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  He glanced at his watch. Breda would be arriving soon with her update on Ricky Thomas and the acquisition of his arcades. Then he was taking Christine out later. All in all, he felt he was the lucky recipient of a very good day.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Christine was manicured and blow-dried to within an inch of her life, and she knew she looked good. Not that it was going to help her now. As she drove through the gates with her elder son beside her, she felt the urge to cry.

  'He is going to go ballistic, Philly, what the fuck was you thinking of?'

  Philly was white-faced with fear; he knew he was in big trouble, very big trouble indeed. It wasn't often his father went off on one, but when he did it was always over the top and something you remembered for a long time.

  'Have you got to tell him, Mum?'

  She looked into her son's strained face and, shaking her head sadly, she said, 'They've expelled you, I think that is going to warrant an explanation of some sort, don't you? Think yourself lucky they didn't get the police involved. His car's there. Get indoors and go straight to your room - you'll know when he's been apprised of the situation, they'll hear him go off on one from the next county.'

  She watched her son run into the house and her heart broke for him. But at the same time what he had done was so awful she felt that he needed to be taught a lesson and she was going to make sure he got one.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Phillip was looking at Christine as if he had never met her before in his life. His wife, his Christine, had just informed him that his elder son had been expelled from school. Just like that. No warnings, nothing. Out the door like a fucking nothing, a nowt, and after all he had paid them bastards to educate the child.

  'Sit down, Phillip, and let me explain.'

  'Was he fighting again?'

  She shook her head quickly, wishing it was fighting, at least they knew how to cope with that.

  'Well, what then? What the fuck's he done, Chris?'

  She looked at his handsome, bewildered face and said loudly, 'He was drug dealing, fucking drug dealing at St John's, the best, most expensive school in the fucking county, run by Jesuits, and attended by the children of the great and the good.'

  Phillip was absolutely shell-shocked at her words. 'Drug dealing? My Philly? Are they sure?'

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. 'They were watching him for ages, caught him on a hidden camera in the boys' toilets. He's been selling cannabis and Es. Nice state of affairs, isn't it? All that fucking money, and for what?'

  'Did they call the Filth?'

  She shook her head. 'No, thank God, they don't want this out there any more than we do. But I was so ashamed, Phil. I mean, where's he getting it from? You'll have to find that out because he won't tell me. If people hear about this he's finished for any other school…'

  'What about Timmy, is he involved?'

  'No, that's one thing we can be pleased about. He's not involved at all.'

  Phillip finally sat down and, grabbing his wife's hands, said confidently, 'We'll nip this in the bud, Chris, I'll sort the school out, get him back there, and I'll make sure he never does anything like this again. So stop worrying, all right? We can sort this.'

  He got up and walked out into the entrance hall, bellowing loudly up the newly carved, curved staircase that was his pride and joy, 'Get your fucking arse down here now, boy!'

  For the first time ever, Christine hoped that her husband's phenomenal temper would be used to make her son realise the seriousness of what he had done. She knew he needed a short, sharp shock, and Phil was just the man to deliver it. If it made sure Philly never sold another drug in his life, she was willing to see him hospitalised if necessary. Because this was not a boyish prank, this was dangerous, adult behaviour that could one day see him put in prison. For once she was relying on her husband's volatile nature to do some kind of good, because if the boys went to the bad, she would be finished.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  'He offered you what?'

  Ricky Thomas was still reeling from the morning's events. 'He ain't offered it, Dee, that's what we've been given. The bastard certainly got his pound of flesh, and I have to swallow me knob and wipe me mouth. Nothing else I can do, darling.'

  Deandra wasn't a businesswoman, but even she knew this was a paltry sum of money, and she was upset about it; after all, this was their earn they were talking about. 'The rotten cunt, he wants to see us crawl, that's what this is all about.'

