The Family

earlier had not fazed him; instead of the jealousy predicted by everyone around her, Philly, as they referred to him, had taken one look at his new-born brother, his handsome face concerned and rapt with interest, and declared loudly and confidently, 'I like him, Mummy, can we keep him?'

The newly born Timothy Murphy had taken to his older brother with the same zeal. Christine was thrilled at their closeness, it made her life much easier because they were so happy in each other's company. Each kept the other amused and they thrived on the closeness that being together brought to them. They looked alike, had the same mannerisms, and they were both possessed of an easy-going nature, that is unless they were crossed about something: a toy another child wanted, or being denied a favourite sweet. Even then, they tended to gang up together, the one-year-old Timmy following his brother around like a faithful puppy. Young Phillip would charge around the house, his loud voice cutting through all the adults' conversation. He was a natural leader; even Breda's child Porrick didn't have the strength to overpower him, or his dominant personality. Philly, as they called him, had the knack of making older children bend to his will. Christine was thrilled to bits with her two handsome sons, and at how easily she had slipped into the role of a mother. All the fears she'd had about being responsible for a small human being had turned out to be groundless in the end. Even though she'd had a bit of a hard time with Timmy, she was a natural nurturer, a born mother, even her own mother remarked on it, and coming from her that was high praise indeed.

Veronica had, as always, given her the support she needed, but without butting in too much. From the very beginning she had praised Christine loudly and often for the way she cared for her children. She blossomed with the birth of her sons. All the fears that she had trapped herself with her pregnancy and had lost the chance to make something of her life had disappeared with her first glance at her elder son's angry red face. From the moment she had delivered each of her boys she had been besotted with them.

Phillip was proud of her and of his new family, and she knew that he adored them with a passion. She was aware though that he saw her as the primary carer, but it was a role she was more than happy to fulfil; after all, Phillip made sure they wanted for nothing. She simply had to mention something she desired, and it was provided for her. She knew that her mother envied her the easy life she seemed to have fallen into. Her mother's warnings about Phillip and his family were silenced, she now seemed to think he was the dog's gonads, as Phillip himself would say It was a real pleasure to prove her mother wrong, and she knew she would be a liar not to admit how good it felt to see her mother proved so spectacularly wrong about everything. It was odd just how much her mother had changed towards her husband, she treated him like visiting royalty these days and Phillip, for his part, found her about-face amusing. As he said, money did that to people – either the lack of it or the offer of it. He made sure her parents had the means to live in a way they had only ever dreamed of. The boys had been like the icing on the cake for her parents. Phillip Murphy had become a man to be reckoned with and she was proud of that.

Christine thanked God every day for her idyllic life and her beautiful home. At nineteen years old she had not only two perfect sons and a husband who was as attentive to her now as he had been when they first met, but she also had a lovely detached farmhouse in two acres of land, which they were gradually renovating to ensure they had the home of their dreams. It had been hard to find the money at first, but they had managed it. Now they were like any other young couple, saving up every spare penny, and then when they had enough, they would get another room finished, or another bathroom brought up-to-date. It was a labour of love, and indeed she loved this house. Had done since the first time she had seen it. Heavily pregnant with her elder son, she had stood in the entrance hall with her husband's arm around her shoulders and the newfound confidence of a married woman, and known that this was the house they would grow old in together.

It didn't occur to her that her husband's presence had made the owners of the house nervous, that the price they eventually paid had been well under the market value. That she was living in a house that was only theirs because her husband had wanted it so desperately for them. She was still naive enough to believe everything he told her. She didn't understand property and its worth, didn't see the acreage and the potential that Phillip recognised. All she saw was somewhere they could build a life together and bring up their rapidly expanding family. All she thought of were her and the kids' wants and needs. And if there were any whispers about the intimidation and the paying of gambling debts, she ignored them. That was none of her business. She honestly believed that it was all meant to be, that she and Phillip were meant to live in this house. She was so contented with her wonderful life, so happy and involved with her perfect family and her adoring husband, she wasn't ready when the truth first came knocking at her freshly painted front door.

