owes Benny the Bookie, who owes me a favour. I'm getting them all delivered there, OK?'

  Phillip and Declan laughed together at her front.

  'Fuck me, Bred, comes to something when even the Colonel Blimps have to resort to a bit of honest skulduggery to make ends meet.'

  'I thought you'd appreciate the irony, especially as his daughter is married to the Chief Super's son.'

  They were all really laughing now, and Declan could have kissed Breda - she knew just how to work Phillip, and bring him round to a better frame of mind. Even if they got a capture, the fact it was so close to the Filth would work in their favour. She was a shrewdie was Breda and she could find out anything about anyone, which she frequently did. Then she worked out how best the information could work in their favour. Declan knew he would have to put the hard word on her about not letting Phillip know too much about what was said about him. But he'd sort that as and when he had to.

  'Suppose I'd better go up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.'

  As they all got ready to say goodbye, Phillip said thoughtfully, 'Shame really, ain't it?'

  Declan slipped his overcoat on and said calmly, 'What is, Phil, what's a shame?'

  'Ricky killing himself. That'll cause a ripple through the manor.'

  Breda and Declan didn't say anything, both were digesting what he had said.

  'Being so well liked, especially by all his mates, it'll come as a big shock to the local community, I can tell you that.' Turning to leave the room Phillip said over his shoulder, 'Lock up on your way out, Declan.'

  Breda shook her head sadly, and Declan shrugged in frustration. They both knew poor Ricky was living on borrowed time.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Phillip looked good, as if he had slept the sleep of the just and the righteous, which of course, in his mind, was exactly what he had done.

  As Christine placed a large Aga-cooked breakfast before him, he was all smiles and camaraderie. The boys were being dropped off at school by Jamsie, which had pleased his mother no end as she saw him becoming what she insisted on calling indispensable, and Declan was on his way over to sort out the day's business. Christine had slept well too, at least as well as you could sleep on three Valium and nine glasses of alcohol. Not even groggy, she had slipped out of bed, showered and dressed by six thirty. Phillip had a habit of wanting early morning sex which she didn't share so she was up and about as soon as, making him his breakfast, and preparing to give the already-spotless house yet another good cleaning. She made it seem important, and she knew Phillip was proud of her cleanliness, and overlooked her reluctance to lie in bed with him. She had told him the doctor had said her lack of libido was due to the meds, just as she blamed everything on the meds. Deep down Phillip had to know the truth but he wouldn't challenge her, because he wouldn't want to admit it. He knew what was really wrong with her, and he knew she knew. It was like the old song.

  She laughed gently to herself, and noticed Phillip watching her intently. She was flying higher than a Boeing 747 and she liked it: she felt carefree, loose and almost happy this morning and, after last night's fiasco, that could only be a good thing. She would have to double up on the pills more often if they made her this energetic and happy. And later, she would have a nice cold glass of vin; whoever had invented wine was a fucking god, and that would set her up for the evening.

  'You all right, Phil? You're staring at me.'

  'I was just thinking how beautiful you are when you're happy - not that you ain't beautiful when you're sad, but when you smile, Chris, it really lights you up inside.'

  She shrugged. 'The new pills are working, I think, they make me feel happier than I have in a long time.'

  He nodded. 'I can see that. Shall we go out tonight? Have a meal, a few drinks and a laugh?'

  She nodded. She knew it would please him, and she would be glad to get out of the house for a few hours. 'That sounds lovely. Get all dressed up, and paint the town red.' She could see how happy she had made him, and for a split second she felt guilty because it took so little to please him.

  'I'll show you the new club later on. You will love it - it's really upmarket and the decor is superb, like something out of a fashion magazine. Really tasteful.'

  He loved showing her how well he had done, it was important to him that she understood how hard he worked for them all. She knew that what he really wanted was her approval, and that it would make her life much easier if she just gave it to him. But it was hard at times, playing a part, pretending every minute of every day, it got her down. She felt the depression looming again, like a dead weight, and forced herself to stop thinking too much about her life.

  'I'll look forward to it, Phil.'

  She would dress up for him and wear her best jewellery; it made him proud when people admired her. He loved to see people gasp at their obvious wealth. She decided she would raid the safe and really go to town. Even get her hair and nails done.

  She was surprised to find she was actually looking forward to it, and she saw that as a step in the right direction.

  She heard someone pressing the electric gates, and automatically opened them, assuming it was the postman, so she was surprised to see Ricky pulling up in his top-of-the-range Mercedes. She saw him get out with a huge bunch of flowers, and a very contrite expression on his face; she had to admire his guts, if not his common sense.

