The Family

'Do you think you'll ever find the culprit, son?'

Philly shrugged. 'I hope so. It's something I would like to know because I think shooting someone is a pretty serious action, don't you? I want to find the person who wanted me dead, Mum.'

She nodded. 'If you did find them though, you or your father or one of you lot would kill them, wouldn't you?'

He remained silent. It was the first time she had ever referred to his life in the business, and he wasn't about to get into any discussions with her about serious matters that had fuck-all to do with anyone except the people concerned. He could just imagine her face if he decided to tell her the truth about the lives they led, especially as it had already sent her into the madhouse on more than one occasion. She was a strange cove, this mother of his. The weirdest thing was that, for once, she seemed genuinely interested in what was going on; he supposed that was because she had nearly lost him. He looked at her then, sorry she had been given all this worry, and appreciative of how much it must have affected her.

'Come on, Mum, let's drop this now, eh?'

Christine smiled sadly, and he saw that she was genuinely vexed. Hugging her to him, he said loudly, 'Let's get this wedding arranged, shall we? You and Finoula will make sure it's a blinder.'

But Christine couldn't hold back her tears. She was crying now, sobbing, and he held her gently to him, wishing she wouldn't do this to him when he still felt so weak and so tired. But he understood the fright she must have experienced, and he knew it was his job, as a son, to put her mind at rest as best he could.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight

Declan was annoyed, but he knew it was a futile emotion. They had turned over every stone in the fucking Smoke, Spain and even fucking Portugal, and still there was nothing to go on. Not even a murmur.

It had been three months since the shooting, and they were no nearer to finding out any more than they had been at the beginning. Initially they had believed that they would be inundated with fucking accusations, theories, the lot. They had expected the usual nutters trying to get an old score settled by saying their mortal enemy had done it. But no. Nothing. Had he really thought they were in with a chance of naming the fucker concerned? How naive were they, thinking it would all be over in a few days? It seemed now that whoever was responsible had the nous and the clout to make people forgo a hundred grand reward. That took a serious amount of fear; most people they dealt with would grass up their own fucking grannies for a tenth of that. Even Phillip was beginning to think they would never solve this fucking mystery, and if he was getting disheartened then things were bad. But no one seemed to know anything, and that in itself was suspicious. Someone, somewhere, had to be in the know.

Breda knew what they were all thinking, so she said what was on her mind. 'Look, Phillip, your Philly is a bit of a hothead at the best of times, are you sure he ain't had a tear-up with someone and conveniently forgot about it?'

Phillip shook his head. 'Crossed my mind, don't worry, Breda, but he says no, and so do his associates. Anyway we would have heard a whisper about something like that. People talk. Stands to reason.'

She nodded. That made sense, someone would have mentioned something so obvious. 'This is fucking mental, it's like they shot the wrong person or something!'

Phillip was in absolute agreement. 'Don't think that hasn't occurred to me and all, Breda.'

Declan sighed, and wished he was anywhere else on the planet but in this office, on Southend Seafront. He said slowly and deliberately, 'Well, we're out of fucking options, Phillip. Even though it grieves me to say that, but you know the old saying, it all comes out in the wash. This will come out eventually, it's just waiting till that happens.'

Breda's mobile rang and she answered it quickly. After a brief conversation she called off and, looking at Phillip, she said tersely, 'That was Timmy. Christine's on a bender, he had a call from the Moonraker pub. They want her out by the sounds of it, in case you find out she's been served, Phillip. They've got a new barmaid by all accounts, didn't realise the score.'

Most of the pubs in Southend knew better than to serve Christine Murphy, Phillip had seen to that years ago. But she still slipped past the safety precautions occasionally. Plus, there were a lot of pubs these days that changed hands frequently thanks to the ridiculous no-smoking laws. People were going out of business hand over fist. So it was getting harder and harder to police her.

Phillip rolled his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. 'Oh for fuck's sake! This is all we fucking need. Her on a fucking tear-up around Southend Seafront.'

Breda sighed. She felt sorry for Christine a lot of the time, she thought she had been doing well, and she said as much. 'Well, be fair, Phillip, she has been good until now. I don't know if I could have coped so well had my Porrick been shot.'

Phillip was furious now and he said snidely, 'Your Porrick wouldn't even notice if he got shot. He's a fucking moron – no brain, no fucking pain, him. I hope that baby his bird's having ain't as thick as him.'

Declan saw Breda's face drain of any colour at the vitriol in her brother's voice. Standing up she said quietly, and with tears choking her voice, 'Thanks a fucking lot, Phillip! That's my boy you're talking about. Whatever he might be, he's still my son, and I love him. Just because he ain't a fucking intellectual you look down your nose at him, but he earns his wage and you know it. Still, it's always good to know where we stand with each other, ain't it?' Then she left them.

Declan looked at his brother and, standing up, he shouted in abject disbelief, 'Feel better now, Phillip? You've just hurt your sister, and not just hurt her, but embarrassed her and insulted her. Well, do you know what, mate., fuck you. Because Breda is a fucking grafter, and you should remember that before you put your fucking mouth in gear. You're a bully sometimes, because you know she can't fight you back. You know there aren't many people who can fight back where you're concerned. I thought you hated bullies, Phillip. That's what you've always said, ain't it? Now I am going to see that she's all right. You can do what you fucking like.'

When the shock of his brother's words had worn off, Phillip remembered his son years ago, when he had attacked old Donny, and he had accused him of being a bully. Yet Phillip was the bully now; he had just destroyed poor Breda for no other reason than because he felt like it. He was annoyed, so he had taken it out on her. Where was the man he had prided himself on being all those years ago? Who was known for his good manners and his care for the people around him. He had understood, at a young age, that when you did the kind of work he did, goodwill was mandatory. If the people you grew up with wished you well, and the people you employed thought you were a good person, you were on the way to untold riches. He liked that people thought he was a good person; it was all the more important to him because if they believed it, then it must be true.

Phillip ran from the office suddenly and, tearing through the packed arcade, he burst out of the front entrance into the late September sunshine. Seeing Breda and Declan standing together on the pavement by her car, he went over to them. He had to make this right, he knew that much. She was crying, and he realised for the first time ever, that Breda was not just his sister, or his colleague, she was an intrinsic part of his life, and she was one of the main reasons it ran so smoothly. She took a lot of the shit from him, and she sorted it out without complaining. He also knew that without Declan he would never survive, Declan's loyalty meant a lot to him. He was one of the only people he actually respected.

'I'm sorry, Breda, I am so fucking sorry, darling.' And he meant it, because whatever he might think inside, he knew that he was lucky to have his family around him. They were grafters, and they relied on him to an extent. But he knew that without them he couldn't run any of the businesses as well as he did now. You couldn't trust anyone like you could your own flesh and blood. So for that alone, he would make sure Breda didn't think she was unappreciated.

'I'm so fucking eaten up with my Philly, and now Christine out on another fucking bender. I daren't walk round to the pub to get her, I'll fucking lay her out the mood I'm in.'

Phillip was looking at his sister with what she saw was genuine remorse. Breda was so amazed at the turn of events, she couldn't even speak a word.