by Martina Cole
'Don't do something you'll regret, Joey. Take Duane and go, and I won't say a word to my son-in-law about any of it.'
The mention of Phillip Murphy did give Joey cause for a moment's hesitation, but he was there on a mission, and he wasn't going to back down now. Especially as he had already told his friends and family what he was going to do. In effect he had painted himself into a very tight corner. His sister was in bits, she had thought she'd got herself fucked and financed, instead she had nothing of value left. He didn't know about the money, of course, all he knew was she had been used and dumped. Now that was something he couldn't ignore, irrespective of what Phillip Murphy might be capable of. This was a family matter now, about family honour and pride. For all she was, Tiffany was still his little sister and she needed his protection. He decided to take the old boy out, and his fucking shop and all. These people had been earning off everyone for far too long, and a lot of the people round the area were sick of it.
As he raised the cosh and walked towards Ted, young Timmy took him out with a tin of beans. He crashed the tin into the back of Joey's head twice, felling him where he stood. Then, as Duane rushed over, he took his fist back, and knocked him out with one well-placed punch. As Duane hit the ground, Timmy started to kick them both, using all the force he could muster, shouting as loud as he could, 'You fucking scum, threaten an old man, my granddad! You're fucking dead… I'll kill you!'
As Ted watched in amazement and shock it occurred to him that Timmy was more his father's son than any of them had thought.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
The farm was empty of people and, as they walked around it, Billy was, as always, impressed despite himself. It was some place. Phillip walked around in his designer wellies and his walking stick like an old-time lord of the manor. It was funny though, somehow it suited him. Phillip did not look as ridiculous as he should have. And, in fairness, he had a lot to be proud of. This place was like a poster for how a farm should be run, it was cleaner than most people's front rooms. The piggery was state- of-the-art, and the pigs were like, well, pigs in shit, Billy supposed. You could see the affection they had for Phillip, and you could also see it was reciprocated. In fact, Phillip got on better with dumb animals than he did with people. As they walked to the top field Billy was feeling just how out of condition he was, and when they finally went into the large barn for shelter, he was secretly relieved at the prospect of a breather.
'See that tractor there? It's a John Deere, best on the market that is,' Phillip couldn't resist bragging.
Billy admired it, as any man admired something you could drive. It was a lovely piece of machinery, and it still looked showroom new. 'It looks it and all, Phillip. This place is fantastic, you're like a regular Farmer Giles!'
Phillip laughed with him and, sitting on a bale of hay, he took out a small hip flask. It was his wife's and, taking a long pull, he passed it to Billy, who did the same. Then Billy took out his cigarettes but, snatching them from him, Phillip said angrily, 'You can't fucking smoke in here! Look around you. This place would go up in a minute.'
Billy shook his head at his obvious stupidity. 'Sorry, mate. That's why you're the farmer and I ain't.'
Phillip put the cigarettes into the pocket of his coat, not trusting Billy Bantry to remember the warning.
'So, come on then, what did you bring me all the way here for? I'm assuming it's something important to do with the businesses.'
Phillip chuckled. 'No flies on you, eh, Bill?'
Then, leaning back on the bale of hay, Phillip picked up a large sabre which he had bought at a house auction. It had apparently been used in the Boer War. Seeing it, Billy's eyes widened in alarm. Shaking his head, he said incredulously, 'You've got to be joking, Phillip?'
Phillip was standing over Billy now and, smiling chillingly, he said, 'I would never joke about something this serious.'
'But why, Phillip, why are you doing this?' It was a serious question, and Billy was genuinely interested in the answer.
'Because you and Piper took me for a cunt. But mainly, Billy, if I'm really honest about it, because I can.''
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
'Here he comes, the hero of the hour!'
Timmy walked into the nightclub with a sheepish grin on his face. He was aware that what had happened was the main topic of conversation for everyone around him.
'Come here, son! Is this a chip off the old block or what, eh?'
As Phillip put his huge arms around him, Timmy realised they were pretty much of a size now. Another year or two and he would probably outweigh his father. He saw his brother beaming at everyone; full of pride and pleasure at his little brother's actions. Though 'little brother' wasn't the case any more, he was at least two inches taller than Philly now, and he was much broader. Since the debacle in the shop Timmy had become aware of himself in a way he had never been before. He was what would be termed by the men in this club as a lump. A big, strong lad, he was being treated with respect now. Since taking out the Whites he was like a local hero. People came into his granddad's shop and almost bowed to him if he acknowledged their presence. It was all heady stuff and, he had to admit, he was relishing it. Even the Filth had not bothered - just asked him if he was all right, and put it down as an attempted robbery gone wrong.
His actions had actually surprised him. Seeing his granddad being threatened like that had flicked a switch in his head. His granddad was like his mum, he didn't really know how to cope in the world he had found himself in. Timmy understood that on a very basic level, because he had thought he was the same. But he wasn't, he was like his name, he was a Murphy through and through. Accepting it felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew who he was, and what he was now.
