by Martina Cole
Tonight she felt a desperate need to be happy, just happy for a little while. And she felt there was a chance that she might finally achieve just that. God Himself knew she had prayed for this for years, it was about time He remembered she existed.
'I love you, Phil.'
Phillip felt like all his Christmases and birthdays had come at once and, kissing her deeply on the lips, he said huskily, 'You don't know just how much those words mean to me, Chris.'
But she did, she knew exactly how much they meant to him.
They were interrupted by the bar staff coming through to open up and, entwined in each other's arms, they greeted the guests who were lucky enough to get into the VIP bar and, therefore, an audience with Phillip Murphy. This was his seafront now, and everyone knew it. Christine stood beside him and accepted the praise and the respect he had worked so hard for and which, for him, was the icing on the cake. He was happier than he had ever been and, for once, it showed.
* * *
Chapter Seventy
'Are you all right, Christine?'
Christine laughed, a loud, brash laugh. 'Bloody hell, Mum, what is it with you? I'm either too depressed or too happy. Can't you just enjoy being here with us and stop questioning me?'
Eileen was concerned, her daughter was not right. She hadn't been right for years, of course, but she was almost manic today, like a film on fast-forward.
Christine continued, 'I've got these new meds, and they make me feel a bit odd, but they are helping me, Mum, really helping me. So don't spoil it all by having a big court case about it in me own kitchen.'
She was talking in riddles, but Eileen thought it better not to mention that. 'All right, keep your hair on. I just worry about you, darling, you are me daughter, after all.',
Eileen was grieved as usual, it was always about her, she was a two-faced, vindictive old bag. Christine felt the urge to smack her mother right in the face. But she resisted, she knew it would cause too much trouble. It was easier to listen to her, and wait patiently until she had talked herself out and then, finally, went home. Christine resented the way Eileen always came into her house and, without saying a word, made her feel inadequate, made her feel as if she was failing everyone because she didn't have the same strength her mother had to face everyday life. She knew Eileen looked down on her, looked down on her lifestyle, even though Phillip had made sure that her parents were doing really well. They were coining it in with the four shops, as her mother remarked to anyone within earshot. Yet she knew that this woman, who professed to love her, also saw her as a failure of sorts. She felt her disapproval like a physical blow and yet as Phillip added to the house and the land, she saw the naked envy on her mother's face that her daughter had gained so much from her liaison with Phillip Murphy. She was convinced her mother had prayed for them to crash and burn.
'Do you want a glass of wine, Mum?'
'Bit early, even for you, Christine.'
'Well, as Phil always says, if I want it, I should have it. Unlike you, Mother, Phil knows how to enjoy his wife and his life.' She was laughing, she felt that she was being clever, witty even.
Eileen wondered how long before this child of hers cracked up; she was like a fart in a colander, flitting here there and everywhere and going absolutely nowhere. You could almost feel the charge coming off of her. All her movements were jerky, off-kilter, and her eyes were too bright, burning in her face like hot coals. It wasn't natural and it was frightening to see her like this.
'Should you drink on those meds, Chris?'
Christine rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. 'Will you fucking give it a rest, Mother! I like a few drinks sometimes, there's no law against it, is there? Fuck knows I'm entitled to a bit of relaxation, surely…'
Eileen swallowed down her usual waspish retort and said instead, as pleasantly as possible, 'Go on then. Just a small one, mind, I'm driving.'
She knew it wasn't worth saying any more, and she could see she was distressing the girl, so she changed the subject. 'The new club's been in all the papers, I bet Phillip is well made-up.'
Christine smiled happily. 'Oh, Mum, it's really fantastic, really upmarket. We were there the other evening. Honestly, it was the best night I've had out in years.'
Eileen could hear the pleasure in her daughter's voice, and was torn between sorrow and relief, because it was a long time since she had seen her daughter so animated. Even if she was manic, at least it was better than when she was desperately sad and almost monosyllabic. Sometimes the girl looked so sad it would break your heart and, as much as her daughter could irritate her, she was still her daughter and, in her own way, she loved her.
'I'm glad you're going out again. You're a lovely-looking girl, and you have a great lifestyle, it'll do you the world of good to get out there and have a bit of a boogie!'
Christine grinned then. 'No one says "boogie" any more, Mum!'
'I do!'
Eileen took the glass of wine and sipped it cheerfully; maybe she was worrying too much, at least the girl was chatting, trying to be a part of life. Surely that was a step in the right direction? She knew she got on her daughter's nerves; Christine always seemed to think she was criticising her and, at times, she knew she was doing just that. But she genuinely wanted to help her - it was hard seeing your child drowning in her own sorrow and not being able to do anything about it. Not know how to make them better. Sometimes Christine frightened her, especially when the depression was dragging her down, and she didn't get dressed for days on end, or just sat staring at the walls. She hoped these new tablets did the trick; Christine was too young and too beautiful to be plagued like she was.