  'Breda explained that the less we took, the more Phillip was liable to forget the insult. As she pointed out, he is known for holding a grudge longer than a Freemason. She also pointed out that he has businesses in Spain and Portugal, where he could make it very difficult for us to settle there on a permanent basis. Look, it ain't all bad news. Once we sell up here we'll still have a good wedge, and we can start again with that.'

  She nodded slowly, still taking in the fact that their life, their lovely life as they had always known it, was well and truly over. 'You had to fucking get drunk, didn't you? Now look what we're left with. No money and our lives in ruins.'

  She burst into tears, and Ricky went to her; he had never felt so bad in his life before. At least he had escaped with a life of some sort, but this wasn't the time to mention that. Instead he held her as she cried and wished, like Cher, that he could turn back fucking time.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Father Theobald was not used to being interrupted by irate fathers and, as he looked at Phillip Murphy, he realised that this was not a man who could be fobbed off without what the Americans liked to call a full and frank discussion. Sighing in resignation, he offered the man a seat and then, sitting opposite him at his large antique desk, he waited for him to say his piece.

  Phillip sat down heavily. Lighting a cigarette, he slowly and deliberately blew the smoke at the old priest before saying, 'When I have said my piece I am leaving here and going straight to the police. I am telling them that my boy was offered drugs to sell by the Right Honourable Ian Halpern's son who, at sixteen, is three years older than my boy. It seems he gets the drugs from his older brother, who grows the grass himself in the grounds of Yardley Hall. I can only wonder where they get the Es from. I am also going to see my legal people about suing you, Halpern and everyone else I can think of, including the fucking Pope, because my boy is being used as the scapegoat here. I wouldn't mind, but that cunt Halpern ain't even a fucking Catholic! You must think I am a right fucking pushover, Father, if you believed I was going to swallow this lot without a fight. Well, you picked on the wrong boy here, mate. My son was forced to sell that stuff. He's thirteen years old. Thirteen! When this hits the fucking papers, I am going to tell everyone how shocked, how disgusted, and how distraught I am at this school's lack of security, lack of moral fibre, and I will explain how my boy was fitted up because we're just Irish nothings to you people. You protect the rich and the well known at the expense of the children they are exploiting. And, furthermore, you had no right to terrorise my wife - you know how fragile she is. I'll give you fucking expulsion without further ado. I'm going to take your words and shove them right back up your jacksie. I can buy and sell Halpern, the man relies on me for his daily bread. Bet you didn't know that, did you? I bailed him out two years ago, and I own the Hall - they rent it from me now. But not for long now that I know they are growing drugs on my premises. So you backed the wrong horse today, didn't you, Theobald me old china plate. You treacherous bastard, you. Now what you got to say about that, eh?'

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Christine was stoned out of her head after drinking three glasses of Chardonnay and taking two more of her pills. As Phillip walked back into the house, she was waiting expectantly in the hallway for him, her hand to her throat in a gesture of naked fear. Philly was hanging back behind her.

  Phillip smiled at her widely.
'Sorted.' He pushed his son towards the stairs. 'You get yourself up there and I'll deal with you in a minute.'

  Christine saw the boy run up the stairs as if he had the hounds of hell on his heels.

  'He's back to school tomorrow, Chris. I gave the priest a few home truths, and we came to an understanding of sorts.'

  Christine followed him into the kitchen, her face registering her shock at his words. 'What kind of home truths? You didn't threaten the priest, Phil!'

  Phillip laughed at her incredulity. 'I simply pointed out the downside of all this becoming public knowledge. Do you know what, Christine? All the money we've weighed out to that old cunt, and he looks down at us like we crawled from under a stone. Well, he had a fucking shock today. Philly's back at school tomorrow, and Halpern's boy's out and, incidentally, I have good reason to evict the slippery fucker from the Hall now. Turns out it was his boy doing the dealing - our little fella just got caught up in the crossfire. So, all in all, it was quite a productive day. Oh, there's one last thing. I'm going to be cancelling the direct debit for the school fees, because they are both going there for nix from now on.'

