The Family

Chapter Sixty-Two

'All right, Sammy Boy, how are the girls?'

Samuel Gardiner grinned his toothless grin. He liked Phillip Murphy, the man had an instinct for the land that wasn't often seen in townies. Phillip reckoned it was the Irish in him; personally Samuel thought any Irish in him would have been from a navvy, a road builder, but he kept that gem of wisdom to himself. No, Sam believed that you either got the land or you didn't. Look at his own boys – neither of them had taken to it. Both had factory jobs, whereas this lad here could almost smell the loam. It was all instinct, and this lad had it, wherever it had come from.

'They're good, Phil, happy as the proverbial pigs in shit!'

Phillip looked proudly around the new building. The pigs were settled, and the place had the rich smell of the earth about it. Sammy was over the moon with all the new equipment, and a free hand with the whole place. Phillip was learning from him, and he loved it, couldn't get enough of the old man's wisdom and common sense. Phillip actually respected very few people, but Old Sammy was top of his list. His own father didn't come close, but when all was said and done he was his father and that was that. Phillip kept him, as he was honour bound to, but it galled him at times that his father had never done a real day's collar in his fucking life. Sammy, on the other hand, had worked since he was twelve, out in all weathers, and was a better man than most for it. Phillip felt relaxed around him, as if he was with a kindred spirit. He wanted to learn everything this old boy had inside his head, and only then would Phillip feel he was good enough to run this place by himself. He had already made provision for Sammy – he would have the use of his cottage on the farm until he died, then it passed back to Phillip. Sammy knew this and was grateful, but he was also a proud man so, after an initial grunt of thanks, it had never been referred to by either of them again. That was how Phillip felt things should be.

'She'll litter soon, the fat bitch, and we'll see some life come to this place, I can tell you. She's low, Phillip, so I'd say she has a good brood there. Look at her, she knows you. Clever bastards, pigs – people don't realise that.'

The sow was already holding up her head for a scratch, and Phillip obliged her, pleased at her trust and her recognition.

'She's getting extra feed, bless her, and I keep me ear out of a night in case anything occurs, like. But, to be honest, son, she's a Brahma – she'll shit them out without a second's thought.'

Phillip laughed; he loved the old boy's colourful descriptions. 'You reckon?'

'I know so. Been doing this for nearly sixty years, I know a troublesome pig when I see one. She's got a lovely nature, this one, and she'll have good porkers, I guarantee it.'

Phillip was pleased. He walked to the top field and looked at the sheep. They were happy enough. Christine liked a hogget at the end of the year as she preferred the stronger meat, though he liked the spring lamb himself. But then, she was such a good cook he happily ate whatever was put in front of him. He enjoyed his food, he loved everything about it: the presentation, the pleasure in eating and, now they grew both meat and vegetables, he liked that they all ate organic and wholesome produce. He was obsessed with the environment, going so far as to have erected huge greenhouses for the growing of the more exotic fruits and veg he liked. He conveniently forgot that he imported drugs from South America, and the effect that had on the local ecology there. He was good at justifying himself, in fact he could completely separate his two lives at will. It was a necessity that most people in his world had long learned to do.

This was his little bit of England, and he walked his land with the knowledge he was doing something worthwhile with his time. He supplied a lot of the local restaurants with his produce, and he made sure that they got the best of the best. After all, they were paying top dollar for it, as they should. The chickens were happy, the farm made a profit, and he felt he had achieved something that most people never do: complete oneness with himself, and the animals around him. Sammy had taught him early on to feel the land, and he had laughed at first, but now he understood what the old fucker was talking about. He could smell the rain in the air, and feel when it was going to snow, he knew whether a day would be bright or heavy with showers.

All this made him feel, for the first time ever, a real part of something. All his life he had felt an outsider, now he didn't feel that quite so much, and for that alone he would always thank Sammy Boy. The farm gave him peace of mind, and that was something he had never really experienced before. Seeing things grow gave him such a sense of worth, and, even now, every time he picked up an egg, he felt the same thrill as he had when he had found the first one all those years ago. Sammy told him that all farmers had to be naturally ruthless – you grew it, you slaughtered it and you ate it; there was no place for sentiment on a farm. That was no problem for Phillip whatsoever.

He glanced at his watch. Breda would be arriving soon with her update on Ricky Thomas and the acquisition of his arcades. Then he was taking Christine out later. All in all, he felt he was the lucky recipient of a very good day.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Christine was manicured and blow-dried to within an inch of her life, and she knew she looked good. Not that it was going to help her now. As she drove through the gates with her elder son beside her, she felt the urge to cry.

'He is going to go ballistic, Philly, what the fuck was you thinking of?'

Philly was white-faced with fear; he knew he was in big trouble, very big trouble indeed. It wasn't often his father went off on one, but when he did it was always over the top and something you remembered for a long time.

'Have you got to tell him, Mum?'

She looked into her son's strained face and, shaking her head sadly, she said, 'They've expelled you, I think that is going to warrant an explanation of some sort, don't you? Think yourself lucky they didn't get the police involved. His car's there. Get indoors and go straight to your room – you'll know when he's been apprised of the situation, they'll hear him go off on one from the next county.'

She watched her son run into the house and her heart broke for him. But at the same time what he had done was so awful she felt that he needed to be taught a lesson and she was going to make sure he got one.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Phillip was looking at Christine as if he had never met her before in his life. His wife, his Christine, had just informed him that his elder son had been expelled from school. Just like that. No warnings, nothing. Out the door like a fucking nothing, a nowt, and after all he had paid them bastards to educate the child.

'Sit down, Phillip, and let me explain.'

'Was he fighting again?'

She shook her head quickly, wishing it was fighting, at least they knew how to cope with that.

'Well, what then? What the fuck's he done, Chris?'

She looked at his handsome, bewildered face and said loudly, 'He was drug dealing, fucking drug dealing at St John's, the best, most expensive school in the fucking county, run by Jesuits, and attended by the children of the great and the good.'

Phillip was absolutely shell-shocked at her words. 'Drug dealing? My Philly? Are they sure?'

She nodded almost imperceptibly. 'They were watching him for ages, caught him on a hidden camera in the boys' toilets. He's been selling cannabis and Es. Nice state of affairs, isn't it? All that fucking money, and for what?'

'Did they call the Filth?'