The Family

It was what they all wanted to hear, and Philly had a sneaking admiration for his father's spin on what had been, after all, a terrible act of arrogance on his part. Phillip looked like the big benevolent employer, but Philly knew that he would climb over their dead bodies if it got him what he desired.

Back in the office Philly waited to be asked to sit, he knew the protocol by now. Phillip was still incensed at his son's behaviour, and how it reflected on him.

'You done good, kid, but I warn you, one more incident like that and you're on your own.' Phillip saw the shock on his son's face and smiled at Philly's stupidity. 'You're out next time on your arse. Fending for yourself. You've got a bit too much of my brother Jamsie in you, and I intend to make sure that gets knocked out of you sooner rather than later. Bullying is easy, anyone can be a bully. But in this game, you get on a lot better and a lot quicker by looking out for the people who handle your money on a daily basis. This is a cash business, and goodwill goes a lot further than a good hiding, remember that.'

Philly nodded.

'Now, about the drinking. I am going to arrange for you to have a blood test every week, and if I find any drugs in it, I'll brain you where you fucking lie. This wasn't about drink and we both know that, so what had you taken?'

Philly had been expecting this; he could never get one over on his father. 'I'd had an E. I was out of me brains.'

Phillip nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Drugs are for the dimlos, not for the likes of us. Drugs make you stupid, make you forget what you're doing. They make you a cunt in my book, and everyone else's. So make sure that's the last time you do anything that stupid.'

Philly nodded again, seeing his whole social life dissolving before his eyes. He was nineteen for Christ's sakes, not a little kid.

'And one last thing. You need to start treating your mother with some respect, or I'll rip your fucking head off and use it as a football. You have been acting the cunt for a while now, and I think it's about time you grew up.'

Philly didn't answer that. He honestly didn't know what to say.

Chapter Eighty-Three

'Come on, Christine, you know it makes sense.'

Christine was laughing loudly and Breda was pleased to see her so happy. They were having lunch on the seafront at a smart little fish restaurant where the food was only surpassed by the view. Christine ordered herself a large dessert; even though she didn't really want it, she knew it would please Breda. It was strange but the two women had become very close over the last few years. Since Ricky's funeral, Breda had made a point of visiting her almost daily, and they had found that in actuality they had quite a lot in common. Christine knew that Breda did what she did out of genuine caring, but she also knew that she reported back to Phillip. Phillip had been uneasy that she might talk about Ricky's murder to the doctors, but he had not realised that if she had been going to tell anyone the truth about her life, she would have done it long ago. Too many people depended on Phillip for their livelihoods, her own parents included, and she would never do anything to jeopardise them or their safety. She wouldn't trust her loving husband as far as she could throw him; he would take her father out just to get even with her. He was like God in many respects – he could be kind and loving, or he could be vengeful. She knew he saw himself as the nearest thing to God on this earth, so the simile was quite apt.

'I bet Philly's not happy, Breda, he's like his father in many ways. He worries too much about other people's opinions.'

Breda nodded in agreement. 'That's true, Chris. But I think Phillip was right to make him apologise in public. What he did was bang out of order.'

'He's a bully, he talks to me like shit half the time.'

Breda didn't answer her. She knew that Philly was ashamed of his mother, and that it made him feel guilty. But she understood the boy's dilemma in a strange way. He had his father on the one hand – a respected and well-liked man – and, on the other hand, he had a mother who was a drunk, a prescription junkie and the apple of said father's eye. She knew how hard it was for the boys.

'Shall we get another bottle of wine, Bred?'

'If you like. Jamsie's driving, bless him.'

'Has Phillip spoken to him yet?'

Breda shook her head in consternation. 'Never a once. In all these years, Chris. It's unbelievable really.'

Christine signalled for another bottle of wine and said resignedly, 'No, it ain't. You and I both know he's more than capable of worse than that.' She said the words without any malice whatsoever, as if she had finally accepted the way of her world and could live within it. It showed Breda just how far her sister-in-law had come.

'Why don't you leave him, Christine? I know he wouldn't like it, but he loves you enough to let you go. He only wants what's best for you.'

Christine grinned; her white, even teeth were expensively capped, and her make-up was as always perfect, she looked like any other rich woman who lunched their days away Except her eyes were dead, they held no real life behind them. 'Now, you and I know that he might love me, but he wouldn't let me leave him – he would see that as a failure and you know my Phillip. He doesn't cope well with failure. Poor Philly failed him with his bad behaviour and look where that got him. No, Breda, I'll never leave him, love, and when I do it'll be because one of us is in a body bag.'

Christine laughed at her own wit, but the truth of her words stayed with Breda for the rest of the day.

Chapter Eighty-Four

'You ready, Dad?'

Phillip nodded and, finishing his cup of coffee, he kissed Christine on the cheek and then stood up, yawning widely. 'You and your rugby, Tims, fuck knows where you inherited that from.'

Christine didn't even look up from her Daily Mail as she said quietly, but forcefully, 'My father – he's always loved the rugby.'

Timmy saw Phillip's jaw tighten in annoyance, and wondered why his mother had to antagonise him all the time. It was as if she had come full circle, from the timid wretch to this woman who goaded her husband at every opportunity.

'He has sat on his granddad's lap and watched it since he could first walk, Phillip. Philly was football, like your family, and Timmy was a rugby boy, like mine.'' The inference being, how could he have not known that?

'I wasn't really asking that as a question, it was more of a statement, Christine.'

She shrugged nonchalantly. 'Well, I'm glad we sorted all that out.'

Phillip threw the car keys at his son and said quietly, 'Go and get in the car. I want to talk to your mother in private for a minute.'

Timmy did as he was asked without questioning it. At seventeen he was a big lad, hence his being a rugby prop but, like his brother, he did what his father asked him without question.

When they were alone Phillip knelt down by his wife's chair and, putting his index finger under her chin, he forced her face round so he could look into her eyes. 'Now, Christine, I love you very much, but you are starting to get on my fucking nerves. If you challenge me once more in front of the boys, or anyone else come to that, I am going to get very angry indeed. Now, I'm pleased you are feeling better, and I am over the fucking moon that you are much chirpier, and chock-full of banter and chat. But one more crack like that and I'll put my hand right across your lovely face. Do you get my drift?'

Christine was shaking with suppressed anger, but she was also pleased that the fear of him wasn't paralysing her as it used to when she offended him in some way. But she knew not to push him too far; after all, this was