As Christine downed her wine in record time and poured herself another large glass, Eileen made a conscious effort to bite her tongue. Everyone seemed to drink wine like water these days - half the soap operas on TV had piss-heads who practically lived in the pub, and every drama you watched had people drinking like it was going out of fashion, so maybe she worried about it too much. But, mixed with the pills the doctor prescribed, she was concerned that Christine might be doing herself or her body untold damage.
Sighing gently, she sipped at her drink and listened to her daughter as she talked excitedly about anything and everything that popped into her head, barely pausing for the frequent gulps of wine and completely unaware of how odd her behaviour seemed to those around her. Even the boys couldn't wait to leave her presence, and that alone spoke volumes. Christine was like an accident waiting to happen, and it was just a case of when it would happen, because Eileen knew her daughter couldn't carry on like this for much longer.
* * *
Chapter Seventy-One
Ricky Thomas was sitting in his Mercedes alone, watching the sea as the tide came in. He loved the seafront and he knew he would miss being there. Now that his arcades were truly gone the enormity of what he had lost had come crashing in on him. But he was a realist, and he knew that he had to let it go, which is why he was so pleased to get this chance to meet with Phillip Murphy. If he could smooth things over then maybe he could still salvage a little piece of his old life. After all, this was the only thing he had ever known: the games, the machines, the beach. Like his father before him, he had never thought he would leave. Now his kids were without an inheritance and his life was without any structure; he hadn't understood just to what extent the seaside had been the backbone of his everyday existence. He missed it, missed it all dreadfully. The days seemed to stretch out into nothingness. He sighed sadly, turning up the heat as the autumn chill was already settling in for the winter. There was a deep, damp cold on the seafront, and it took what his father used to laughingly call hardy perennials to cope with it year in and year out. But Ricky had coped, and furthermore he had loved every second of it.
He heard Phillip crunching across the shingle beach towards his car, and opened the passenger door for him. Phillip settled himself down in the leather seat, blowing on his hands for warmth. 'It's fucking freezing out the
re, mate.'
Ricky laughed softly, then busied himself lighting one of his huge cigars. Phillip took out a small hip flask and took a deep gulp of brandy, before handing the flask to Ricky, who did the same. They sat in silence for a few moments watching an old fishing boat as it sailed in the distance.
'I love this place.'
Phillip coughed softly before answering him. 'I know you do, Rick. But you'll get used to your new life, it's all about how you perceive yourself. That's what my wife's shrink says anyway but, between me and you, he's fucking nuttier than her at times. A right fucking lumpfish he is - all glasses and bad breath. You could imagine him picking his nose, right dirty-looking oik.'
Ricky laughed at his description, and Phillip laughed too. 'Honestly, I love that girl but she worries me, she's not right in the head, Ricky. Do you know what she was doing at five o'clock this morning? Not sleeping like normal people, oh no, she was Hoovering the downstairs of the house. She had already polished the furniture, washed the skirting boards and scrubbed the floors, so she was Hoovering as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Woke the boys up. They think she's slowly losing her mind, and I have to agree with them this time. But the good news is, she's regained her sense of humour and her energy, so that's something, I suppose.'
Ricky didn't know what to say; in all the years he had known this man he had never once spoken out of place about his wife before, and this was talk that was not for the likes of him. This was private, family talk.
'She cut her wrists once,' Phillip continued quietly. 'I've never seen so much blood before in my life. Funny though, the doctor said it always looks more than it really is. She hadn't cut deep enough, see, to do any real damage. Scared my Philly though, he was only ten and he was the one who found her. That was the one time I could have happily topped her meself. But I love her and I always will.'
'My mum suffered with her nerves, Phil. It was my dad's fault - he was a womaniser, they used to joke that he had fucked every woman on the seafront, and their mothers.'
Phillip laughed loudly at Ricky's jocular tone. 'He was a lad, all right. Do you miss him?'
Ricky nodded in the darkness, the light from his cigar giving his face a warm glow. 'Yeah. He was an old cunt at times, but he was still me father.'
'True, Ricky. We can't choose our relatives unfortunately - look at my brother Jamsie.'
They were quiet for a few moments before Phillip broke the silence asking dangerously, 'Who are the people you said thought I had too much?'
Ricky was shocked at the sudden vehemence of the man's words; they were dripping with malice, and he suddenly understood what this meeting was really about. 'That was just talk, Phillip, stupid drunk talk…'
Phillip grinned then, and his face looked almost demonic in the dimness. 'Stupid talk, yes, but there was also more than a grain of truth in it, and you and I both know that. Now, names.'
Ricky felt his heart sink down to his boots. This was not just foolish, it was hopeless.
Phillip opened the hip flask again and, handing it to Ricky, he said menacingly, 'Get that down your Gregory Peck, might loosen your tongue.'
'Look, Phillip, I don't know what this is about, you got what you wanted, you've fucking cleared me out, and you've made sure I am persona non grata to all me old mates. I ain't got a pot to piss in, and I am having to move to Spain to start a new business and a new life. Now I am not going to sit here and gossip with you about every bit of tittle-tattle I have heard spoken over the years, all right?'
