The Family

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Eileen Booth was amazed to see her daughter on her doorstep so early in the morning. 'Bloody hell, Christine, you been up all night?'

The sarcastic reference to her early morning visit was ignored. Christine followed her mother through to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine.

'Christine, it's only nine fifteen!'

Christine looked at her fleetingly and said quietly, 'I'm pregnant, Mum.'

Eileen Booth's eyes were stretched to their utmost as she said quietly, 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Christine, pour me one and all.'

As they sat at the table together, Christine wondered why she had come here. Her mother wasn't the most reliable of women when it came to keeping secrets, and suddenly she was frightened.

As if reading her daughter's mind, Eileen said earnestly, 'It'll have to go, love, and Phillip can never find out about it. You couldn't cope with a baby, and who would want to at your age! Didn't you take any precautions?'

'Obviously not, Mum, or I wouldn't be here. Now, listen to me. You can't tell a living soul. If Phillip thought I'd had an abortion he would kill me, Mum, and that ain't a joke – you know that. He would fucking lose it, and he would take me out permanently.'

Eileen Booth was sorry to hear her daughter's language, she even spoke like a criminal's wife. Even though she lived off her son-in-law's largesse, and enjoyed the proceeds, she still hated that this lovely girl of hers, who could have had the world if she wanted to, had tied herself to a thug, and for all his money and his possessions, Phillip Murphy was still just that. A vicious and violent thug. Even though Eileen would admit that she was often envious of her daughter's lifestyle, she knew exactly what it had cost Christine in more ways than one. 'You can get it done now without even telling your GP. We'll go away and do it somewhere, and I wouldn't tell a soul. Let's face it, Phillip would see me as a bigger culprit in all this than he would you.'

The truth of the statement calmed Christine down; her mother was right, he would blame her before he would blame his wife. That's what Phillip did, he cast the blame where it suited him. Her mother always looked after number one, so she wouldn't say a word to a soul for fear of reprisals. Really frightening reprisals. Phillip's Catholicism was like a mania at times. She had known him to go to Mass twice a day; he said he felt calm in church, it helped him think. She knew her husband believed he was chosen somehow, that God watched over him personally at the expense of everyone else.

Had she been married to anyone else Christine would never even consider terminating a child's life. But desperate times meant desperate measures. She couldn't do it, couldn't tie herself to her husband even tighter than she already was. She couldn't, wouldn't bring another Murphy into the world. But she believed abortion was a sin nonetheless. For all she knew this child could grow up and discover the cure for cancer, or it might bring world peace. She knew all the Catholic arguments off by heart. Now though, she was frightened this child might grow up like its father, and one of him was more than enough for the world. Still, she couldn't help saying, 'It's a mortal sin, Mum.'

Eileen laughed nastily. 'Yeah, well, it's a bit late for all that, love. You sold your soul to the devil the day you walked up the aisle with him.'

Christine refilled their glasses quickly, but her mother pushed hers away.

'Anyway, the amount you drink, that poor child is probably pickled by now, so it wouldn't be right in the head anyway. Best flushing it away, girl, and forgetting about it.'

Christine didn't answer her mother's harsh words. Her emotions were in turmoil and when she started to cry a few seconds later, she wondered if she would ever stop.

Wondered if any of it would ever stop.

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Philly was lying in the big bed next to Tiffany White. Her mum had babysat the night before so there was no rush to get up. In fact, he was enjoying just luxuriating in the smell of her, the feel of her. As he felt himself getting aroused, he heard her giggle gently. He knew she had been awake all the time. She was a prick tease, as his dad would say. He slipped inside her, groaning at the tightness and the excitement of her body. He had never had sex on tap before, and he was revelling in it. She was like a new world that had opened up, just for him.

Tiffany, for her part, saw him for what he was, a good-looking, well-heeled young bloke, whose father was a serious Face. All her dreams and all her wants had his legs wrapped around her slim waist, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

As he rolled away from her a few minutes later, she sighed happily. 'That was good, Philly.'

He loved hearing that from her; she was, after all, far more experienced than he was, which bothered him at times. But he was like his father, a realist, and he knew everyone had to learn somewhere. He felt for her though, he cared for her genuinely, and he appreciated that she would always be special to him. But he also wasn't as enamoured as he had been. He'd learned that he was more interested in the sexual aspect of Tiffany White than her intellect. In fact, her idea of a conversation was to wonder at something she had read, heard or watched about a celebrity. Thick as shit, and twice as dense as his dad would say.

But he could put up with a lot for the pleasure she brought him on a daily basis. He glanced at his watch, a very expensive Breitling, and, seeing the time, he sighed inwardly. His granddad would have his nuts. He was late for work again, though he had to give the old boy his due, he understood his situation with Tiffany much better than he would have given him credit for.

In fact, his old granddad found the whole thing hilarious, which riled Philly at times, although, on the whole, he was now closer to his granddad. They had something to talk about and he appreciated the old boy's quiet ways. In fact, he saw him in a whole new light. He knew his liaison wasn't going to be gossiped about to his granny, and then his mum. His granddad seemed to understand perfectly, and had kept it all more or less hush- hush.

'Philly love?'

'What, Tiff?' He hugged her to him tightly; her body fitted into his perfectly.

'I'm pregnant.' She was holding her breath, not sure that he would take the news as well as she hoped. But she was pregnant, and there was nothing he could do now, except stand by her or pay up for the rest of his days. The former was a pretty good option, but the latter wasn't to be sneezed at either. She had the trump card, and she knew it.

Philly, for his part, was reeling from the news. Getting her pregnant wasn't something he'd worried about after she said she was on the pill. She said they were all right. He had been fool enough to believe her. He realised now that he was what was commonly known as a prize prat. He had taken her word for it and assumed she was above this kind of skulduggery.

He now assumed she was nothing but a lying cunt.

Suddenly Tiffany looked grubby to him, used, the place smelled of a trap, not of sex. As she smiled up into his eyes, he saw the triumph in them, the knowledge that he was well and truly fucked. It occurred to him her legs had been open longer than Sainsbury's. Fuck only knew who else she had entertained there. When he thought of some of the things he had done with her! He felt the urge to vomit and escape in equal measures. He also felt the need to rip her head off and drop-kick it off the balcony. Instead he slipped out of the bed and started to get dressed.

Tiffany felt the coldness and the fear coming off him in waves, but she had been prepared for this. Once the shock wore off, he would have to sort it. The baby wasn't to blame, was it? That was her next step in the emotional blackmail. His child was snuggled inside her, and he or she would be her ticket to untold riches. Tiffany would play the long game; it wasn't the first time she had pulled this stunt, and she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

'Aren't you going to say anything, Phil?' She had the hurt voice down to a fine art.

Philly paused in the act of pulling on his jeans and, after looking at her for long moments, said icily, 'Are you