The Family

to act as if she wasn't scared of her child in the least. 'He's home tonight. Oh, and they're staying here, by the way, not at the flat. Me and Finoula are going to look over the house tomorrow.'

He nodded as if in agreement with her, but he knew she was warning him that she would be watching him. Watching out for Philly.

'I've cooked them a lovely coq au vin, used a real cockerel. There's enough for you, if you've still got some appetite after my little bombshell.'

Christine had to make him think she wasn't afraid of him.

But it was hard, so hard. Still he didn't say a word, and as she looked at him she recalled what he was like as a kid; he could go quiet for days, and they had all laughed, and said he was deep. Deep, yeah, but also dangerous. If only we could have a glimpse of the future when our kids were small how much easier life would be.

She took a deep breath before asking quietly, 'Can I say something to you, just between us, like, Timmy?'

He nodded, she could see he was more than eager to hear exactly what she had to say for herself. 'Fire away, Mum. I've always got time for you.' The sarcasm was there, along with the pun, and the smile that went with it said it was meant as a threat. He was trying to intimidate her, and the knowledge didn't frighten her, it just made her more determined to tell him what she wanted to tell him. She stood up and poured herself a large brandy and, after knocking it back swiftly, she poured herself another one.

'Don't I get one, Mum? Or are you drinking alone as usual? Good at that, aren't you? But then you've done enough of it, I suppose.'

She didn't answer him. She just carried on with what she was doing, gathering her courage as best she could before it failed her altogether. Then, walking to where he was standing, just inside the huge picture windows, she stopped right in front of him. Looking into his face she said seriously, 'If anything happens to my Philly, I will hold you personally responsible. If he breaks a nail climbing out of his car, I will assume it had something to do with you. If he fucking so much as catches the flu, I will blame you, and if he ever gets shot at again, I will blow your fucking world so far into orbit, you'll be thumbing a lift from the Hubble Telescope to get back down to earth. Do you understand what I am telling you, Timmy?'

He didn't even flinch at her words, but she could tell he was worried, and wondering how to get out of this without anyone else finding out the score.

Timmy scoffed at her, 'Like anyone would listen to you You're a drunk, Mum.'

She could feel the heat enveloping her body, and she knew he could smell her fear.

'You're a joke to everyone in this family, Mum, especially your Philly. No one would give your story a second's credence.'

'I'll be watching you, boy.'

He grinned then and, pushing his face close to hers, said quietly, 'And I'll be watching you, Mum. Keep that in mind, won't you?'

Before she could answer him, the door crashed open and Philly's voice was booming out. 'Hello, Mum, the wanderers have returned!'

Timmy pushed her gently out of his path, sidelining her and, holding out his arms, he said to his brother, all smiles and familial affection, 'Fuck me, look at you, bruv, brown as a berry! And where's the lovely Mrs Murphy? Don't tell me she's fucking left you already.'

As Finoula came into the room, Christine said her hellos and then, using the excuse of needing to check the dinner, she almost ran to the kitchen. What had she started? Oh dear God in heaven, what the hell had she started? She was so afraid of her younger son, she was beyond relieved to have her husband in the house with her.

That alone told her just how bad things really were.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight

'Please, Phillip, I've never asked you anything about your work before, but please tell me what's going down. I can sense that something is different.'

Phillip Murphy looked at his wife, clearly weighing up how much to reveal. It annoyed her more than she believed possible. Her new-found interest in everything pertaining to the businesses and the boys was getting a bit wearing as far as her husband was concerned, but she didn't care. She had to know.

He shrugged suddenly, as if he had decided something very serious, and said, 'Someone is coming to pick up the guns. Now, can we drop it, Christine, please? You know I don't like to discuss things like this, especially with you. What's come over you lately, mate? You're either stoned on the pills the doctor gave you, or you're following me around like a fucking puppy. Is something bothering you, Christine? Because if it is, you only have to tell me and I'll sort it for you.'

She felt the urge to laugh out loud; he was starting to sound like Florence, her therapist of old. And, like Florence, she could just see his face if she told him what was actually on her mind. Phillip didn't even come into the equation any more – in fact, she could cope with him, and since the shooting he had been really good. It was the boys that were sending her off her head.

Her Philly didn't even guess there was anything untoward going on with his brother, and that was the most frightening thing.

'I've got a funny feeling on me that's all, Phil, it's since Philly, you know…' she trailed off.

Christine only had to mention the shooting and Phillip was immediately all husbandly concern. He understood how deeply she had been affected by it, and Phillip had always admired how much she cared. Christine knew he was fascinated by other people's emotions, and how they affected them and their everyday lives. On a basic level, he needed to observe them, so he could attempt to imitate them. It was how he had survived so long without being sussed out. So the briefest mention of Philly being shot, and he was all over her, worried it would make her ill again, make her have to go away from him again.

Christine also knew he was still puzzling over who the culprit could be, and she had nearly told him so many times in the last few weeks. But she couldn't. She was frightened – if she did tell him, she couldn't predict what he would do. Being Phillip Murphy, he would decide whether that was a sign of strength in his son, or a weakness that meant he had to obliterate him. Even though she felt he would choose Philly, with this man you could never be sure. Like King Herod, who had killed three of his own kids, Phillip had the capacity not just for great brutality, but also great kindness. He would also assume, as she had, that he was next in line for the chop. And she didn't want anything to happen to Timmy either – not because of her anyway. It was such a quandary, and it was her fault, all because of her, and a determination many years ago to best her mother. The more her mother had been against her marrying Phillip Murphy, the more determined she was to have him.

All she had wanted was to be a part of a big, happy family; well, she had got her wish – to be part of a big family anyway – for all the good that it had done her. She had married a murderer, and she had given birth to two sons, one of whom was capable of literally anything, and another one who she felt might just have a chance at a normal life because he had married Finoula. She was a sensible girl, a decent girl. Philly respected her, and the way she had acted after he had been shot had shown them that she had the staying power needed to be married to a Murphy. Christine had a terrible feeling on her that, many years ago, Veronica Murphy had thought the exact same about her where Phillip was concerned. Had seen her as his saving grace, because if he loved her so much he had to have some good in him. Philly was ruthless, yes, too caught up in his father's world, true, but he was basically a good person, a good man and, at the moment, Christine was holding on to that fact like a lifeline. She had to believe that some good had come out of her marriage or she would never rest easy again.

After all, they had to have some of her in them, didn't they? They were carried inside her, she had given them half their DNA. Had the only thing she had given them been her weakness? Her Timmy had indeed turned out to be like the spit out of his father's mouth – someone had said that to her just after he had been born, and it came back to her now. Philly, on the other hand, looked like his father, but didn't have the same mannerisms like Timmy did. Philly did have his father's utter disregard for what other people wanted or needed though; it was all business to him.