The Family (17 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

    Ricky Thomas was a big man in his early fifties. He had a young, new wife called Deandra - she had given him two new kids, a boy and a girl, and he had given her a lovely house, new tits and all the clothes she could buy. It was strange because they actually
did
care about one another. Deandra had been brought up on a council estate, with a piss-head for a mother and an errant father. Ricky was everything she had ever wanted in a man; he was a father, a lover and a friend and she adored him.

    'Look, Dee, Phillip Murphy can fucking whistle - he's not getting anything from me and I'm going to tell him that tonight, so stop worrying, will you?'

    'He's weird, Rick, he scares me.'

    'Well, he don't fucking scare me. I've been around the pavements a bit too long for all that old fanny and, besides, he's a businessman at heart. He'll understand I don't want to get rid and that'll be it.'

    'Everyone he falls out with either disappears, or has a bad accident - look at his fucking mate Bantry, he's like the poor relation these days. Phillip Murphy is the fucking main face of that operation.'

    'Oh, Deandra, will you put a fucking sock in it, girl, it's too early in the morning for aggravation of the ear drums. Go and help the au pair or something.'

    She laughed despite herself, he could be funny, could her Ricky. But she had a bad feeling about this business with Murphy.

    He had taken over most of the seafront in Southend; buying people out, running them away. She knew how much money there was in the games - after all, it was their livelihood - but she felt that Murphy wanted the whole thing and would stop at nothing to get it.

    Ricky lit one of the many cigars he would smoke that day; he was worried all right, but he wasn't about to let Deandra know that. Tonight he had to keep his wits about him and, in the process, stop his livelihood from slipping into Murphy's clutches. He would sit in his house, chat with his Stepford wife, who always looked like she was about to bolt from the room, and eat his grub, all the time being a jovial and congenial guest. He would then tell him in as nice a way possible that he had no intention of selling his arcades, and that there was more than enough room for the two of them. He knew Phillip Murphy had moved in on two clubs recently, and was making a play for everything on the front, even the hot-dog stalls and the fast- food outlets. It seemed he wanted to be king of the seafront. Well, Ricky was fine with that but he was not going to add his own little bit of Essex to Phillip's pile.

    He was nervous though, and that annoyed him. It wasn't in his nature - he was a big, gregarious and, sometimes, hard man. This young Phillip Murphy was an anomaly to him, part of the new breed of young Faces - all money and violence, no finesse and certainly no real intelligence. It was the nineties for fuck's sake, all that threatening and posturing went out with the ark. That was for the drug dealers and the foreign fucks, not the locals; they stuck together to make sure the new breed of eastern Europeans didn't infiltrate their patches. Phillip Murphy was a grade-A cunt, and that was his last thought on it. Unfortunately, Phillip Murphy was on his mind all that day, and Ricky knew he was playing a dangerous game with him. The only thing left was to find out who was going to be the victor.

Chapter Forty-Seven

    Declan sipped his coffee and listened to Phillip's new game plan. It amazed him that he really believed Ricky Thomas would roll over without a fight, and he said as much. 'Hang on a minute, Phil, Ricky's family have had that arcade since the nineteen twenties. It's a family business - his grandfather started it, and it's all he's ever known. I think you're being a bit premature assuming he's going to swallow without a fight.'

    Phillip listened intently to his brother, let him have his say. He was always polite with Declan, he was the one person whose opinion he was even remotely interested in. But he had made up his mind and this was made evident by his next remark. 'The thing is, Dec, I ain't giving him a choice here; he either sells to me at a decent price, or I'll get it by fair means or foul. It's what I want, it's perfect.'

    Declan sighed heavily. There was no more to say and they both knew it. It was futile labouring the point; Phillip had made his mind up and that, basically, was that. Declan felt a pang of sorrow for Ricky. He was a nice bloke, out of his league of course, but a nice fella all the same.

    'What about this place? How's the pig farming going?'

    Phillip grinned. 'Fucking lovely, we decided on Old Spot, a real English pig. Come and have a look at them, they are fucking phenomenal, Declan. Do you know pigs will eat literally anything? Bone, skull, you name it. The only thing they don't eat is the teeth of a carcass - well, they do eat them but shit them out afterwards! And the chickens are amazing. It's like watching a soap opera - one of the cockerels gives each hen a quick shag first thing every morning, randy fucker he is.'

    Declan laughed. 'How's the old boy Sammy working out?'

