'He's been with the doctor, Mum, for ages, he's really worried about you.'
She nodded. 'Get yourselves home. Go on. I'm fine, really. I just need to sleep.'
They were gone within five minutes. Once she was sure it was safe, she opened the bedside drawer. She pulled out her handbag, which she had made sure came with her in the ambulance, and, unzipping the side pocket, she put her hand inside quickly.
'Looking for this, Chris?'
She jumped in fright at her husband's voice and, turning, she saw him standing in front of the closed door, a small antique silver hip flask in his hand. He was holding it up in front of his face like a prize he had just been given.
'Fucking hell, Chris, you must need a drink badly, love. Do you think you might have a problem, darling?'
He was mocking her, and she knew that whatever game he was playing now, he'd already won. She started to cry, a deep, raw crying that once started wouldn't stop. She could feel her whole body shaking with the pain inside her. She had snot running down her nose, hanging in loose tendrils and, as she attempted to wipe it away, she felt Phillip's arms go around her, and he was holding her tightly to him. Pushing his face into her hair, and she realised suddenly that he was crying too. Phillip was crying his eyes out, and the sound of it was terrifying to her.
'Our baby's gone, Christine, but we'll get past this. I've booked you into rehab. The doctors here think it's the best thing for you, and so do I, love. You'll come out as good as new. No drink in you, no tranquillisers, and definitely no fucking Ketamine.'
He knew, and the knowledge made her aware of his power once more. He really was like God, he knew everything.
She couldn't wait to go to rehab, and get away from him for a while at least.
Chapter One Hundred and Three
'I miss Mum, don't you, Philly?'
Philly shrugged. He did and he didn't, he just hoped the rehab worked this time. 'I suppose so.'
'What's Granddad like to work for?'
Philly shrugged and, smiling, he said, 'All right really, you'll be fine.' He nearly warned him about good-looking birds with big tits, and the want of a wage coming in, but he didn't. His brother wasn't like him.
Timmy wasn't so sure. He didn't really want to be in the family businesses. He wanted to get a proper job, but his father had suddenly decided that he needed his boys by his side, working their way up through the ranks, learning the ropes, as he called it. Now Philly was working in the arcades, a proper position as well, with a good wage. Philly liked it all, but Timmy didn't. He didn't want to work in the shops, he wanted to be an accountant or something. He liked numbers, and the prospect of a nice office and a good wage was appealing.
As if reading his mind, Philly said gently, 'You'll get used to it, mate and, like the old man says, this is all going to be ours one day, so we best find out how to run it.'
Timmy agreed but, unlike his brother, he didn't care whether he inherited all this or not. He couldn't wait to get away from here if he was honest. It had destroyed his mother, and he wouldn't be surprised if one day it destroyed the rest of them.
It was a facade – the big farm, the easy living, the money, cars and the knowledge that it all came from the rob. It didn't matter how much his father talked the talk, he was still a violent thug, and all the posh houses and expensive cars couldn't hide that fact.
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Phillip was dressed in a dark suit and a pristine white shirt. He looked good and he knew it; he had been collecting admiring glances from women all day, and he had been enjoying them.
As he turned into the driveway of Billy Bantry's house, he was smiling and happy. He was relieved that Christine was away; after the news from the doctors that she'd taken Ketamine and losing the baby, he knew it was in their best interests to put some distance between them. But, as he told himself, she was a piss-head, and piss-heads weren't rational human beings. They were idiots who allowed a substance to rule their lives. So he had to find it in his heart to forgive her for fucking up his baby. His little child, a girl he reckoned. He would have liked a daughter, all men should have a daughter. The child was already dead inside her, didn't have a chance at life.
As he pulled up outside Billy's house he wondered why he still lived so modestly, but that was Billy for you, always frightened to spend a pound. The old joke about Billy was that the fucking Queen herself came to the opening of his wallet. He was one mean ponce.
He waited until Billy came out of the house and jumped into the passenger seat beside him.
'All right, Phillip?'
Phillip nodded and grinned. 'Course I am, I'm always good.'
It was a statement, and he wholeheartedly believed it. Billy
Bantry was used to Phillip talking this kind of shite, it went over his head like a giraffe's fart.
'Where we off to?'
Phillip grinned, it never ceased to amaze him that people were so trusting, he would lay money this fucking ice cream wasn't even tooled up. He was dealing with retards, had been for years, so no wonder he had tucked them up so easily. 'I thought we'd go to mine, Bill. It's quiet there.'
Billy nodded agreeably; he loved Phillip's farm, and always left with a bag of good meat and veg. Phillip Murphy was a lot of things, but mean wasn't one of them. 'Where's Declan today, then?'
Phillip shrugged. 'Busy. You know him – like Breda, if they ain't got a problem they think they're hard done by.'
Billy laughed out loud at the truth of the statement, but he had heard a whisper that all wasn't well these days in the Murphy camp. Of course, Phillip's wife had been carted off again, so that had to hurt. She was mad as a fucking hatter, and who wouldn't be, married to this bloke? That was some of the gossip from the women in their lives; women saw more than men, it was a natural thing inherited from their mothers. Personally, he thought it was so they could all grow up to be perfect mother-in-laws, ferreting out information. His old woman knew far more than he did about the home lives of men he had known all his life. Women talked, that's why a wise man never told his old woman anything of importance. They couldn't keep it to themselves, it was a genetic compulsion with them. You only had to look at a woman's phone bill, and that told you all you needed to know.
'So what do you think about the new moves on Piper's part, Phillip?'
Phillip didn't answer him, instead he changed the subject quickly, saying, 'What are you doing on Saturday night? I was thinking about getting the boys together for a drink up at one of the clubs. It's been ages since we all had a boys' night out, and I want to introduce my lads round, you know.'
Billy nodded enthusiastically, he loved a good piss-up. 'Sounds good. Where and when?'
Phillip laughed at Billy's obvious pleasure; he was all the happier because as always Phillip would make sure no one spent a penny. As they turned into the farm Phillip felt a thrill as he surveyed what he owned; the vastness of his land, and the beauty of his surroundings. No one could touch him, no one. As everyone was going to find out very soon.
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Breda felt sad, but she knew she had to try and cheer herself up for her sister-in-law's sake. Her mother, as always, looked uncomfortable – mental hospitals did that to her. But this place was lovely, cost a fortune by all