  Christine couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had really thought her son would be expelled and ostracised; that Phil had sorted it like this made her want to kiss him. He had saved her boy from having to change schools, make new friends, and she was so grateful to her husband at this moment, she almost loved him again.

  'Oh, Phillip, I was so worried, something like this follows a kid all their lives!'

  He grinned at her and held out his arms, and she ran into them happily, without the usual hesitation, and he kissed the top of her head. 'I said I'd sort it, Chris, and I have. Now get your glad rags on. I still have to talk to that little fucker, and remind him of the error of his ways before we go out.'

  'We'll celebrate, eh?'

  He nodded, smiling, and went upstairs to talk to his son.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Philly couldn't believe his luck; he had got a complete swerve and all because he had given his father enough ammunition to keep old man Halpern in his pocket for the rest of his days.

  As his father came into his bedroom they smiled at each other in complete accord and, winking, Phillip said quietly, 'Your mum thinks you're grounded, and we have to play along with that, OK? But now we've got a few minutes I want you to tell me how much you were shifting, and how much you were making a month.'

  Philly took a deep breath before saying carefully, 'Well, it depended really, Dad. You see, we mostly sold five-pound bags and, as it was home grown, it was bright green and plentiful. Laughing gear, the boys called it. Anyway, I averaged about sixty bags a month, and I was getting it for two quid a pop. The Es were a different matter, they varied on price by how good they were. But I suppose on a good month I could rake in about four hundred quid.'

  'What did you do with the money you collected?'

  Philly bit on his lip before replying truthfully, 'You're standing on it. That floorboard's loose, it's underneath the floor.'

  Phillip watched as his son knelt down and lifted the floorboard up. The whole space underneath was packed out with money.

  'How much is down there?'

  'Six grand.'

  Phillip could hear the pride in his son's voice and, pulling him into a gentle headlock, he held him tightly as he said laughingly, 'You are a chip off the old block, no doubt about it. But remember what I told you in the car - you could have got us all hammered for this. You never shit on your own doorstep. But this wisdom will come in time. Until then, keep your head down, your nose clean, and apply yourself to your schoolwork. OK?'

  Philly nodded happily 'What about the money?'

  Phillip shrugged. 'What about it? You earned it, it's yours. You wanted a trail bike, now you can get one.'

  'Really? Can I really?'

  'Give it a few months. You'll have to act all contrite for a while and then, when I deem it's the right time, I'll talk your mother round for you, OK? But I want good grades, and good reports, or the deal's off.'

  Philly shrugged, the living image of his father, as he said cheerfully, 'Fair enough.'

  Phillip left him a little while later, proud of his son's obvious business acumen, and thrilled that he had such a son to teach and develop in the years to come.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  'Christine looks amazing, really great, Phil.'

  Breda was genuinely happy that her sister-in-law was enjoying herself so much out on the town tonight. She worried about her at times - when she looked so down and depressed it was tragic to see her. But tonight she looked like the girl she had been years ago, before Jamsie and all that trouble.

  Phillip gave her a small breakdown of the day's events, and he grinned in delight at how obviously impressed she was with Philly's little enterprise.

  'The little fucker! Six grand! He's a chip off the old block, all right. I take it Christine thinks he's been punished big time?'

  Phillip tapped his nose sagely. 'Well, you know my Chris, the less she knows about the real world the better.'

  'Does Declan know?'

  He nodded happily 'He thinks we should bring Philly into the firm when he's a bit older. I tell you, when you find out the whole story you'll fucking freak, girl.'

  Breda was loving this Phillip, this was the Phillip everyone responded to. He was upbeat, charming, and she chose that moment to give him more good news. 'I got both the arcades for under four hundred grand, Phil, we signed this afternoon.'

  Phillip looked at her with undisguised glee. 'Oh, Breda, you have made a happy man even happier.'

  She preened at the praise, this was what she lived for. Phillip's opinion of her was more important than anything.