    Phillip was pulling on his wellies as he spoke. 'Come and have a looksee. The cottage is finished and I think it's the best digs the poor old fucker ever had. I had Sky put in for him, he's over the fucking moon. But there ain't a thing he don't know about farming or animals. He's like having me own personal Jack Hargreaves, I could listen to him for hours. I've got a couple of the lads working for him too. The kitchen garden is three times the size now, and the polytunnels are all bursting with produce. Honestly, the difference in the taste of the food is amazing. And even more amazing is that young Timmy is turning into a right Farmer Giles - he loves the land. Reckon it must be the Irish in us, eh?'

    'Farmer Giles, he got piles then!'

    They both laughed as they crossed the yard towards the new piggery. The sounds of the smallholding were wholesome and innocent, pigs snorting, hens clucking and, in the distance, the sheep were dotted about the top field; it was idyllic, it was beautiful and well looked after. Nothing was too good for Phillip's livestock. He had created an oasis for himself, they were more or less self-sufficient now, and this farm was Phillip's number one priority. He fed the whole family on his produce and he was rightly proud of that fact. He had added to the land over the years; through threats and intimidation he had taken on all the surrounding houses and fields. He was like the lord of the manor, and he took his place as the head of the community very seriously indeed.

    It was yet another facet of Phillip Murphy's weird and wonderful personality.

Chapter Forty-Eight

    Breda was tired. She had had a very late night with a young Jamaican fella with bushy dreads and arms like legs of lamb. She was sated, happy and late for a meeting.

    Breda had changed a lot in ten years. She had taken to wearing power suits and expensive shirts, and she ran the clerical side of the games enterprises, sorting out the staff, the wages and other mundane matters that Phillip saw as beneath him. She loved every second of it. She kept a beady eye on everyone, made sure no one was making any money for themselves, and the few times she had found thieving among the staff she had meted out a swift and painful retribution. She had everything she wanted really - respect (her number one priority), money (her second priority) and a job that was interesting, exciting and gave her the chance to show off her skills. Phillip was thrilled with her, and that was the main thing.

    Today though, she was having a meeting with a gun specialist who she had come across through a favourite pastime of hers: looking for men of a certain age and disposition. Her criteria were pretty basic: young, healthy, muscular and black. This particular man was called Daniel, and he was a gun runner for the Jamaican Yardies. He could get the best quality guns on the pavement for a fraction of the usual price. They were brought in quickly and safely by boat, and they were distributed with the minimum of fuss. As all the guns were preordered, there was no need to stash them, or find the buyers. It was a pretty neat little operation, and Phillip was pleased at her acumen in getting them all in on the ground floor. The Jamaicans were notoriously difficult to work with, having an inherent distrust of the white Anglo-Saxon male. Somehow Breda had inveigled herself into their world, and she fitted in perfectly where a man wouldn't have been given such a chance. She got on well with Daniel on all levels; they were two of a kind, so understood each other perfectly. The guns she procured were clean, of a superior nature, and didn't have any local bodies on them. She was selling them on for a good profit, and that was as always the bottom line with Phillip.

    She was also well in with her mother at the moment because, after all these years, she had talked Phillip into letting Jamsie be her driver. Phillip had never spoken a word to Jamsie since he grassed on Declan, had never even looked directly at him. He always removed himself from Phillip's presence as soon as he heard him enter the house. Even on Christmas Day, as soon as Phil turned up with his family, Jamsie had to go upstairs out of his sight. No one commented on it, it was surreal almost. It was stranger still because Declan had long forgiven him. But it was better than the alternative, and that was Jamsie being murdered by his brother. Jamsie hadn't touched a drink or drugs since he had came home from hospital. It was as if he didn't trust himself to be out of control; he needed to be in his right mind. Now, because of that, he was the perfect driving material, and he was grateful,
so
grateful, to be even a small part of the family firm. It was a thawing of sorts on Phillip's part, but there was still a very long way to go. Breda thought he was humouring her to please their mother but, either way, it was seen by everyone as a coup on her part, and that pleased her very much.

    These days she was a really big part of the family firm and, because of that, she had utter respect. Everyone in their orbit treated her with the reverence she felt she deserved. Like Jamsie, she had learned a valuable lesson about how best to get on in the family, and that was by listening to Phillip, taking onboard what he wanted from her, and making sure any orders were carried out to the letter. Having Declan there was an added boon. When he came home, he took up the reins with Phillip, and his presence was a much-needed buffer between them all and Phillip. Forever the voice of reason, Declan was the only person alive that Phil would even entertain being questioned by.

    All in all the Murphys' lives were good, and they could only get better. Breda couldn't be more pleased to be an integral and important part of it all.

Chapter Forty-Nine

    Veronica was thrilled to bits. The house had just been redecorated from head to foot, courtesy of Phillip and Declan, and it looked amazing. She had enjoyed the whole experience of having the decorators and carpet fitters in. Now the place resembled something from a magazine and she knew the neighbours were impressed, and that alone was enough for Veronica. People saw the esteem her kids held her in and how well they looked after her, and that meant the world to her.