Phillip Murphy watched his two sons with pure pride and the conviction that he had done a marvellous job with them. Poor Christine might be away, but she was on the mend, and his boys were showing the world they were worthy successors to their father. He was so proud he could burst, and taking out that ponce Bantry was just the icing on the cake. Laughing and joking with everyone, he caught sight of Piper surreptitiously watching the door for his little mate Bantry to arrive. He was tempted to tell him that he wasn't coming, that he was burning away at this very moment, his ash soon to be spread on the fields as potash. But he didn't - there was plenty of time for chatting when the time was right. Let them start worrying and wondering, he wasn't going to tell anyone anything until he was good and ready.
Declan had arrived back from his break in Marbella earlier in the day; he was lightly tanned and impressed with what he had found out about the euro situation. A business that would now be wholly theirs, given the untimely demise of their business partners. All in all he was a happy man; once he had tied up a few loose ends, he would be back to his usual self.
Life was looking up, and he decided to make the most of it.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Breda was happy enough today and, as she sat in her mother's house drinking tea and eating a big slice of home-made cake, she broached the subject of Christine again.
'Do you think she's getting better really, Mum?'
Veronica was doing the washing-up with her back to her daughter. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she kept her voice calm as she said, 'I think so, yeah. Sure, she's drink and drug free for the first time in years, so she has to be getting better, child.'
Breda could hear the tinge of irritation in her mother's voice and knew she saw the question as some kind of criticism of Phillip. This was nothing new; Veronica always felt her daughter- in-law's failings were seen unfairly as her son's fault.
'I think she looks terrible.'
'Well, you're entitled to your opinion, Breda, as we all are.'
The sarcasm wasn't lost on her daughter and Breda snapped, 'Oh, come on, Mum! Even you can't deny the girl looks fucking awful. She's terrified,
and we both know what of, don't we?'
Turning from the sink, Veronica faced her daughter; she had to stop herself from taking her hand back and boxing the bitch's ears like she had when she was a child.
'What are you trying to insinuate, Breda? Why don't we cut to the fecking chase, eh? Say what you've got to say and then get yourself home. But I warn you now, girl, you start a fight in this house tonight and I'll fecking mangle you where you sit.'
Breda wasn't surprised at her mother's reaction; it was always the same, the merest whisper of criticism directed towards Phillip was seen as a personal affront.
'Why do you bite like this, Mum? We're talking about Christine here, and I'm sorry, but a five-year-old child can see there's something bothering her…'
'Oh, Breda, piss off, would you? As I told Declan, she's just lost a child, it can affect a woman like that. I would have thought you, as a woman, would have understood! But then I should have known you wouldn't get it - you're more like a man these days with your suits and your fecking briefcase. Talking of men, haven't you got a young black man to service somewhere? Get you off my back for a few hours?'
Breda stood up and felt the urge to shake this woman until her teeth rattled. The realisation that Declan had obviously been there before her was a shock as well. But then, he had been present when it happened, so he probably had a tale to tell. This explained why he'd gone off to Marbella so quickly; he was distancing himself from his brother and from whatever had happened.
'Why do you always assume I am going to blame Phillip for his wife's nerves or whatever you call them these days? Why do you always snap the second she's mentioned?'
Veronica didn't bother to answer. She was not about to get into a discussion about her son, not with Declan and certainly not with this daughter of hers, whose own life wouldn't bear too much scrutiny. Instead she said angrily, 'Do you know what makes me laugh with you lot? Without Phillip you'd all be nothing, scratching a living as best you could. You're ungrateful and you're disloyal, and I won't have it. When you produced young Porrick years ago, and was whoring yourself from one end of this estate to the other, I wouldn't let anyone say a word against you, so you remember that next time you want to start this up again. I stood by you when you nearly killed my Jamsie. I've stood by you all, you stupid, stupid girl.'
Breda didn't reply. She felt the familiar guilt grip her like a vice - her mother was good at that, making you feel guilty and upset.
Flapping her hand at her daughter, Veronica said dismissively, 'Go, Breda, you've outstayed your welcome as usual. Just go home.'
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
Phillip sat in his house; the boys had just gone up, and he was happy, at least as happy as he could be anyway. Old Sammy was clearly still awake because the lights were on in his cottage and that made Phillip smile. The dirty old fucker watched the late- night porn channels - he should know, they billed him for it. Good luck to him, he thought he was marvellous still having a J. Arthur Rank at his age.
He sipped his Scotch and glanced around the kitchen; it looked beautiful, but it was missing Christine. The Aga was turned low, no one was using it for the moment.
