The Family

Tell me what company you keep and I'll tell you what you are

Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616) Spanish adventurer, author and poet

Man, biologically considered, and whatever else he may be into the bargain, is simply the most formidable of all the beasts of prey and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its own species

William James (1842-1910) American philosopher

Chapter Forty-Five

1998

'Come on, boys, it's time we got going.'

Christine smoothed some lipstick on her lips, as she hunted for the keys to the Range Rover. She could feel Phillip's eyes on her and, turning, she smiled at him. 'All right?'

He answered her truthfully, 'Very, especially as you seem a lot better in yourself, mate. Are the new tablets any good?'

She nodded. 'I feel much better inside meself, Phil. It's like the doctor says, depression is an illness, and it can happen to anyone at any time so, like any illness, I have to get it treated. But these new pills make me feel a million dollars.' She was telling him what he wanted to hear, she always told him what he wanted to hear. For years she had lived beside a man she was terrified of, and the fact that he treated her like a queen just made it all feel worse.

'Well, don't forget tonight we've got Ricky Thomas and his wife coming to dinner. I have a bit of business with him. Are you sure you'll be OK? We can get a chef in, or me mother will cook for us.'

She laughed then. 'I've got it all in hand, Phil. We're having crab cakes to start, roast lamb for the main, and I've already knocked up a lemon posset for dessert. Lastly, we've got a fuck- off cheese board for the wine and brandy. I'll be fine – I love cooking, it relaxes me.'

He grinned, relieved that she wasn't under any undue pressure. 'Well, you're a blinding cook, sweetheart. How lucky was I, eh? Beautiful, clever and a wonderful wife. Fantastic mother, and still the only woman who interests me.'

She turned away from him then, unable to look him in the face. When he spoke like that all it did was make her panic inside. She felt as though he was constantly reminding her she was his.

Philly came into the kitchen; at thirteen he was already big for his age, and he had the dark hair and the blue eyes of his father.

'All right, Dad? Can I come to the arcade again this weekend?'

Phillip smiled. ' 'Course you can, you can work the change booth for me. At least I know I can trust you!' They laughed easily together.

Just then her younger son wandered in to the room. Philly and Timmy were so similar they were like twins born a few years apart and it was uncanny how like Phillip they were – she saw nothing of herself in them. Little Timmy was quieter than his brother though; they all joked that he was deep waters, but, if she was honest, she worried that he seemed to have a bit too much of Phillip's nature in him. Philly had a temper too, but it was quick to flare and just as quick to die out. Timmy, on the other hand, had a temper that was phenomenal in its intensity. She had been forced to remove him from his first playgroup over it – he fought the other kids like a tiger for almost no reasons at all.

'Come on, you two, get in the Range, and no arguing who sits where, OK? Mummy has to have peace and quiet while she's concentrating on her driving, so don't let me hear any fucking stories today about you two rowing, and I mean it.'

Both boys nodded; when Phillip swore they knew he meant business.

'See you later, Dad.'

Christine ushered them from the house and, as she pulled out of the electric gates, she saw Declan on his way in. He waved at her, and she automatically waved back. She liked Declan; he had been good to her over the years, and she had come to rely on him. He was the voice of reason, and strangely Phillip listened to him and respected what he said. These days Declan was the only person on the planet who her husband listened to. Somehow he kept Phillip from going overboard, and for that alone she would be eternally grateful.

Chapter Forty-Six

Ricky Thomas was a big man in his early fifties. He had a young, new wife called Deandra – she had given him two new kids, a boy and a girl, and he had given her a lovely house, new tits and all the clothes she could buy. It was strange because they actually did care about one another. Deandra had been brought up on a council estate, with a piss-head for a mother and an errant father. Ricky was everything she had ever wanted in a man; he was a father, a lover and a friend and she adored him.

'Look, Dee, Phillip Murphy can fucking whistle – he's not getting anything from me and I'm going to tell him that tonight, so stop worrying, will you?'

'He's weird, Rick, he scares me.'

'Well, he don't fucking scare me. I've been around the pavements a bit too long for all that old fanny and, besides, he's a businessman at heart. He'll understand I don't want to get rid and that'll be it.'

'Everyone he falls out with either disappears, or has a bad accident – look at his fucking mate Bantry, he's like the poor relation these days. Phillip Murphy is the fucking main face of that operation.'

'Oh, Deandra, will you put a fucking sock in it, girl, it's too early in the morning for aggravation of the ear drums. Go and help the au pair or something.'

She laughed despite herself, he could be funny, could her Ricky. But she had a bad feeling about this business with Murphy.

He had taken over most of the seafront in Southend; buying people out, running them away. She knew how much money there was in the games – after all, it was their livelihood – but she felt that Murphy wanted the whole thing and would stop at nothing to get it.

Ricky lit one of the many cigars he would smoke that day; he was worried all right, but he wasn't about to let Deandra know that. Tonight he had to keep his wits about him and, in the process, stop his livelihood from slipping into Murphy's clutches. He would sit in his house, chat with his Stepford wife, who always looked like she was about to bolt from the room, and eat his grub, all the time being a jovial and congenial guest. He would then tell him in as nice a way possible that he had no intention of selling his arcades, and that there was more than enough room for the two of them. He knew Phillip Murphy had moved in on two clubs recently, and was making a play for everything on the front, even the hot-dog stalls and the fast- food outlets. It seemed he wanted to be king of the seafront. Well, Ricky was fine with that but he was not going to add his own little bit of Essex to Phillip's pile.

He was nervous though, and that annoyed him. It wasn't in his nature – he was a big, gregarious and, sometimes, hard man. This young Phillip Murphy was an anomaly to him, part of the new breed of young Faces – all money and violence, no finesse and certainly no real intelligence. It was the nineties for fuck's sake, all that threatening and posturing went out with the ark. That was for the drug dealers and the foreign fucks, not the locals; they stuck together to make sure the new breed of eastern Europeans didn't infiltrate their patches. Phillip Murphy was a grade-A cunt, and that was his last thought on it. Unfortunately, Phillip Murphy was on his mind all that day, and Ricky knew he was playing a dangerous game with him. The only thing left was to find out who was