The Family

on.

'Listen to me, Phil,' Veronica tried one last time. 'I've lost Declan, and Jamsie never means the half of it, you know what he's like… He's a coward. And as for her…' She flicked her head towards her daughter. 'She's sorry. She knows she did wrong.'

'Come on, Mum, get yourself off, I need to talk to Breda alone.'

'You won't… Promise me, Phil…'

He could hear the tears in his mother's voice and was shocked to realise that she actually thought he was capable of killing his sister; seemed his mother knew him better than he thought. That was certainly something he needed to think about at some point. The main thing now though was to get his mother and father out of the house, and off to the hospital as quickly as possible. Only then could he talk to his sister without hindrance, and he used the expression 'talk' very loosely.

Chapter Thirty-Four

'Mum, will you just watch the boys for me? I promise I won't be more than an hour or so.'

Eileen Booth was astounded; for her daughter to turn up out of the blue with her sons bundled up in blankets, white-faced and obviously agitated, was a first by anyone's standards.

'What's happened, Chris?' Eileen's voice was all interest now, and thick with feigned caring and worry. 'You can tell me, darling.'

Christine sighed heavily. 'Look, Mum, I don't ask you for much, do I? Now will you just take the boys for me? I don't need a fucking government White Paper on it – a simple yes or no will suffice.'

If Eileen needed any more proof this was serious then her daughter swearing provided it. 'Is this about Breda and Jamsie? Everyone's talking about it…'

Ted Booth took his daughter's arm and, walking her to the front door, he said quietly, 'Do you want me to drive you, love?'

Christine nodded gratefully and they left the house then and there, much to the chagrin of Eileen who was hoping for some first-hand gossip on what was, after all, going to be a nine-day wonder.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Breda had always understood that Phillip was dangerous, only a fool could have failed to see that over the years. What she had not seen, however, was that he was as dangerous to people inside his family as he was to those outside it. As she looked into his handsome face now she saw, not for the first time, that he had dead eyes. He looked at you, he spoke to you, he interacted with you, but it was all calculated, an act.

Phillip had never done anything he didn't want to, not even as a kid. His mum used to laugh at how stubborn he was. They had all laughed. It occurred to Breda now that it wasn't funny really. He wasn't stubborn at all. He was single-minded, selfish, and without empathy; he had no real care for other people's feelings.

'Well then, Breda, looks like it's just the two of us, eh?' He sounded calm, almost relaxed. He took a step towards her and she instinctively stepped back. Phillip grinned, and lit himself a cigarette. 'Oh, what's the matter, Breda? You tired after your energetic endeavours? By the way, Jamsie's in a coma – not that you'd notice, considering he's hardly fucking Einstein, is he? But, by all accounts, you nearly killed him, so you must be really fucking proud of yourself about that. Breda Murphy, the Ma Baker of London.'

'He's a grass…'

Phillip laughed then, a low sarcastic laugh. 'So I heard, before you actually – but then I would, wouldn't I? Considering I was entertaining half the local Filth at my gaff, seems only natural that might have come up in the general conversation, don't you think? You know me, Breda, why smash my way through half of London for what I want to know when I can find it out over a nice brandy in the comfort and safety of my own fucking home.'' He bellowed the last two words and Breda was almost brought from the floor with the force of his anger.

He pulled on his cigarette once more, physically calming himself down. 'You are a prize cunt, Breda, do you realise that? You're a laughing stock, but then you always have been. You only get what you get because I choose to let you have it. Blood is thicker than water and all that old fanny. But this, this fucking abomination, has changed everything. I always thought you acting like you do was a good front, local PR, kept the natives in check. But what did you go and do this time, you publicly hammered your own brother, denounced him as a grass – a fucking grass! An accusation anyone else would have had the sense to keep fucking quiet about, because accusations like that tend to be remembered. But not you, eh, Breda? You couldn't fucking use your loaf of bread just once. You should have brought that information to me, you should have had the sense to realise that it was something / needed to know, and / needed to decide what we were going to do about it. You see, you forgot the main rule of being a Murphy, and do you know what that rule is, Breda?'

She was incapable of answering him, the calmer he spoke the more the fear was growing inside her.

He grinned genially now. 'The main rule of being a Murphy is you don't shit without asking me first. You don't ever have an original thought without running it by me first. In short, Breda, you wait until / decide what you're going to do. It's pretty easy, /tell you what to do, and then you fucking do it.'

Breda was watching him warily, wondering what his next move was going to be. For the first time in her life it occurred to her that Phillip was quite capable of really hurting her, she also realised that it wouldn't bother him to have to do it. In fact, she felt he relished it, wanted the excuse. She was not about to give it to him. She watched as he poured them both a large Scotch, and when he held the glass out to her she moved towards him cautiously. As she opened her hand, the contents of her glass were thrown into her face, and she felt the burn as the neat whisky found its way into her eyes. Two seconds later she was laid across the kitchen table and a serious beating began. It started with slapping, a heavy forceful slapping that after a few seconds had already caused her lips to swell; she could feel the sheer strength of him as he held her down. But she knew the last thing she should do was struggle – that is what he wanted her to do. Phillip wanted an excuse to let rip, and she knew that once he got it she would be lucky to leave the room alive.

The quiet of the house gave the proceedings an almost surreal feel. When she felt his hand in her hair, and her body being dragged up off the table she didn't know whether to be relieved or not. The kick that sent her across the room was vicious, and when she collapsed on to the floor, she curled herself into a protective ball. She could hear him moving around, pouring himself another drink, smelt the smoke as he lit another cigarette. So taut were her nerves she even heard him pull the smoke gently into his lungs. The waiting was the worst, because she knew he wasn't finished with her. He hadn't even started. For all she had heard whispered of her brother, she never realised until now just what a dangerous fuck he really was. The more so because he had no real care for her. This was something he was enjoying and it occurred to her that he had been storing up this anger with her for a long time, it was her own foolishness that hadn't had the sense to understand that. She knew that everything she had ever done to aggravate this brother of hers had been taken onboard and filed away for the moment. She had played right into his hands with her antics over Jamsie.

She saw her own arrogance, heard herself as she talked the big talk, remembered with a terrible dread and fear the times she had spoken disrespectfully about Phillip to his contemporaries. She lay there, hands covering her head and terror enveloping her, finally understanding that everything in life has to be paid for, every time you hurt someone it came back to you at some point, and it bit you right on the arse. She thought of her own son, and wondered if she would see him grow to a man.

Breda finally understood that the world didn't start or finish with her, her wants and her needs. And, more importantly, she finally understood you could push certain people much too far.