Chapter Twenty-One
The pub was packed, and the heat was overwhelming. It was noisy and it was scruffy, and Christine loved everything about it. The pub was their local, this was Phillip's domain now. People came here to pay him money owed, or to ask favours from him, and it was where he showed the world he lived in how much his reputation had grown and how his name was becoming synonymous with Billy Bantry's and Keith Kenton's. In this world he moved in, reputation was everything, as was the female beside you.
As Christine saw Keith and Phillip talking together across the other side of the room, she felt a surge of pride. People were deferential to them, to her as well. It was a whole new world. Joanie was smiling at her happily – Christine could tell she'd had a few drinks; she made a point of having them frequently. But Christine couldn't begrudge her that; if she wasn't pregnant, she'd be doing the same. Unlike her friend though, she wouldn't have drunk so much so quickly – Phillip would have made sure of that. He wasn't a drinker, not really. He didn't like the feeling of being out of control, he had told her that on more than one occasion. He believed that alcohol, like drugs, was for mugs. He said that when people were drunk they opened themselves up for stupidity. He only drank with her, and that was because he trusted her enough to let himself go. He didn't like to see a woman in drink, and his arguments with his sister Breda over her drinking were frequent and passionate. Breda was the antithesis of Phillip; she drank, drugged and fucked with a passion that was almost unbearable to witness. She was like a man in that respect, she did what she wanted without any thought for the consequences. She didn't even attempt to try and get herself a steady bloke, she went out, she got drunk, and she got laid. End of story. Christine knew that it bothered Phillip. Even though it was what Breda wanted, was what she enjoyed. She made no secret of her lifestyle, and even though it wasn't unusual in this day and age for a girl to live her own life in her own way, Christine knew that Phillip saw his sister's antics as a reflection on him personally. Breda was an exemplary mother to her son, and she adored him, but her attitude was that when she went out, she went
Tonight Breda was hanging all over a heavily built Greek- looking man, with cheap shoes and thick curly hair. Christine was aware that her Phillip was keeping an eye on his sister, only he was watching her antics surreptitiously. Breda was pretty, but she was already hard faced, her delicate features obscured by her heavy make-up and her constant frown. She talked too much and too loudly. Her conversation was peppered with profanities and innuendo. As Phillip had screamed at her one night, she was one step away from charging for it. And Christine understood his fears. Breda was self-destructive once she had a few Bacardis, she seemed to almost enjoy the reaction she got from her brothers and the people around her. The worse she behaved, the happier she seemed to be. It was like a game she played, as if she was just seeing how far she could push them. But tonight Christine sensed a new undercurrent to Breda's behaviour, this man she was all over was a stranger, he was not her usual type of conquest. Breda had a few blokes on the go, and she made a point of seeing them on the quiet. She didn't usually pull total strangers in full view of her brothers and their assorted friends and acquaintances. That was a definite no-no in anyone's books.
The man in question was with two other Greeks, and all three were happily hitting on Breda. Breda, for her part, was loving the attention she was getting from them. Like a lot of the Greek men in East London, they were only in England to get out of their national service. They came over and worked as waiters, or attended college, until such time as they could go back home. Their families paid for them to come over, and that money guaranteed that they could swerve the army, and at the same time learn a trade. These men were obviously so new to the area they didn't realise the girl they were all so enamoured of was far more dangerous than anything the Greek army might have thrown at them. All they saw was an available English girl and, in their limited experience, most of the English girls they had met were not only available, but happy to oblige in any way they could. For Greek men from small villages, this was heady stuff indeed.
Christine, young though she was, knew all of this instinctively and she could feel the animosity coming off Phillip in waves. She saw the nervousness of the people around him. How they were waiting to see his reaction to his sister's outrageous behaviour. She looked around for Declan and James, but they were nowhere to be seen. Declan was one of the only people capable of talking Phillip round, one of the only people Phillip would listen to. She moved closer to Phillip, pushing her way through the throng of people until she was by his side. He looked at her and smiled happily. She knew that whatever people might say about him and his temper, he was not a lecher, she knew deep inside that she was all he wanted or needed. He was so staid in that respect. His sister's antics were all the more unsettling to him because he had no understanding of why she could be like she was. Christine knew that Phillip would never betray her, as well as she knew he would kill her before he would let another man into her bed.
Breda was so drunk she was unaware that her dress was slipping off her shoulders and that, consequently, she was showing a lot of breast, and her loud raucous laughter was even drowning out the jukebox. The three men seemed mesmerised by her abundance of naked flesh, and the promise in her eyes for all of them.
Perry Croft, the landlord – a short stocky man with a bald head – had the unenviable task of having to serve the men he knew were aggravating the life out of his most important customer. As Breda demanded another drink, he looked over at Phillip, and Christine saw him nod almost imperceptibly in response, his handsome face dark with barely suppressed anger, but unless you knew him as well as she did, the true extent of his annoyance would not be evident at all. The landlord served the drinks without a word, and Christine sipped at her orange juice, worried for Breda and what she was doing.
'How you doing, Chris?'
She smiled at Phillip, at the genuine concern in his voice. 'Fine, Phil. You OK?'
He shrugged nonchalantly. Then, taking her elbow, he steered her through the throng of people and behind the bar itself. She walked through to the back room with him happily, glad of the quiet once the door was shut behind them. It was a heavy oak door, specially designed to keep the noise of the pub out, and any noise made inside the room inaudible to the pub's clientele. It was a very expensive but very necessary fixture. It also had some serious brass work: two mortice locks, two heavy-duty bolts and a steel bar that slipped easily into the wall cavity. It would take a battering ram to open it should the need ever arise – for example, if the police came sniffing around or a rival of some description took it into their heads to come visiting mob- handed. Neither of these scenarios was unheard of in Phillip's world, and he was ready for them.
'Are you sure you're all right, Phillip?'
He sat her down on the black leather sofa and, placing himself gently beside her, he said honestly, 'No, no, Christine, I'm not all right. Breda's gone too far this time.'
His voice was flat, there was no emotion in it whatsoever. Christine searched his face for some kind of clue, for something to tell her what he was feeling inside. He had placed his arm around her shoulders and, though the gesture was a loving one, she knew that as far as he was concerned, she didn't exist for him at this particular moment in time. She turned into him, forcing him to look into her eyes. 'She doesn't mean it, Phil, you know that as well as I do. She just likes to have a laugh, likes to get out and be a young girl again. Please don't fight with her, not tonight. I'm having such a lovely time.'
He looked at her, and she knew it was no good, he would only humour her. His eyes were hard and his handsome face was expressionless. She knew the signs now, knew his moods. When he was like this he scared her, even though she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her.
'I can't swallow this, Chris, she's undermining my credibility by the day. If I can't fucking control my little sister, how can I be expected to control the people who work for me? It's not about her, mate, it's about how her actions affect the people around her. She's out there, out of her fucking nut, with three fucking chancers. This ain't about her any more, it's about me.'
Christine knew he really believed that. In a strange way, she even understood where he was coming from. She understood that his world was a dangerous and unpredictable one. That he was only as good as his reputation. He was young and on his way up, and, for the moment, he had the backing of some serious names. She had learned an awful lot, things she had never thought she would have to know about. But she was with him now, for better or for worse. He would be the father of her child, her children, and she had accepted his way of life because she had no other choice. She guessed that he shielded her from a lot of it but seeing him like this was something she wasn't used to. This was the Phillip Murphy people talked about, not the Phillip Murphy who she was going to marry in one week's time, who treated her like a queen, and smothered her with his love.
'Please, Phil, don't start. Leave her alone, she doesn't mean any harm.'
