The Family

She realised then what poor Jamsie needed to do. This information would probably be old news to Phillip and Declan, but Jamsie sussing it would give him the kudos he craved with his brothers, and so she said to him sadly, 'Take it to Phillip, but make sure that Declan's there. They probably know anyway, but they will appreciate you putting them wise. Show them you've got your eyes open to what's really going on.'

Jamsie nodded, relieved at her words. He was nervous about looking like a ponce and he still felt an outsider in some respects, but then Phillip could do that to a body on a whim. 'I'm going round Phillip's tonight to see them about the new orders, I'll mention it then.'

Breda smiled at him, although she was under no illusions that she and Jamsie would ever really be a true part of Phillip and Declan's world. When he went she sat for a long time, trying to figure out what the fuck was really wrong with her, and why she felt so disaffected with her life. It wasn't that her life was bad in any way, it was that she felt it had nothing left to offer her. She had money, prestige, she had respect. So why did she suddenly feel as if everything she had achieved was nothing? Sighing, she went back out to the noise and bustle of the arcade floor. It was all flashing lights and the noise of money being spent, laughter was everywhere. It was undeniably a good business to be in and she told herself how lucky she was. All the same, she wondered who exactly she was trying to convince. Maybe it was the wedding, seeing Jamsie so happy, so settled, maybe she needed something permanent in her life now, before it was too late.

Chapter One Hundred

Philly was nervous, but he knew exactly what he had to do. He had no other choice, and God knew he had tried to find another way out. But where was he going to get a grand from? Two, in fact? He would have to worry about the rest of the money when he had supplied her with the first lot – that was his priority. He would sell something, but he knew his father would notice if anything went missing. He was funny like that – he might ignore his kids, but he didn't ignore their possessions. If Philly could just get the money for Tiffany he would worry about paying it back later. The sooner she got rid, the sooner he would be able to breathe in peace again. He could hear the talk from the kitchen, and knew that his father and Timmy were set for the night. It was strange really, because for all the money, and the huge house, his father still felt most comfortable in the kitchen. It was a real joke that he fought hammer and tong to make something of himself, yet deep down he still felt more at home in what was essentially a woman's domain.

Philly felt his father's haphazard neglect deeply, even though it had happened periodically throughout his life. He was either all over them like a rash, or it was like they were strangers to him. His mother had always tried to tell them that it was only because he was very busy, but he knew that was shite. His father was a nutter, and that was the long and the short of it. He thought he saw more than Timmy did. Timmy was all rugby and lashings of ginger beer. He could step outside it, go to his posh mates and hibernate from the family for a while, whereas Philly wanted, needed to be near the man who blanked him on a regular basis. He hoped every day it would change and he would be treated like the golden boy, the first-born. He had always craved his father's attention, and when he didn't get it he felt it acutely. Just thinking about it made him angry. He sat in his bedroom, biting his nails, waiting for his chance to go downstairs and do what he needed to do. He looked around him at the beautiful room he slept in when it suited him. Knew that all his mates were envious of his lifestyle. Yet he would give anything to have their lives at that moment.

He was terrified about this bloody kid, and he could kick himself for not taking proper precautions; he had ridden her bareback, and the thought of what he could have caught was driving him mad. He had to unload her and the kid soon as, then he would get himself looked at properly, buy a gross of condoms, and get himself out and about again. But first things first, he had to assemble a grand because Tiffany would want the money tout suite. She was a thieving, lying slag. And she could be a mouthy mare into the bargain. The way he felt now, he would cheerfully kick the fucking thing out of her if he had to. Anything rather than admit he had been caught out by a fucking female scoundrel with big tits and a brain like a steel trap.

He stood up. He was nervous and he was stoned. Slipping out the door he made his way along the landing. He could hear his mother in her bedroom; as always the TV was on, and he knew she would be sitting in bed drinking and watching crap.

'Is that you, Philly?'

He could hear the need in her voice and, opening her bedroom door, he popped his head round. The last thing he needed tonight was her following him all over the place, and when pissed she was capable of doing just that.

'You all right, Mum?'

Christine was sitting in bed; as always she looked like a picture, even her hair was perfect, how she did it he didn't know. But even pissed out of her brains she could still tidy up behind herself. It was surreal really. She nodded, pleased at his attention and for a split second he felt guilty – for all her faults she loved him and Timmy. Loved them too much really, had suffocated them since he could remember. One of his earliest memories was of her picking him up and kissing him, and him fighting to get away from her. Even then he had sensed the naked need in her for human contact, and he knew she wouldn't get that from his father.

'You all right, son? You seem preoccupied somehow.'

He grinned at her, his even white teeth were perfect and, winking at her, he said jauntily, 'Just tired, Mum. Granddad has me hard at it in the shops.'

She smiled, and he saw that she was still a good-looking woman. He knew a few of his mates had harboured salacious thoughts about her when they were younger. 'He's only doing the best for you, Philly. He cares about you, son.'

Suddenly, she was nearly in tears, and he knew it was time to go. She was so emotional lately, worse than usual. Like everyone else, he assumed it was her medication. Everyone referred to her pill-popping as her medication, it made it seem respectable somehow. But he knew that his joint tonight couldn't do half as much damage as the pills she ate like sweets on a daily basis.

'I love it there, Mum. Me and Granddad have a laugh together. He tells me all about when you were a little girl!' He was trying to please her, but he knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. She was shaking her head as if in denial at something, though what that was he didn't know and she wasn't saying.

'I wish you'd known me then, before…' She shrugged gently, her slim shoulders making her look frailer than ever. She got on his nerves when she was like this and, walking into the room, he went to her and kissed her on the top of her head. She smelled of Chanel perfume, cigarettes and stale vodka breath. It was a smell from his childhood and he hated it.

'Night, Mum, I have to be up in the morning now, don't I?'

She nodded vaguely. She was already miles away.

He shut the door quietly behind him and, breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped down the huge staircase his father had insisted on having built, and made his way through to the small office at the back of the house. This was his father's domain, and he knew how to get into the safe that was tucked away behind a large framed photograph of Southend Seafront. The photo showed the arcades at night, with his father, his auntie Breda and his uncle Declan standing in the foreground smiling. Breda looked like she had conquered the world. His father looked like he always did whether it was a photo or real life, he just stared at the camera with that fake smile of his. Declan looked younger and happier than he had in years. Taking the photo off the wall, Philly placed it carefully and quietly against the chair beside the desk. Then, as he went to open the safe the door opened, all hell broke loose.

'What the fuck are you doing?' His father was standing in the doorway staring at him as if he was an intruder, a stranger, not his own son. 'Are you trying to blag my safe? Nick my fucking poke?' He was shouting now, and Declan and Jamsie were already behind him, assuming he had caught someone trying to break in. Philly could see that neither of them expected the culprit to be him.

As he was dragged physically from the room, and thrown into the kitchen he felt the terror envelop him. He was bleeding, he could feel it dripping from his eyebrow, and he knew he had hit the corner of the large, scrubbed pine table. He could hear Declan's voice through the roaring in his ears.