Phillip took a sip of the brandy himself before answering, 'Fair enough, that is a very fair statement. I liked the tittle-tattle bit, because that just about sums it all up really. A load of wankers tittle-tattling.' He laughed at his own words. 'So, it looks like we need to get to the main business of the night.'
Ricky felt the cold fingers of fear inside him now. 'And what's that, Phil?' he said with forced calm.
Phillip wasn't fooled by Ricky's bravado, the fear in the car was so real it was almost tangible. It had finally dawned on Ricky that this wasn't a social visit of any kind, it was a payback.
'You see, Ricky, I can't let you go to Spain. You mugged me off big time, and that is something I know I would not be able to live with. I'm a funny fucker like that, my mum says I take things too personally. In fact she thinks it's my fault my wife's stoned out of her nut on pills all the time - that's when she ain't pissed, of course. A lot of people think it's my fault apparently, is that what you thought too? Was that something else for you all to tittle-tattle about, eh, my private life?'
The truth was people had discussed it and at length. Christine had seemed very strange at times over the years, and it was noticed; it was only human nature to discuss it occasionally. Deandra had talked about it many times, and he had to admit a lot of people did, on the quiet.
'You shouldn't be talking about Christine like this to me, it's wrong, Phillip, and you know it.'
Phillip laughed as if he had heard the best joke ever. 'But who better than you to talk to about it? After all, Ricky, you'll be taking this conversation to the grave with you. It ain't like you'll be tittle-tattling to your big mates about it, is it? You'll be dead and gone, won't you?'
Ricky heard the words, and the inevitability in them; he should have known that Phillip wouldn't let him walk away. He thought of Deandra and the kids, waiting for him, not realising that he would never come home again.
'Don't do this, Phil, I'm begging you… I've got two little kids…'
Phillip shrugged. 'You should have thought of them when you made a cunt out of me. You should have thought of them when you were talking about me with your fucking hard-nut mates, laughing at me behind my back. Well, I'll see they get taken care of, no worries on that score, Ricky. I hope you're well insured though. Deandra will need all the poke she can get - it ain't cheap bringing up kids these days, I can tell you.'
For Ricky it was all over - there was nothing he could do now to change anything. He looked out at the sea, and a small part of him was glad that if he was going to die it would be here, in a place he loved, where he had experienced so much happiness. He wouldn't fight, it was pointless; there was no going back now so best to get it over with. He thought of Deandra, and was sorry he would have to leave her at the mercy of the world. He genuinely loved that girl. Tears filled his eyes, and he felt a great sorrow wash over him at what might have been had he made a few different choices in life. You couldn't win when you were up against someone like Phillip Murphy, because they didn't play by any accepted rules. All he could do now was die with dignity, and hope that it would be short and sweet.
The waves were crashing into the shore now, and they both watched, mesmerised, as the sounds gathered momentum, and the darkness swallowed up the last of the light. It was calm now in the car, and they sat side-by-side, each lost in his own thoughts. Phillip was glad that Ricky had taken it so well, and he admired him in a strange way for being so stoic about it all. He had always liked Ricky, and if the man had used his loaf he could have been on to a good earn now, and in a position to see his family grow and thrive. Pride was a terrible affliction, there was no doubt about that.
The knife was long, slim-bladed, and when it slipped between Ricky's ribs, it didn't really hurt that much. It was only when Phillip pulled it out and started to stab Ricky over and over again that the pain and the shock set in.
When he was finished, Phillip sat beside the man, and smoked a cigarette calmly, looking out at the sea, and waiting patiently for Ricky Thomas to bleed out. He was humming to himself the opening bars of 'Gangsta's Paradise', and made a mental note to get the music changed in the arcades.
He was sick to death of hearing that bloody song.
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Two
Declan was in the new arcade, making sure that the staff were all aware of the new regime. He found it best to be on-site for the first few weeks, that way you got a real working knowledge of the people you had around you
.
So far, so good. In fairness to Ricky Thomas he had gathered a pretty decent team around himself, and that made their job that much easier. Because it was a cash business the potential for theft from within was astronomical, so certain measures had to be put in place. But the name Murphy was usually enough to see that honesty prevailed. Still, it helped to let the employees know you were watching them all the same.
Declan walked through to the office at the back of the hall; he liked it in there, it had a nice bar and comfortable chairs. It also had a large TV that often came in handy for the racing - he liked a bet and had a flutter every day. He also had his eye on a young blonde who was one of the floor walkers; she was pretty but, more importantly, she was intelligent. He thought she would be worth keeping an eye on for the future. She had great tits as well, and that was always a bonus as far as he was concerned. She had already given him the glad eye, so he reckoned he might be in there before too long. He wasn't after a serious relationship; he felt he was still too young, and too enamoured of a bit of strange to tie himself down. The prospect just didn't appeal to him and, in his line of work, he had an endless line of females all dying to drop their flimsy little drawers for him, so it was a pretty good deal all round. As Declan poured himself a large Scotch, Phillip came into the room, and he was surprised to see him tonight.