  'It's Ricky, Phil.'

  Phillip shrugged and carried on eating his breakfast.

  Ricky came through the back door all false smiles and obvious embarrassment. Christine went to greet him and, giving her the flowers, he said loudly, 'For you, Christine, an apology for my boorish and drunken behaviour last night. I have been getting serious earache off Deandra over my actions and I can only blame the surfeit of wine and brandy. Can you ever forgive me?'

  Before she could answer Phillip said loudly, 'She might, but I fucking won't.'

&nbs
p; He was wiping his mouth with his napkin, and sitting there, in his tracksuit bottoms, bare chested and needing a shave, it struck Christine just how very good-looking he actually was. His deep blue eyes were focused on Ricky, and she could feel the power of his gaze herself like a physical thing. It was accusatory, showing how upset he was at what had happened last night, and it was also devoid of any sympathy or pity for Ricky's obvious discomfort. Taking the huge bunch of flowers she left the kitchen, and made her way through to the utility rooms, shutting the heavy baize door behind her. She didn't want to hear any of this conversation, not today. She couldn't cope with any of it.

  Ricky was on his own.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty

  'Look, Phillip, I can't fucking apologise enough, mate…'

  Phillip was leaning back in his Carver chair, relaxed, with an interested look on his face. He was secretly pleased that Ricky had been so worried he had come round his drum first thing; it appealed to his sense of honour and respect. It showed just how worried the man had been. That appeased him in small measure. He appreciated it when people put their hand up - as far as he was concerned, it showed true strength of character. To be able to admit your mistakes was something all the powerful generals had been willing to do throughout history. It was a sign of good leadership, it was also a sign of shrewdness, because anyone with half a brain knew Phillip wasn't the type to swallow last night's events without some kind of retaliation.

  'I bet you can't. But the thing is, Ricky, you not only mugged me off, you mugged me off in my own home in front of my wife. Now everyone knows how I feel about my wife - she is a very fragile girl, what with her delicate constitution, and last night's outrageous behaviour on your part upset her deeply, as it did me.'

  He still hadn't offered the man a seat and, as he resumed his breakfast, Ricky felt like an errant schoolboy in front of the headmaster.

  'I realise that, Phil, that's why I'm here first thing. I don't know what came over me. I feel like a right cunt and, on my life, Phil, I'd do anything to put it right. Get it all sorted. Of course

  I'll sell the arcades to you, we had a good deal there, and I know that better than anyone. So can we put this behind us?'

  Phillip was mopping up the last of his egg yolk with a slice of home-made bread and, popping the food into his mouth, he chewed on it thoughtfully before washing it down with the last of his tea. Then, standing up, he sniffed loudly and looked Ricky over as if deciding what to do about him. Finally he said, 'Talk to Breda, she'll know what to do.' Turning casually he left the kitchen, and let the door shut behind him loudly, leaving Ricky standing there like a fool.

  Ricky felt somehow that he had got off quite lightly. He had expected a real hammering this morning, and he was pleased he was still in one piece - at least he could go home now and put poor Deandra's mind at rest. She was like a cat on a bonfire, so this should calm her down some.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Breda was already at the offices in Southend which she loved as they were so palatial and conducive to work. Everyone looked smart, and the place was more or less legit, which was even better. This was where they did all their real business and the accountants and lawyers were put at their ease by the atmosphere here. She glanced out the window. The sea was quite calm today. Usually, when the waves were crashing in she liked to open the windows to enjoy the sound of the sea. She found it soothing, it made her feel at one with herself. She was in her own little world here, and she liked it that way. When Phillip was here everyone kowtowed to him, and she respected that; after all, this was his at the end of the day. But once he left, it became her domain once more, and she could relax and rule in peace.

  She had the figures ready for Ricky, and she had discussed the events of last night at length with Declan. She couldn't help feeling sorry for the man, he had to have been off his trolley to try and front Phillip like that. But she still felt a twinge of guilt at what she was going to offer him, and the reasons why. She waited patiently for him to arrive, her pulse racing at the thought of what she was going to do, but the need to do it overriding any guilt she might feel. Phillip was her main priority, as he was anyone's with half a fucking brain in their head, and that was something that Ricky Thomas should have thought about before he opened his big flapping trap.