He couldn't deny that she had disappointed him, deeply disappointed him. He worshipped her, he had always seen her as a bit of class; from the first time he had laid eyes on her he had felt the attraction between them, and so had she. When he was driving her pain in the arse of a mother mad at the thought of them together, she couldn't get enough of him, but he lost his temper once, and she acted like he was the one with a problem. He felt tears sting his eyes, and relished them. At times like this he was capable of really intense emotions. Christine was the only woman who could make him feel so sad, so unhappy. In his heart, he was still ashamed of Christine seeing him out of control all those years ago; she had never known or even suspected the real him before then. He had loved being the person she thought he was. It was the same with everyone in his life, he showed them all a different side of him. But he had liked the person
Christine made him be, he had tried to be a decent bloke, and it had bled into his other lives as well, because he had to take care that she never heard anything untoward about him. Now though, he was like a rudderless boat, drifting aimlessly towards God knows what.
He felt the tears once more. He knew that he would never let her go and, more to the point, so did she. But he still hated to see her so unhappy. When she was sorted, and they aimed her out of rehab, he was going to send her off to Spain for a few months - a bit of sun and a nice relax and she would be right as rain again. He would send her mother with her; Eileen would love it and she'd make sure her daughter stayed off the drink and drugs. It was funny really, Christine taking to the drink and the old Persian rugs when she was such a straight girl in many ways. But, as the doctor said, these days there were more people on prescription drugs than ever took cocaine or the like. It was the middle-class panacea, and she had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water. A small part of Phillip knew he should let her go, that away from him she would blossom, would find some level of peace in that chaotic brain of hers. But, unfortunately, that just wasn't an option; he had married her, and they would stay married until death did them part.
The thought made him smile, and he was still smiling when the boys came down from their bedrooms and said goodnight. He was pleased to see them, and he thought about the men they'd grown into. Philly needed careful handling, he was too much like him for his own good, and Timmy, well, he was still waters all right - who'd have thought he would have took on that scum White and won! He was a handful was that Joey White, and he had seven or eight years on Timmy. He suspected it was all that rugby playing - he was built like a brick shithouse.
'Come and have a drink with me, boys. Pour yourselves a Scotch.'
He pushed the bottle of Paddy towards them and, when he saw how thrilled they were by the offer, he was glad he had made it. When they were settled with a drink he said proudly, 'To my lads - I'm fucking chuffed with the pair of you.'
They were both so exhilarated by his praise, and so grateful for his time, he felt the urge to cry again. He had neglected them shamefully, not just them, but his wife as well, and he swore there and then that once he had sorted Piper, he would concentrate on the family proper. He would become the man Christine had loved again, and prove to her that he could be trusted. He would rein in his anger, and he would romance her back to how she used to be. It never occurred to him that his wife might not want anything from him except peace of mind. Now he had decided what he was going to do, it was like the gospel to him - written in stone - and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He also decided he would blood the boys early; they were ready for it, and the younger you got them, the easier it was. He would let them in on Piper, and they could be invested into the firm easily and with the minimum of fuss. Philly wouldn't be hard to train, he was a natural, and now that Timmy had a taste of the glamour, he would be wanting more. It was the way of the world. Their world anyway.
Phillip raised his glass. 'To your mother, may she be home soon.'
The boys toasted her, but their minds weren't on Christine. They were still basking in their father's attention and, like an animal who sensed weakness, Phillip Murphy played it for all it was worth.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
'What are you trying to say to me? How the fuck would I know where Billy Bantry is?' Phillip's voice was loud and incredulous.
Jonnie Piper was not a happy man. He knew, in fact, everyone knew, that Phillip had to have had something to do with Billy's disappearance, but as usual no one could prove anything. All the same, he had come down to the office at the arcade to find out.
Phillip's denials, however, were strident and convincing. 'You're out of fucking order, mate, coming in here accusing me of all sorts… Even the Filth need something called evidence, even if they have to fabricate it, they can't touch you without it.'
Philly watched and learned, he knew better than to offer an opinion of any sort. He knew he had to be silent, but alert, that was what his father always said. He was loving it, being a part of something so dangerous. It suited his temperament perfectly. Timmy was naturally quiet, so he just listened anyway, but he was taking it in all the same. Absorbing it like a sponge, and the more he got involved the more he found he wanted to. But they were both impressed with their father's tremendous power. It was as if he was not human somehow - when he spoke people listened, and they didn't argue with him too much. Even this bloke Piper seemed to be backing off now that Phillip had finally snapped at him.
'I asked you a question, Jonnie. Are you accusing me of doing something to Billy Bantry, to my old mate, the man who gave me a chance in life? Because if you are…' Phillip trailed off, as if waiting for the man to answer him, then he took a step towards him, and said angrily, 'Don't go all shy on me now, Jonnie Boy. You had enough fucking bunny a few minutes ago.' He was roaring so loud that he could be heard above the noise of the fruit machines and the computer games outside the room.