The Family

She was worrying herself now with her thoughts. So she did what she always did, she just pushed the troubling thoughts from her head. Philly wasn't like his father, it was Timmy who had turned out like him, in more ways than one. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't think straight. But because of her history no one thought she was acting that strange, so it was giving her a bit of an insight into how bloody weird she must have seemed to them all, especially the boys. In some ways, for years she had never felt so normal as she did now. It was as if this had kicked her into touch, made her see her life and her sons' lives for what they actually were. This had to stop, this all had to stop.

The question was, how?

As Phillip left the house to go to the big barn, and get ready for the visitors, she watched Timmy and Philly from the doorway laughing together on the drive. Her heart was in her mouth as she saw Timmy look behind him, and straight at her; he waved in a friendly manner, and then Philly did the same thing. Timmy was acting as if nothing untoward had taken place between them, but she knew, deep inside herself, he was just waiting for the opportunity to finish all this off once and for all.

As she watched Philly walking towards Old Sammy, Timmy turned so he had his back to his brother and, making a pretend gun with his hand like a child playing at cowboys and Indians, he pretended to shoot her. He was laughing as he did it, and she knew then that it had gone far enough.

She walked slowly up to her bedroom and, locking the door, she took a deep breath. Then, her heart hammering in her ears, she picked up the phone and began to dial.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine

'Hello, Breda. Oh, look at him, young Porrick Junior.'

Phillip made a big fuss of his nephew's baby, and even though Breda knew that, in actuality, he had no real interest in it she played the game. With Phillip that was often the best way. She smiled at him and walked through to the kitchen to see Christine.

'All right, Chris?'

Her sister-in-law smiled, but Breda could see she was not right, she was a bundle of nerves again, and she sighed inwardly. This was a serious bit of business tonight, and she was relying on Christine to watch the baby for her while she was out at the big barn. Trust fucking Porrick to choose tonight to take his bird for a meal and the pictures. Still, she could have refused to babysit, they wouldn't have minded, they were pretty good like that. But she had loved this child with a passion since she had first seen his little scrunched-up red face. She looked after the child as much as possible, and her son and his bird were quite happy for her to do just that.

'You seem a bit preoccupied, are you sure you're all right, mate?'

'Fucking hell, Breda, what's this – act like the Old Bill night? I'm fine, just a bit tired that's all. Give me a fucking break, will you?'

Breda was taken aback. 'All right, relax, I was only asking,

Christine. You're fine. Fuck me, I get the picture.'

She stormed from the kitchen, and Christine felt a twinge of guilt. But it didn't last, she had too much on her mind, and she hoped to God that she had done the right thing. She felt sick with apprehension and fear at what was going to happen soon. She saw Timmy looking at her, and she turned away from him.

'Have you two had a fucking row or something?' Phillip was standing in the doorway, his eyes flicking from one to the other.

Timmy shrugged as if he didn't know what his father was talking about, and Christine just shook her head. But she was pleased to see that Timmy, for all his pretence at nonchalance, was actually nervous. The knowledge gave her a thrill, and she was ashamed of herself for it. But God, it felt good to know she was affecting him; it proved he knew she might be capable of taking him down.

'Don't be silly, Phillip! What would we argue about? Don't be so fucking stupid.'

Phillip laughed at her but said seriously, 'You haven't stopped effing and blinding all day, Chris.' Turning to Timmy he said, 'And as for you….' He smiled half-heartedly before pointing his finger at him. 'You are acting like something is on your mind too. So why not cut the fucking bullshit, and tell me what's occurred? Not another fracas like last night, I hope.'

Timmy pushed past his father, but he was careful not to be too aggressive. 'I don't know what you're on about, but about Mum's swearing, I think you're spot on. She ain't stopped since this morning.'

Christine went to the huge larder and opened it. Inside it was neatly stacked with jams and chutneys, bottled fruits and veg. To her, all it represented now was the hours she had spent trying to act like a real wife, a real mother. Feed the kids, make the jams, and pretend your life was fine.

But they had needed more than sustenance – they had needed a mother who had the guts to take them away from the hurt and the anger they had been born into. In her heart of hearts though, she knew now that for Timmy it would still have been the same. He had his father's personality for, like Phillip, he only understood his own needs, and his own wants. They would always be the most important things to him.

The larder also held the household cigarette quota and, opening a carton of Marlboro Lights, she ignored her husband's questions and said instead, as normally as possible, 'What time's Declan and Jamsie getting here? Will they want feeding?'

Phillip walked into the larder with her and, shutting the door behind him, he said quietly, 'Look, Christine, I don't know what's going on here, but it all feels a bit odd. Now tell me, has Timmy upset you? Because if he has, I'll fucking knock him out. He's getting too lairy by half lately. Do you know what he did yesterday?'

She shook her head and whispered, ' 'Course I don't, what happened?'

'He only went and hammered one of my best fucking customers. Slapped him all round the fucking arcade. In full view of the other punters.' He shook his head in disbelief at his son's idiocy. 'I've told him time and time again, never lose your rag in public, and never ever let anyone see you raise your hand to anybody. That's what God created dark alleyways and fucking empty houses for. Privacy means no witnesses. Honestly, it's like he's fucking simple or something lately. You talk to him, and he's fucking miles away and, to be frank, Christine, he's getting on my wick.'

It pleased Christine that she was getting to him, that Timmy was anxious about her and what she knew. He was worried all right. Worried she would be believed. Well, if it went to plan, she would show him once and for all who was fucking stupid. She knew he had thought she was too weak, too frightened, to tell anyone what she knew. But now he wasn't so sure.

'Phillip, will you promise me something?'

He nodded. 'Of course, anything.'

'Will you keep near me and Philly tonight?'

He laughed tiredly and said in disbelief, 'You and Philly?'

She nodded. 'Yes, Phillip, me and Philly. Just promise me.'

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, and she was reminded yet again just how good-looking this man she had married was. Phillip could see she was desperate for him to tell her what she wanted to hear, so sighing heavily, he said in his best placating voice, 'If it will make you happy, darling, then I promise.' He laughed, all joking and full of mischief. 'Cross me heart and hope to die!'

She smiled back at him, playing along as she had for so many years, and realising, not for the first time, just how fucking wearing it could all be. 'Good.'

She felt better now and, going back into the kitchen, she called her elder son in and made them both a stiff drink. Sitting at the big scrubbed pine table she chatted to her son about his new home, his new wife, his new life. And so began her vigil. Phillip was as good as his word and came in and out often, giving her a conspirator's wink every time to cheer her up. She was aware that Breda was annoyed about her monopolising the men. Especially as she had to empty the holdalls containing the handguns and the sawn-off shotguns herself. Eventually though, Philly got up and excused himself from the kitchen. As Christine wandered into the large sitting room, to catch sight of Timmy sitting there calmly with Philly, she nearly walked into the coffee table. Steadying herself, she went