  As she saw him stroll through to the outer office she took a deep breath. She hated being Phillip's axe lady, but it was what kept her in designer clothes, and a fuck-off house, so she was willing to do whatever she felt was needed to keep her livelihood. But she liked Ricky Thomas. In fact, she had had a fling with him many years before, and he had treated her well, very well. Still, that was then and this was now and there was no place for sentiment in business - Phillip was always reminding her of that.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  'All right, Sammy Boy, how are the girls?'

  Samuel Gardiner grinned his toothless grin. He liked Phillip Murphy, the man had an instinct for the land that wasn't often seen in townies. Phillip reckoned it was the Irish in him; personally Samuel thought any Irish in him would have been from a navvy, a road builder, but he kept that gem of wisdom to himself. No, Sam believed that you either got the land or you didn't. Look at his own boys - neither of them had taken to it. Both had factory jobs, whereas this lad here could almost smell the loam. It was all instinct, and this lad had it, wherever it had come from.

  'They're good, Phil, happy as the proverbial pigs in shit!'

  Phillip looked proudly around the new building. The pigs were settled, and the place had the rich smell of the earth about it. Sammy was over the moon with all the new equipment, and a free hand with the whole place. Phillip was learning from him, and he loved it, couldn't get enough of the old man's wisdom and common sense. Phillip actually respected very few people, but Old Sammy was top of his list. His own father didn't come close, but when all was said and done he was his father and that was that. Phillip kept him, as he was honour bound to, but it galled him at times that his father had never done a real day's collar in his fucking life. Sammy, on the other hand, had worked since he was twelve, out in all weathers, and was a better man than most for it. Phillip felt relaxed around him, as if he was with a kindred spirit. He wanted to learn everything this old boy had inside his head, and only then would Phillip feel he was good enough to run this place by himself. He had already made provision for Sammy - he would have the use of his cottage on the farm until he died, then it passed back to Phillip. Sammy knew this and was grateful, but he was also a proud man so, after an initial grunt of thanks, it had never been referred to by either of them again. That was how Phillip felt things should be.

  'She'll litter soon, the fat bitch, and we'll see some life come to this place, I can tell you. She's low, Phillip, so I'd say she has a good brood there. Look at her, she knows you. Clever bastards, pigs - people don't realise that.'

  The sow was already holding up her head for a scratch, and Phillip obliged her, pleased at her trust and her recognition.

  'She's getting extra feed, bless her, and I keep me ear out of a night in case anything occurs, like. But, to be honest, son, she's a Brahma - she'll shit them out without a second's thought.'

  Phillip laughed; he loved the old boy's colourful descriptions. 'You reckon?'

  'I know so. Been doing this for nearly sixty years, I know a troublesome pig when I see one. She's got a lovely nature, this one, and she'll have good porkers, I guarantee it.'

  Phillip was pleased. He walked to the top field and looked at the sheep. They were happy enough. Christine liked a hogget at the end of the year as she preferred the stronger meat, though he liked the spring lamb himself. But then, she was such a good cook he happily ate whatever was put in front of him. He enjoyed his food, he loved everything about it: the presentation, the pleasure in eating and, now they grew both meat and vegetables, he liked that they all ate organic and wholesome produce. He was obsessed with the environment, g
oing so far as to have erected huge greenhouses for the growing of the more exotic fruits and veg he liked. He conveniently forgot that he imported drugs from South America, and the effect that had on the local ecology there. He was good at justifying himself, in fact he could completely separate his two lives at will. It was a necessity that most people in his world had long learned to do.

  This was his little bit of England, and he walked his land with the knowledge he was doing something worthwhile with his time. He supplied a lot of the local restaurants with his produce, and he made sure that they got the best of the best. After all, they were paying top dollar for it, as they should. The chickens were happy, the farm made a profit, and he felt he had achieved something that most people never do: complete oneness with himself, and the animals around him. Sammy had taught him early on to feel the land, and he had laughed at first, but now he understood what the old fucker was talking about. He could smell the rain in the air, and feel when it was going to snow, he knew whether a day would be bright or heavy with showers.

  All this made him feel, for the first time ever, a real part of something. All his life he had felt an outsider, now he didn't feel that quite so much, and for that alone he would always thank Sammy Boy. The farm gave him peace of mind, and that was something he had never really experienced before. Seeing things grow gave him such a sense of worth, and, even now, every time he picked up an egg, he felt the same thrill as he had when he had found the first one all those years ago. Sammy told him that all farmers had to be naturally ruthless - you grew it, you slaughtered it and you ate it; there was no place for sentiment on a farm. That was no problem for Phillip whatsoever.