The Family

understood his father's actions better than anyone. After all, he had to live with the stigma of her illness as well, and it wasn't easy tiptoeing around her all the time. Depression was one thing, and he appreciated that, but she was way past all that now. He felt sometimes that she played up her illness just to get on their nerves, or get what she wanted. He felt bad thinking like that, but she was always upset about something, and it bored him. She didn't give a thought to how her behaviour affected their lives, her sons' lives. And if she stopped drinking so much, maybe she wouldn't act so fucking stupid and show up herself and her family. Her breath was disgusting, sour and vicious. You could smell it from across the room sometimes, and it was rancid.

He saw her pour herself another Jack Daniel's and Coke and sighed heavily. 'Do you really need another drink, Mum?'

She mimicked him then. 'Do you really need a slap across the face, son?'

He walked out of the kitchen before he said something they both regretted. Anyway he had other things on his mind. He had made a monumental cock-up, and he wasn't sure how to sort it out. He knew he had to tell his father though – if he didn't and Phillip found out another way he would go ballistic. But the issue was how Philly would tell him, he needed some way to sweeten the pot.

As he worried about his father's reaction to this latest gaffe, he heard his mother singing along to Simply Red's 'Holding Back The Years', and knew a crying bout was on the cards. She cried at films, she cried at songs, sometimes for no reason at all she just cried. Any sympathy he had for her had long ago disintegrated.

Frankly, she just got on his fucking nerves.

Chapter Eighty

Phillip and Declan were in a favourite pub in Wapping. They had just finished a lunchtime meeting with an old mate who wanted to offload his arcades in Soho due to the recession and a very hefty tax bill he was hoping to avoid by disappearing off the face of the earth. He had a wife who was well past her sell-by date, two sons who were about as much use as a stripper in an abbey, and a girlfriend who had thighs like a Russian shot- putter's and the face of an angel. At sixty-three he felt it was time he had a bit of fun, and he was determined to get it in South America, where the dollar ruled, and the sun shone all year round.

Phillip was pleased; he had already made a few inroads into the West End, and this man's proposition confirmed that he was considered a serious player in the games world – he always got first refusal. Declan ordered them another couple of vodkas and Phillip looked around the small pub with interest. It had the usual smattering of city types and workmen which was why he liked it.

'So what do you really think, Declan?'

Declan shrugged. 'We can afford them, but they are pretty run down, and for every pound that goes in, another pound is coming out. Plus, it's a haven for the runaways; he never gets them moved on, and that can only bring trouble. From what my spies tell me, the young lads use it as a pick-up joint. But then, me and you have always known the arcades are a paedos' paradise. We've all but stamped it out on the front, but that's because we keep a wary eye out. The West End's different; it's a hunting ground for them with all the transient kids, and the free warmth attracts them like flies.'

'Well, we'll keep a few walkers on the floor – that's the best way to deal with them – and the Old Bill give us a pass because they know we make their job easier for them. Any problems with the building?'

Declan shook his head. 'The flats above are rented by prostitutes and the whole building is in need of renovation, but I think if we did the flats up as offices we'd get a much better return on them.'

'Fucking right and all, we ain't pimps.' Phillip had an abhorrence of anyone or anything to do with the sex industry; in fact, his attitude was almost Victorian. He hated it with a vengeance, and made sure they never had anything remotely to do with it. In all the years he had been married to Christine there had never been a hint of him being unfaithful to her, though no one would have blamed him if he had been. Her problems were well known and well documented. People thought he was a saint for the way he had stood by her. It was like his church-going, every Sunday come rain or shine they were all there, sitting in the front row; if Christine was indisposed Phillip still made the boys attend. It pleased Veronica no end, because that meant his father had to go as well, as did Declan and Breda. Jamsie was a regular anyway – he took Communion at five a.m., every morning, seven days a week.

Phillip was already bored and it showed; all he wanted was to do the deal and get on to the next thing on his agenda. It was what made him so successful – they did what needed to be done, and they moved on. Declan loved the excitement of it and, even though it was hard at times, constantly playing second to Phillip, he still knew how lucky he was to have the life he had. The Murphys were doing really well, all of them, and now that young

Philly was on the firm Declan had someone to mentor, someone to look out for. Phillip had more or less passed the boy on to him, told him to show him the ropes from the bottom up, and he was enjoying doing just that. He had a certain longing for children lately; seeing the boys becoming men had made him realise what he had missed out on all these years.

Trouble was, Declan still didn't want the permanent female presence that came with having a family. He liked his solitary life. He had a nice penthouse in the Docklands, he entertained as and when it suited him, and he liked living alone. Observing the marriages around him had never given him the urge to take the plunge himself. His mother had had a raw deal for years with that lazy bastard she had married, and seeing Phillip and the nut-bag that he had to contend with every day was not exactly a shining example of marital harmony either. Most of the men he mixed with juggled wives, girlfriends and one-night stands, or were caught up in affairs that, while they burned brightly, could only go the same way as their marriages at some point in the future. Men never changed, and it was a pretty safe bet that if they fucked about on one wife they would fuck about on the next. It was the nature of the beast. He thought it was best to stay on your tod, at least that way you had no one to please except yourself. Breda and him were the same in that way; she, like him, enjoyed her 'singledom' as she called it, and thought women who tied themselves to a man for life were mugs.

'I reckon we can wrap this up in an hour, Declan, and be home in time for afternoon tea!'

Declan laughed at his brother's obvious good humour. 'How's Christine?'

Phillip shrugged, the laughter gone now. 'Still the same.' He motioned for two more vodkas and then said gamely, 'I hear you're trumping that little dark-haired girl from the club.'

Declan grinned. 'You hear right. Nice girl, Bernice, clever and all.'

'Oooh, is it finally lurve!' Phillip was smiling again, he had heard already that it was love, from the bird's point of view anyway. It was the talk of the clubs – apparently she adored his brother and told everyone she came across just that. 'She's been talking you up, bruv, telling everyone how great you are. How well you treat her, how much she likes your penthouse.'

Declan could feel himself blushing, and that annoyed him.

'Oooh, Declan's doing a cherry. What's the matter with you, man, you could do worse. She's good-looking, she's willing. Knock yourself out a couple of kids with her – if you don't start soon you'll be too old to play with them.'

'Fuck off, Phil. You know my thoughts on marriage. It doesn't appeal to me.'

Phillip laughed, but it was hollow now. 'Can't say I blame you. I love my Christine, but she's fucking hard work. If I could just get her back to her old self – to how she used to be before…' He left the sentence unfinished.

'Come on, Phil, let's get going. The sooner we get this over with the better.' Declan had no intention of getting into a big conversation about Christine, because they had been over this time and time again, and there was nothing anyone could do for her. Personally, he thought that she might benefit from Phillip divorcing her, but he kept that little bit of wisdom to himself, knowing that Phillip might not appreciate the sentiment. But it was obvious to everyone around them that Christine's problem was her husband, and his problem was her. It was something that could never be resolved to the satisfaction of either of them – they were like a circle, a wedding band, they didn't know where they began, and they certainly didn't know where they were going to end. One thing he knew for certain though – with Phillip and his beliefs there would be no divorce. He was in this marriage for the duration, and he believed that he had to cope with whatever was thrown at him, because Christine was his wife, and they were married in the eyes of God. Even though their marriage was destroying her on a daily basis, they would only part in death, and that was what was so tragic