'Hey, Phil, would you look at those curtains! They look like they could be in a stately home with the swags and tails. Did you ever see the fecking like of it!'
Phil Senior sat at the new dining table that now dominated the kitchen-diner and, as usual, he had a racing paper, his fags, and a pot of tea in front of him. He didn't even look up from his perusal of
'Do you remember when they were all small, Phil, and we'd struggle for a few quid? You out breaking arms for a living and me making meals out of nothing.'
He laughed with her. 'Those were good days, Veronica, we had some good times, love. But the most important thing is that we brought up a crowd of great kids, really great kids. Our Phillip is a fucking diamond. In fairness, he's come on leaps and bounds but he still comes here every day and he hasn't forgotten where he came from.'
This was the kind of talk Veronica loved and her husband knew it. He could spout that shit all day if it kept her happy and he frequently did. The secret with Veronica was making the family, especially Phillip, sound normal, sound like other people. Personally, he had accepted that Phillip had more than a few screws loose when he had used a nail-gun on another boy's elbow when he was fourteen. But, for all that, Phillip was Phillip and he kept them all living like kings, and that, for Phil Senior, was what really counted. He had a nice wedge delivered to him every week, they ate like frigging royalty, all the bills were taken care of, and anything Veronica wanted she only had to mention and it appeared. He drove a nice little BMW all paid for courtesy of his kids, and he knew that no one in their world would ever fall out with him – it would be more than they dared. He owed money to every bookie within a ten-mile radius, but there wasn't much chance of them asking for it – Phillip's rep made sure of that, and Declan wasn't what you would call a walkover. Life was good, all right, it had never been better.
'Do you think Christine's looking better these days?'
Phil Senior just stopped himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. Christine and her fucking so-called 'nerves' were all Veronica thought about. Personally he couldn't understand it; the girl had everything her heart desired, Phillip had not so much as looked at another bird since he'd married her and the boys were perfecto mondo. She had a drum that most young women could only dream of, a villa in Marbella – a big fucking villa and all, a pool, the lot. Her old man was the reigning king of the seafront, but apparently she still had her 'nerves'. Phillip had dragged that ungrateful little mare to every fucking shrink with letters after his name and they all said the same thing. She suffered from depression. Well, what that silly cunt had to be depressed about he didn't know. He wished he had her problems. Not that he would ever air those opinions out loud, of course; he made all the appropriate noises, he wouldn't queer his pitch with his Phillip for all the tea in China. But, in all honesty, Christine got on his tits; he thought she was an ungrateful little whore and, if it was left with him, he would have given her a kick up the jacksie and told her to fucking grow up.
'She looked lovely yesterday. Them pills are miracle workers apparently, so stop worrying about her, she'll sort herself out.'
Veronica nodded, feeling better now. 'You're right. She's looking happier I think, so that can only be good.'
'Oh yeah, much happier, darling. I saw her smiling yesterday, a real smile and all. Not one of those weird ones she does, when she's off her box on the pills…'
Veronica turned on him instantly. 'Don't talk about her like that! She's delicate natured. That loony of a mother is the reason she suffers from her nerves.'
Veronica always blamed Christine's mother, the truth was too much for her to bear. That her son had destroyed that lovely little girl was what kept her up some nights, along with the fact she had talked her into staying with him. Consequently, she took a deep interest in her daughter-in-law's mental state. She knew that Christine Murphy was like a time bomb, and when she finally went off, the reverberations would be felt throughout the land.
Phil Senior decided to retreat on this occasion, so he deftly changed the subject. 'Well, you know best, love. What time are the neighbours in for the grand showing? Are you feeding them as usual?'
Veronica smiled brightly. 'Don't worry, there'll be plenty of food and drink to go round.'
Phil Senior grinned then. 'I got meself a good one with you,
Veronica. You can read me like a book.'
They laughed easily together. 'Yeah, well, we've weathered the years, Phil, not many can say that these days, eh?'
'That's true, my love. Now, how about making me a cup of tea and a slice of cake.'
Veronica went about the chore happily; she was a lucky woman, and she appreciated that. If only young Christine was properly on the mend her life would be just about perfect.
Chapter Fifty
Ted Booth was serving a young man with purple hair and the whole shop reeked of the smell of cannabis emanating from him. Still, the boy was very respectful, and said please and thank you.
Everyone on the estate did now. They used the litter bins provided for their rubbish, even from the chippy, and they all made sure they cashed their giros, pensions and family allowance in his post office. He made a fortune every week, especially since Phillip had got Breda to set up the loan scheme – the profits were all his and Eileen's, so that was another lucrative earner. Yet Ted was a very unhappy man. He did what he was asked and he made a lot of money, but it was wrong in his eyes; they were taking money from people who could barely afford it, who were forever in their debt and often ended up borrowing more money to pay off their existing loans. Unlike his wife, who thought it was great and very appropriate, he thought it was taking advantage of people less well off than themselves.
They had three more shops now, all on similar estates and all doing the same kind of business. What should have made him happy only emphasised to him how deeply he was now enmeshed with Phillip Murphy. If his daughter was happy he might have been able to swallow it all, but she was wasting away before his eyes, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her, and her nerves were terrible.
Yet in fairness to Phillip Murphy, he treated her like a queen; you could see his love for her and them boys. As far as Ted
Booth was concerned that was his only saving grace. He made sure they had a good earn, and he was grateful for that in some ways – it got Eileen off his back anyway. But none of it sat right with him, it was all smoke and mirrors, skulduggery, everything was a con, a scam. He would rather be back where he was, his own man and owned by no one, owing his livelihood to no one but himself.
As he looked out the door and saw the beat copper salute him, he felt the usual amazement that even the police were too frightened to question the fact that his shops were making money hand over fist on an estate that was made up mostly of unmarried mothers, the unemployed and the unemployable. But, as Eileen had pointed out, it suited the Filth, as she now referred to them in her street patois; they were glad they weren't forever having to turn up mob-handed in riot gear. If you listened to her, Phillip Murphy was the South East's answer to Henry Kissinger. Ted waved back at the young plod, and went back to perusing the stock lists; even shoplifting was unheard of these days. So why couldn't he sit back like his wife and enjoy the ride?
Chapter Fifty-One
'That smells fucking handsome, Chris.'
Christine smiled tightly at Phillip's praise, she knew he meant every word of it as well. She had dressed the lamb with rosemary and garlic the night before, covered it in fresh herbs and horseradish butter, and left it to infuse overnight in the fridge. It did smell spectacular. It was their own lamb, slaughtered in their own small abattoir, and hung until it was perfect. Every vegetable was home-grown, and almost every ingredient was from the farm. She was proud of her skills and she loved the whole concept of cooking. When she was in the kitchen
