Hearing the hate in Breda's voice, Christine felt the fear overwhelm her once more and she was sick with apprehension. She despised this feeling that she was walking on quicksand, that her life, and her sons' lives, were hanging in the balance. That at any moment her world would disintegrate before her eyes. It was her nightmare, the truth was more than she was willing to bear. Couldn't Breda see how the knowledge terrified her? Couldn't she understand that her constant insinuations only served to make Christine feel more and more paranoid about the foundations of her marriage, and her relationship with her husband and his family?
Breda looked down at the child she was holding in her arms and, sighing gently, she handed him back to his mother. Christine grabbed him as though she was rescuing him from imminent danger. Almost snatched him from her arms.
Breda spoke softly now, her words full of genuine remorse, sorry for the distress she had caused this young girl. 'I ain't trying to hurt you, Christine, I'm trying to help you, love. You're not a fool, you can't honestly think all this comes from legitimate means?' She waved her arms around, encompassing the house. 'I'm just trying to prepare you. God knows we all have to face up to reality at some point. Even you, love.'
Christine didn't answer her, instead she busied herself with little Timmy. She could feel herself beginning to shake, her whole body trembling so violently it had to be apparent, even to someone as thick-skinned as Breda, the effect her words had caused. She was already taking antidepressants, had been since the birth of Timmy. The second pregnancy had exhausted and overwhelmed her towards the end and now she needed the tablets to keep her on an even keel. They helped take the edge off her fears, convinced her she could cope with her life.
Breda watched her silently, and her heart was heavy for this girl's stupidity, she couldn't understand why Christine deliberately chose to overlook what was, in essence, right under her nose. It wasn't that Breda wanted to hurt her in any way, she just wanted her to understand the reality of her situation. Phillip had walked away from it this time, but it had been at the expense of his brother's freedom. Christine had to accept that her sumptuous lifestyle came with consequences. All Breda really wanted was to make sure her brother's wife wouldn't crack if she came under any undue strain. Phillip might think she was too delicate to know the score, but he didn't see the big picture.
His wife needed to understand that if the worst happened she would be expected to keep her trap shut, and if she didn't know what she was meant to keep quiet about, then that could only make her a liability. Plus, Breda, if she was honest with herself, resented the way Christine was treated by everyone; they acted like she was made of fine china, as if she was too fragile to be told the truth about her life. Phillip was a dangerous fuck, and that was being polite about him and his business tactics. He was not going to swallow his brother's incarceration without a serious amount of violent retribution, and that could well lead to them all being dragged even further into this mess. She felt Christine should understand the pitfalls of being a Murphy as well as enjoying the perks. The trouble with the Christines of the world was they were the ones who eventually suffered more through their chosen ignorance. Because if and when the bomb dropped into the middle of their existence they were the least able to cope.
But now, looking at Christine's terrified countenance she suddenly wondered if she was right; she felt the same need to protect her as the rest of the family did. Breda lowered her voice, trying to make the silly girl understand the seriousness of what was going on around her. 'Look, mate, I'm not trying to hurt you deliberately, I just think you should be aware of what's happening around you. I think you deserve to know the truth.'
Christine shrugged her shoulders, and turned away from her sister-in-law as if the action would negate what she had been trying to tell her. 'You can see yourself out, Breda. I have to get my kids ready. We're going to your mum's for dinner. She'll need us there with Declan being away.'
As Christine walked up the newly decorated stairway, with its expensive wallpaper and freshly painted woodwork, to her baby's bedroom, she could feel her body rebelling against her sister-in- law's words. Her younger son was crowing with contentment in her arms, unaware of what was happening to the people closest to him. The complete devastation his uncle's incarceration had brought on the rest of his family.
Breda was always trying to undermine her, and make her feel like her life was not as rock solid as she believed it was. She felt that Breda took pleasure in making her feel insecure and nervous that her idyllic life could be over with at any moment. She was always trying to force that point home, as if it would make some kind of difference, would make her accept it as a truth. Breda terrified her with her truths. She didn't want the truth, didn't need it.
As she opened her blouse and settled her son on to her swollen breast, she forced herself to calm down and focus on her boys. As the terror of her situation slowly abated she looked around her at all they had achieved, and reminded herself once again just how lucky she was to have her Phillip.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Veronica Murphy was heartbroken about her son's situation, but she was also a realist. She knew that it had had to happen to one of them and, really, it had to be the son with the least to lose. Phillip had a family and he was the main earner, so even though she was upset about Declan's situation, she accepted it. What else could she do? Whoever had grassed had to be a name of sorts, otherwise the Murphys would have found out who it was before it had come to this. She wasn't a fool, she knew that Phillip had probably tracked down the person responsible by now, he would have their name, address and social security number. She knew him better than most. Even though he was seething, he would not make a drama out of a crisis. Unlike the police, he would make sure he had all the facts and the correct culprit before meting out any kind of punishment.
Her husband was, as always, without any real opinion on the subject, and Phillip had assured her that he would see to it that Declan was well taken care of. In effect it was all over, and now they all had to carry on as best they could.
It was Breda who worried her. Breda was very upset about it all and, typically, was being very vocal about it. She could
As Veronica opened the oven door, and took out the huge forerib of beef she had been roasting for the best part of the day, she heard the front door open. She was basting the meat when her youngest son came into the kitchen. He smiled craftily as he said to her, 'That smells handsome, Mum. How long until dinner?'
Her James, her Jamsie, was big and good-looking, and had the brain capacity of a gnat. She could see that it was better for Declan to go away than this eejit, even though she knew that Declan was worth ten of his little brother. Unlike Declan, Jamsie wasn't cut out for prison, though in reality who was? But the difference was, of course, that Declan could cope with the confinement, would do his time in relative comfort, and with the minimum of fuss. He would get himself settled, and make use of his time there.
None of them thought that much of poor Jamsie. He was a bit of a loose cannon. Unpredictable. He had been like that since a small child. Jamsie wouldn't have been able to do the time quietly and patiently. It wasn't in his make-up; he was a brawler, unable to control his emotions, or contain his temper. Without one of his brothers guiding him, he would make a serious fuck-up within days. She smiled at him sadly. 'Not long now, Jamsie, go and get yourself washed up. I'll make you a cup of tea.'
He nodded absent-mindedly, and she realised he wasn't thinking about his brother's confinement; all he was interested in at this particular moment in time was filling his belly. The knowledge disturbed her more than she would ever admit. She busied herself with the meal, but her heart wasn't in it any more. She made a pot of tea and waited patiently for the rest of her family to arrive. She knew that they would descend on her as usual; it was Friday night, and that was family night in this house. Normally she lived for these occasions, it was what kept her going. Tonight though would be the first real Friday night without her Declan and she was feeling his absence acutely. He was her second son, the sensible son. He was away, really away, not on remand any more, but with a proper prison sentence hanging around his neck. All hope of an acquittal was gone now.
Seven years he had been given, seven long years for the possession of firearms; it should have been much longer she knew that but the knowledge didn't help her any. It broke her heart to think about it. She knew he