    She was also pleased that poor Jamsie was driving for the family firm; that was a huge burden lifted because she had worried over the years that Phillip would hurt him one day. She knew it was only Declan who'd stopped his older brother from taking his retribution and she was grateful for that.

    'Hey, Phil, would you look at those curtains! They look like they could be in a stately home with the swags and tails. Did you ever see the fecking like of it!'

    Phil Senior sat at the new dining table that now dominated the kitchen-diner and, as usual, he had a racing paper, his fags, and a pot of tea in front of him. He didn't even look up from his perusal of
Sporting Life
as he said quickly, 'They done you proud, girl, no doubt about that.'

    'Do you remember when they were all small, Phil, and we'd struggle for a few quid? You out breaking arms for a living and me making meals out of nothing.'

    He laughed with her. 'Those were good days, Veronica, we had some good times, love. But the most important thing is that we brought up a crowd of great kids, really great kids. Our Phillip is a fucking diamond. In fairness, he's come on leaps and bounds but he still comes here every day and he hasn't forgotten where he came from.'

    This was the kind of talk Veronica loved and her husband knew it. He could spout that shit all day if it kept her happy and he frequently did. The secret with Veronica was making the family, especially Phillip, sound normal, sound like other people. Personally, he had accepted that Phillip had more than a few screws loose when he had used a nail-gun on another boy's elbow when he was fourteen. But, for all that, Phillip was Phillip and he kept them all living like kings, and that, for Phil Senior, was what really counted. He had a nice wedge delivered to him every week, they ate like frigging royalty, all the bills were taken care of, and anything Veronica wanted she only had to mention and it appeared. He drove a nice little BMW all paid for courtesy of his kids, and he knew that no one in their world would ever fall out with him - it would be more than they dared. He owed money to every bookie within a ten-mile radius, but there wasn't much chance of them asking for it - Phillip's rep made sure of that, and Declan wasn't what you would call a walkover. Life was good, all right, it had never been better.

    'Do you think Christine's looking better these days?'

    Phil Senior just stopped himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. Christine and her fucking so-called 'nerves' were all Veronica thought about. Personally he couldn't understand it; the girl had everything her heart desired, Phillip had not so much as looked at another bird since he'd married her and the boys were perfecto mondo. She had a drum that most young women could only dream of, a villa in Marbella - a big fucking villa and all, a pool, the lot. Her old man was the reigning king of the seafront, but apparently she still had her 'nerves'. Phillip had dragged that ungrateful little mare to every fucking shrink with letters after his name and they all said the same thing. She suffered from depression. Well, what that silly cunt had to be depressed about he didn't know. He wished he had her problems. Not that he would ever air those opinions out loud, of course; he made all the appropriate noises, he wouldn't queer his pitch with his Phillip for all the tea in China. But, in all honesty, Christine got on his tits; he thought she was an ungrateful little whore and, if it was left with him, he would have given her a kick up the jacksie and told her to fucking grow up.

    'She looked lovely yesterday. Them pills are miracle workers apparently, so stop worrying about her, she'll sort herself out.'

    Veronica nodded, feeling better now. 'You're right. She's looking happier I think, so that can only be good.'

    'Oh yeah, much happier, darling. I saw her smiling yesterday, a real smile and all. Not one of those weird ones she does, when she's off her box on the pills…'

    Veronica turned on him instantly. 'Don't talk about her like that! She's delicate natured. That loony of a mother is the reason she suffers from her nerves.'

    Veronica always blamed Christine's mother, the truth was too much for her to bear. That her son had destroyed that lovely little girl was what kept her up some nights, along with the fact she had talked her into staying with him. Consequently, she took a deep interest in her daughter-in-law's mental state. She knew that Christine Murphy was like a time bomb, and when she finally went off, the reverberations would be felt throughout the land.

    Phil Senior decided to retreat on this occasion, so he deftly changed the subject. 'Well, you know best, love. What time are the neighbours in for the grand showing? Are you feeding them as usual?'

    Veronica smiled brightly. 'Don't worry, there'll be plenty of food and drink to go round.'

    Phil Senior grinned then. 'I got meself a good one with you,

    Veronica. You can read me like a book.'

    They laughed easily together. 'Yeah, well, we've weathered the years, Phil, not many can say that these days, eh?'

    'That's true, my love. Now, how about making me a cup of tea and a slice of cake.'

    Veronica went about the chore happily; she was a lucky woman, and she appreciated that. If only young Christine was properly on the mend her life would be just about perfect.