  'I'll tell you something else, girl, you're looking good and all - almost as good as my Christine!'

  Breda laughed. 'She is a looker, Phil, there's no doubt about that, mate.'

  Phillip was pleased that Breda wasn't jealous of Christine's obvious charms. He watched his wife as she chatted to Declan, and saw the looks she got from the men around her. She had class did his Christine, real class. In her diamonds and expensive black dress, she looked like she'd stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. She dressed like a real lady, her high-heeled Jimmy Choos made her long legs look shapelier. He had never wanted her more than at this moment.

  'We've done well, us lot, and we're just starting out really. Once I've finished we'll have the whole south coast. No one saw the potential here like I did. Look at this place, Breda, it's fucking buzzing.'

  The pride in his voice was evident, and she understood how important achieving was to him. Unlike the others, she felt the same in many respects. She craved the respect money and position could guarantee. It was like Phillip said, a lot of the old-money people were wasters, they never understood the economics of how you made your fortune, all they understood was how to spend it. Like Breda, Phillip wanted his kids to understand the actual earn, so they would appreciate how hard money was to come by in the first place. It was about making your mark, your own personal mark on the world, and that was something Declan, Breda and Phillip were determined to do. Jamsie was like their father, he would take whatever fell into his lap - he had no ambition, therefore he was worthless to them all in more ways than one.

  'It's a triumph, Phil. This place was dying on its feet until you took it over, and now it's the place to be seen. It's been heaving like this every night.'

  Phillip nodded, he was more than happy with his new investment. Kissing his sister's cheek, he pushed through the crowded bar to his wife's side and then, taking her arm gently, he led her through to the VIP bar, stopping to say hello here and there to friends and acquaintances. All were hailing him like the new king of the turf, and that is exactly how he saw himself. This was his manor now, he owned it, and if he didn't own it, he had a stake in it.

  Christine was having a great time, and that pleased him
no end; seeing her happy made it all worthwhile. When she sparkled like this there was no one in the world like her. No one could touch her. This was the girl who had ensnared him all those years ago. This was his Christine at her finest.

  In the relative quietness of the VIP bar, he kissed her on the lips. 'So what do you think, Chris? Like it?'

  He looked around him, at the newly refurbished club, and she smiled genuinely. 'It's beautiful, Phil, really fantastic. Well done.'

  She meant every word she said. For the first time in years she was seeing things from Phillip's perspective, seeing his world as it related to him. The new pills were making her old fears seem groundless somehow, and her life suddenly looked much better than she had believed it to be. Tonight she felt strong enough to venture out of her protective shell. 'Let's have a toast shall we, Phillip? To us, and a new start.'

  He went behind the bar, and opened a bottle of Cristal champagne and, pouring two glasses, he handed one to her saying, 'I only keep this in for the footballers, fucking wasters the lot of them. But they give the place a certain cachet, so I can swallow them when I have to. Now, for that toast. To us, and to our boys, our sons, both of them blinding kids with great futures ahead of them, just like their parents.'

  Christine looked into her husband's deep blue eyes and said sincerely, 'I'll drink to that.'

  She was happier than she had been in years; she knew it was a combination of the drink, the meds, and the relief at her boy being saved from expulsion. But just for a few hours she wanted her Phillip again, to feel the love of him, and remember why she had fallen for him all those years ago. If it made him happy to see her so happy, then all the better. At the end of the day she realised that whatever he was, he put them all first. When the boys had needed him he had come through for them, and that proved to her that whatever he might be, he loved them in his own way. She had been drowning in her fear of him for so many years that she hadn't seen what was staring her in the face - the fact that he would do anything for his family. She was stuck with him no matter what, so why not make the best of it? Why not do what countless other women had done for generations - see his good points, play up his kindnesses. Appreciate what she did have; a lovely home, two fantastic sons, and a man who loved her to death. All of that had to count for something? Surely?