The Family

They came out to see her often, Finoula and Philly, and they respected her decision to live so far away. What more could she ask for?

Eileen and Ted burst into the room then. Both were overexcited at the birth of their first great-grandchild, and Christine stepped back, watching them all together.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Three

'It looks lovely, Veronica.'

Christine was admiring the new sofa and TV that Phillip had supplied. Veronica nodded, not interested in her home for once, and Christine followed her out to the kitchen where she was making one of her endless pots of tea.

'Isn't he gorgeous, Christine? A great-granny again! Now that makes you feel your age, I can tell you!'

Christine smiled the requisite smile, and waited for the real conversation to begin. It was only a matter of time, and, actually, she had thought it would have been sooner than this.

They were halfway through their tea when Veronica finally said sadly, 'Any news about Timmy?'

Christine shook her head. 'Not a word. He's just disappeared.'

Veronica nodded as if in agreement, but she wasn't a fool and they both knew it. 'Can I ask you something, and will you promise me you'll never repeat it to a soul?'

Christine nodded, knowing what this woman was going to say to her. 'Of course, anything.'

'Is Timmy's… disappearance…. anything to do with my Phillip?'

It spoke volumes that this woman had guessed her son had murdered his own child. But Christine made sure she looked suitably shocked – she was getting very good at it. 'What on earth makes you think that?' She sounded incredulous even to her own ears.

Veronica was looking at her now through slitted eyes and she said slowly, 'All right, have it your own way. I'll not ask again, but I'll remind you of this much – it seems funny to me you two splitting up like that, and poor Timmy on the missing list. There's a story here, and one day I'll get to the bottom of it.'

It was almost a threat, and Christine had had enough of threats and veiled accusations and all the other shite that went on in this so-called family. She leant forward in her chair and, looking into the older woman's eyes, she said quietly, but with conviction, 'Do you know something, Veronica? There's some things in life you're really better off not knowing, and this is one of them. You've spent your life protecting Phillip, but believe me when I say this, you didn't do him, or anyone around him any favours, and that includes me. If I had known all those years ago what you had bred, what you knew you had bred, what your son really was, I would have run a fucking mile and maybe saved my own son's life. Now I am going soon, and I doubt I'll be back for a long while, but I know this much: if I never see you again it will be too soon.'

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four

'Are you sure you're all right, Christine?'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, Mum, give it a rest, will you?'

Eileen didn't argue with her daughter, she just pursed her lips and waited for Christine to apologise.

'Look, Mum, I'm sorry, but I've told you over and over. I'm all right, I'm not really happy yet, but I'm getting there.'

Eileen nodded sadly. 'If they found his body… If we could bury him…'

Christine rolled her eyes to the ceiling. But her mother was mourning the loss of her grandson, and she had to remember that. Remember that not everyone knew him for what he was or, more to the point, knew what had happened to him, and why. Her mother still missed him, loved him. So why didn't she? Christine hated him more with every day that passed, yet she didn't hate his father any more. In fact she felt nothing for Phillip, nothing at all.

Ted Booth looked at his daughter and shook his head sadly. Christine knew he had guessed a lot, and that she should have listened to him all those years ago. But, as everyone finally found out, hindsight really was a wonderful thing.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five

'I appreciate this, Breda, you've always been good to me.'

'It's great to see you looking so well, to be honest. You off the drink and all?'

Christine laughed. 'Not really, but I don't drink like before. It's strange, but what happened with Timmy, it sort of straightened me out somehow. Made me see my life for what it was. I should have sorted meself out years ago.'

Breda sighed heavily. She always drove her sister-in-law to the airport. They enjoyed their private time together when they could both talk without fear, and they did just that. They talked about everything and anything.

'I know what you mean, I feel the same really. I've taken a huge step back from the businesses. I'm getting too old for it, I think. Timmy left a bad taste with us all, Christine. Not just me, but Declan and Jamsie. It's as if we knew it had gone too far. Phillip, on the other hand, he feels he should have guessed something – he's bothered about the fact he hadn't sussed it out. But then, that's Phillip, obsessed with himself as usual.' It spoke volumes that Breda could now say things like this. 'Do you know what? All I want to do is spend time with little Porrick. He more or less lives with me now. I just want to hold him close, and keep him safe from harm.'

Christine understood that, much more than even Breda realised.

'Aren't you lonely, over there on your own?' Breda asked suddenly.

Christine smiled sadly. 'I was much lonelier when I was married, Breda.' She could say that to her sister-in- law now.

Breda sighed and then said, 'I never thought of it like that, Chris, but I can see what you mean. It must have been hard over the years.'

Christine didn't answer her, she wasn't getting into any conversation like that ever again.

'Are you sure you want to do this, don't want to go straight to the airport?'

Christine shook her head. She knew exactly what she had to do.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six

Phillip was watching Christine from the kitchen doorway. She had refused to even go into the house, and it was cold and raining as she walked up to the big barn. Inside, she stood and looked around her. Nothing had changed, but then she had not expected it to.

The furnace was humming as usual, that low sound it had, and she felt the sting of tears suddenly. It was hot in there, as always, and the heat made her think of her son's last moments on this earth. Inside her head, she could hear the sounds of the boys when they were young. Their voices, childishly high, calling for their mum. She saw Timmy on his first day of school, his eyes so wide and not a scrap of fear in them. Saw him standing by the Christmas tree in his pyjamas, all excitement and curiosity at what might be wrapped up for him. And she wondered, for the thousandth time, what had changed inside him, when it had changed, or if it had always been there. This was the nearest she would have to a gravestone and, as she knew she would never come here again,