Chapter Seventy-Eight
Phillip looked around him at the carnage and wondered how she had managed it considering how little she weighed. The whole place was wrecked; Christine had systematically gone through the house and destroyed everything with a hammer. As Phillip stood in the kitchen he felt the cold anger boiling up inside him, and he swallowed it down. His mother had taken the boys home; he had insisted on coming back by himself to see what had occurred. Jamsie had come up trumps anyway; he had called him and the ambulance, so at least she had not had too long to harm herself. She was now heavily sedated in a private mental hospital. The doctors were talking about electric-shock treatment this time. He would gladly plug her head into the national grid himself if it sorted her out once and for all.
He turned as he heard the back door open and, seeing Old Sammy standing there in his pyjamas and dressing gown holding a bottle of Scotch, he felt a moment's gratitude that this old man had waited for him to come home.
'I thought you might need a stiff drink, son.'
Phillip nodded sadly and welcomed him into what remained of the kitchen.
'She certainly had a good go anyway, I could hear her screaming from my cottage.'
Phillip found two mugs that had escaped Christine's wrath, and poured two large whiskies. Sitting at the kitchen table they toasted each other in silence.
'What was she saying?'
'Just swearing really, screaming obscenities and smashing anything that came in her path. Swearing and talking rubbish.'
Phillip knew Sammy was trying to warn him, and he appreciated that more than he could ever express.
'I told the ambulance people she was delusional, but they said they knew that. I stayed with them until they gave her a shot, like, until she went to sleep.'
Phillip digested the information. 'She has a lot of problems, Sammy.'
The old boy nodded in agreement. 'My mother was the same, mad as a March hare most of the time – went to my school once in her nightdress, I hated her for that. But me father always said, women ain't got the mental ability of the male. He was right.'
Phillip watched as the old man sipped at his whisky and tried in his own way to comfort him. It was strange, but he did feel better for him being there. Sammy had a quiet way with him that made the people and animals around him feel calmer just by his presence.
'Jamsie said you came in and talked her down. Thanks for that.'
The old man shrugged. 'It wasn't hard, she was spent by then. I just said that maybe she had better quieten down because she was frightening the pigs!'
Phillip laughed ruefully.
'She's a very sad girl, Phillip. The madness takes them like that sometimes. Had a horse once, well bred, high spirited, but she had the madness in her. All you can do is leave her in the hands of the professionals. They know what they are doing, see. She'll come out of that place better than ever, you mark my words. I think that funeral was a bit too much for her, it's been on the news and everything.'
'I hope so, Sammy. I love that woman, she's my world.'
'Do you know what, Phillip? She just needs to find out how to cope with life in general. She's not the first to be afflicted by it, and I daresay she won't be the last. Now then, I have a bit of good news for you: the boar did his job, and the sows are all in farrow. So that'll keep us occupied for a while, eh?'
Phillip smiled gently, pleased at the news despite everything.
'He got stuck in there, I said he was a good 'un, didn't I? Knew his way around a sow that one did, God bless him.'
'Thanks, Sammy, I appreciate you doing all this.'
Sammy shook his head in denial. 'Listen to me, son, you've been better than my own boys to me, and I would do anything to help you out, in any way I could. You remember that.'
Phillip understood what he was saying and he also was under no illusions that the old boy knew far more about what went on in this house than he let on. Tonight was a real eye-opener, that was for sure.
As Phillip lay in bed a few hours later he wondered what he was going to do about his Christine. Because there was one thing he knew now for sure: this couldn't go on. It was all getting a bit too dangerous now, for all of them, himself included.
Book Three
Don't get mad, get even
Late twentieth-century saying
Never say that marriage has more of joy than pain
Euripides (c. 480 bc-406 bc)
Chapter Seventy-Nine
2004
'Don't talk to me like that, Philly. I'm not deaf, I
Philly looked at his mother and felt a moment's shame at his words. But she was acting weird, and he had some mates coming round. She wasn't as bad as she had been before, but she was drinking again, and that made her talk shite, as his father so nicely put it. He wasn't like Timmy – he couldn't laugh it all off. He thought his mother was an embarrassment. 'Eccentric' was Timmy's word for her, 'out-and-out nut-bag' was his. Look at her now – seven in the evening and still in her dressing gown, half-pissed and already slurring her words. Still, at least she wasn't morose and depressed; that was something to be grateful for he supposed.
'Go and get dressed, Mum! I've got Graham and Billy coming round.'
Christine laughed. This son of hers was so bothered about appearances, he was like a fucking woman at times. 'All right, son, keep your wig on. I'll slip on a pair of jeans, is that good enough for your mates? Or shall I wear a designer suit and diamonds like Billy's mum does? She's the weirdo, not me. She'll never see forty-five again and if she has one more face-lift she'll have a beard!'
Philly had to laugh at that, because it was true. Billy's mum was always in hospital having 'procedures' as she insisted on calling them. Billy said he had planned to get her an electric blanket for Christmas but was frightened his mother might melt during the night. But at least Billy's mother didn't go into hospital because she was a fucking loony. Though, in fairness, his mum hadn't been away for a few years now. But both he and his brother expected her to lose it again at some point. It was the pattern of their lives.
Philly hated that his mother was like she was, and he thought his father was a saint to put up with her. Any other bloke would have outed her a long time ago, and who could have blamed him? Not Philly – he would have
