The Family

then, as Philly always said, he wasn't exactly after riveting conversation.

'You'll meet her tonight anyway, Dad, she's coming to the club.'

'I think I had better be there then, don't you?'

At that moment Christine walked into the kitchen and, smiling at her, Phillip said, 'Fancy coming to the club with us tonight? Philly's bringing his bird. According to Timmy, he's on a love job.'

Christine laughed in delight, and both her husband and son noticed how young and pretty she looked. 'Oh yeah, count me in!'

Phillip was thrilled, he loved it when she was upbeat like this. She didn't drink too much these days, except for the occasional bender, and they were fucking outrageous. She still depended on her prescription meds though. But she was happier, and that was the main thing. She reminded Phillip at times of himself, she pretended she was happy, she played a role and, like him, she had found it made life easier not just for her, but for everyone around her. He pulled her on to his lap and kissed her thick, luscious hair. She smelled good these days – the stale breath was gone, though the vacant stare still lingered at times. But it was all a matter of how you perceived things, and he always looked for the best where this woman was concerned. He loved her, and it seemed that these days, she actually loved him back.

'Fancy our Philly on a love job!' He was laughing with his wife, and that in itself was still a minor miracle. 'What's her name?'

'Finoula McCormack.'

Phillip was astounded. 'No relation to Mad Jack McCormack, I hope?'

Timmy laughed excitedly. 'Yep, his youngest daughter, and she is a stunner. I can't take that away from her.'

'Fucking hell, he can pick them can our Philly. I remember seeing Jack fight – always worth a bet, him, he was the nuts in his day. Him and Roy Shaw were the best. Fucking unbelievable strength those old boys had. You throw Jack or Roy in their heydays into a cage now and this new breed of fighters would run a fucking mile.'

Timmy nodded his agreement; he had met a lot of the bareknuckle fighters with his dad. It was an exciting sport, but if he was honest he was a cage-fighting boy at heart. It was all to do with age, he supposed. Not that he would point that out to his father – he was far too polite.

'Finoula's a good Irish name, that'll please your mother anyway. She'll be a good Catholic girl!' Christine joined in.

'Fucking hell, never thought of that! They don't come more Irish than Mad Jack. Like the old man's family, Cork men. Hard bastards and all.'

Timmy was laughing again, a deep, friendly chuckle that belied the dangerous man he was becoming. 'I don't know about good. She's been around the track more times than a fucking lurcher.'

Christine sat up straight and said primly, 'That's enough of that kind of talk, thank you very much. After all, if a man has a few girls he's just called a lad. There's such a thing as equal rights, you know.'

Phillip was irritated by that. 'Not where women are concerned there ain't. A bird who puts it about is still classed as a rogue, and should be treated with the utmost suspicion, especially if she wants to get into my family.'

Christine didn't even bother answering, sometimes his double standards were so outrageous she could scream. So, as always when faced with this kind of conversation, she tactfully changed the subject. It made life easier for everyone. 'How about you, Timmy, you bringing anyone tonight'

He shrugged. 'I might, Mum, but don't marry me off just yet, I'm only twenty- two.'

She smiled at this handsome son of hers. 'Well, if we're all going out on the town, I'd better get me hair done.'

She jumped up and bustled from the room. When she was out of his sight, Phillip felt a familiar moment's panic. He couldn't imagine a world without her in it, she made his life what it was. Perfect.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four

Finoula McCormack was beautiful and, boy, did she know it.

She had long, naturally blond hair and deeply blue eyes, her bone structure was like a young Marilyn Monroe's, and she had the high-breasted slim figure that was peculiar to the women of Cork. Cork women were either amazons, or tiny little birds of women – there was never a happy medium. She had her mother's looks, and her mother's height. She also had her father's feisty disposition. It was a wonderful combination. She was funny, enigmatic, and not as thick as she looked; in fact, she had a quick, agile mind and she was after a decent bloke with a decent earn who could give her a bit more than the average Joe. She was determined not to end up in a bought council house fighting to raise her kids; she was going to make something of her life, and her future kids' lives. She knew her worth; her looks wouldn't last for ever, so she was determined to get what she wanted sooner rather than later. She also wanted someone she loved, not just for what they could give her.

Philly Murphy was all these things rolled into one man, and she cared about him deeply; she wanted his wedding ring and his kids, in that order. She wanted the big church wedding, and the house with the electric gates and a swimming pool. They shared the same dreams, and that was one of the reasons they got on so well. He was even letting her finally meet his family. She already knew of them of course, everyone did, and her mum and his nan were great mates, she saw her sometimes at church. But she came from pretty good stock in that way herself. Mad Jack wasn't exactly a mug, and she knew he was very well thought of by Philly's dad; he had come enough times to see her father fight over the years. They were mates, so she had the appropriate in should she need it.

She was excited about tonight, it was the first time Philly had taken her to one of their clubs. They normally went out to other places, neutral places in Romford or up town to the West End. She wanted to look her best, and show Philly that she was someone he could be proud of and, more importantly, that she was someone who could fit in with his family.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

'You sure you're all right, Mum?'

Veronica nodded, but she wasn't, she felt terrible.

'Listen, let me get the quack out.' Breda wasn't buying her mother's lies.

Veronica was already holding her hand palm up. 'No! Now stop keeping on about it. I'm under the weather that's all.' But she knew it was more than that, she just wasn't interested in what it might be. Veronica never went to the doctor, ever. They never told you anything you wanted to hear, it was all doom and gloom. Christ knew she was happy enough in ignorance.

'He'll find out what's wrong with you, and once he knows that he can treat you accordingly,' Breda persisted.

Veronica could hear the worry in her daughter's voice, and smiling now, secretly pleased at her daughter's concern, she said, 'Would you feck off, and leave me be. I'm not a spring chicken any more. Jesus, I won't be seeing sixty again, I'm just getting older, slowing down. You'll be the same one day and I hope that Porrick isn't scalding the heart out of you with constant questions.'

Breda sighed heavily. It was worrying seeing Veronica so thin and weak looking. She still cooked for them all, but it wiped her out these days. Breda had arranged for a cleaner to come in three times a week now the heavy work was getting too much for Veronica. There had been absolute murders when she had first arrived, but now her mother was thrilled with her. She was a lovely Polish girl, very willing, and very polite; she was also a good Catholic and she attended the same church as them, so that was really the deciding factor. But she also kept the place immaculate and, where her mother was concerned, that was the second most important thing. Breda knew her father was glad to get out of the house these days, it was as if the weaker Veronica got, the more frightened