'Poor old Declan, eh, if it wasn't for him these boys of yours would be fatherless now.' Breda was speaking to her.

Christine refused to get into this conversation. 'Come on, Breda, you don't mean that. Not really.' Christine's voice was soft, determined to ward off any arguments that Breda might decide she wanted to start.

Breda picked up little Timmy and she hugged him to her again for a few moments before she said frankly, 'Are you for real, Chris? Are you telling me you honestly don't know the truth about the court case?'

Christine shook her head; her pretty face was well made-up, her thick blond hair was cut so it framed her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, yet still hanging down her back like a curtain. It occurred to Breda suddenly that Christine was seriously beautiful; she was also, it seemed, seriously thick.

'Don't you read the papers, Chris, or watch the news?'

Christine shook her head once again, she didn't want to pursue this conversation any further, in fact she was determined not to hear any more about it. 'I don't care what the papers say. I don't care about any of it. So can we just drop the subject, Breda?'

Breda snorted in annoyance, her eyes searching her sister-in- law's for some kind of reaction. The exasperation in her voice was evident as she said, 'You can't keep burying your head in the sand, mate. One day you are going to have to accept the truth of what's going on around you. My advice to you is to do it now, sooner rather than later. Declan is going away, and Jamsie and Phillip, your husband, are only out and about because Declan took the can for them. He was grassed – they were all grassed up. If it wasn't for Declan the whole fucking lot of us would be in clink. Me included. None of us are exactly choirboys, or girls, as the case may be. Getting nicked is what's known in our world as an occupational hazard. The difference is, we accept that as a truth, and so should you.'

Waves of fear washed over Christine. She refused to listen to anything that might have a detrimental effect on her and her world. As Phil had always promised her, it was her job to look after the boys, and he would look after everything else. She didn't want to hear her sister-in-law's poison. Breda was a troublemaker, everyone knew that, she found aggro in the unlikeliest places. This wasn't the first time she had hinted at Phillip's involvement in serious criminal activity. It was as if Breda was trying to force Christine to admit that her husband was a villain. Well, her Phillip wasn't a villain, not a real one, not like Breda was trying to insinuate anyway, and she would not allow her to force that opinion on her, in her own home. Breda didn't really frighten her any more, not like she had in the beginning. Since the birth of her boys, Christine felt she had become tougher, had become hardened to the outside world and all its dangers. Phillip looked out for her, he always looked out for his own, and that included his sister. Though the treacherous bitch was forever trying to undermine him at every opportunity she got. Christine heard the rumours about him, and she had dismissed them for the crap they were. He had explained to her that people were always going to talk about him and his lifestyle. That she was to expect it, while at the same time ignore it. As he had told her from the off, he wasn't a choirboy, and he would never be a nine-to-fiver. But he would never put her or his children in any danger. They were his priority and they always would be. All the talk about him was nothing but exaggerated rubbish, and she would not listen to any of it. Especially not when it came from his own sister.

Christine had already had her mother on the blower that day, asking her what the truth of it all was and, predictably, questioning if her father's usual deliveries were going to be affected by the court case. Declan was the one who ensured her father's shop was filled with cheap merchandise, and consequently that her mother had the wherewithal to live her life in the luxury she had quickly become accustomed to. She had finally put the phone down on Eileen, angry at being pulled into things she had no intention of getting involved in. Now here was Breda trying to do the same thing. Trying to make her be a part of Phillip's other life.

'Stop it, Breda, and I mean it. I won't hear another word about it.'

'Jesus, Christine, you can't not know the score… Declan has taken the can for everyone. He's put his hand up to keep the Filth away from everyone else. But whoever grassed him in the first place is on a death wish; they won't last the fucking week, and right and all, the treacherous cunt.'