Martina Cole - The Family

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.

Declan saw that Phillip had understood his warning very well.

Breda – all of them, actually – needed a little bit of respect and a little bit of encouragement sometimes.

'I love your Porrick really, you know that, Breda, and he's already asked me to be godfather to the baby, so I can only say I'm sorry, love.'

She was nodding, but even she thought Phillip was stronging it now. He hardly said two words to the boy. She appreciated the sentiment anyway. At least this would clear the air if nothing else.

If Declan knew one thing, it was that they would have to draw a line under this soon, because it was causing them to start infighting, and that could be fatal. Something like this made onlookers think, look for a chink in the family's armour, and it was a time when they needed to be seen as tighter and stronger than ever. If they weren't careful, this would become bigger than them. And there was nothing bigger, or more important than the family.

Phillip knew that, which is why he was outside the arcade trying to placate his sister. Normal service had to be resumed as soon as possible. Not that this would all be forgotten, of course, that was a given, but it had to stop being the only thing they focused on.

Christine was happier than she had been for ages. Vodka could do that, she found. It was ages since she had been on a real drink-up, and today she had decided, quite suddenly, that it had been long enough between bouts. Starting early, she had bought a half bottle of Smirnoff from the local off-licence in Leigh-on-Sea, because they didn't know her there, and she had polished that off in no time in her car. She realised with a jolt that she had left the car somewhere, but she couldn't remember where. The police would find it, they always did, and they would have it delivered to the farm. It was handy being Mrs Phillip Murphy at times. She had gone to the Wheatsheaf next, a lovely old pub, and she had downed a lot more vodka there before walking to the Three Crowns, where she sat outside looking at the sea, drinking herself even further into oblivion. She vaguely remembered getting in a cab, or being put into a cab if she was being totally honest, and ending up at the Moonraker, which was where she was now.

She was looking at her son, and wondering why she was so anxious to get home. Phillip would be annoyed; he hated it when she tried one on like this, he said he was worried about what could happen to her. But she didn't believe him, she thought it was because he couldn't control her when she was drunk. The thought made her laugh.

'What's so funny, Mum?'

'Nothing. Why, who are you, the laughing police?'

Even Timmy smiled at that.

'I want to see my Philly, take me to see my Philly!'

'Philly is at home, Mum, remember? Finoula's there with him.' He was talking to her as if she was a child, and a stupid child at that. She hated feeling like this, maudlin and depressed. She wondered if she had any pills stashed at home. She didn't think she did, but you never knew; she was always the optimist.

As they drove along, she watched her son's profile, it was dark now but, in the light of the car, he looked like his father with his pursed lips and his obvious annoyance at her condition. She knew the boys hated her drinking, but they were grown men now. Philly was getting married soon. She was a grown-up as well – if she wanted to get pissed then that was her right, surely? It was probably in the Magna Carta or something. After all, she was an adult; not that they treated her like one, of course.

She tried to justify her drunkenness. 'My son was shot like an animal in front of me, and I needed a drink today, not every day like before, but just today.'

She thought the words were very profound, and she opened her bag to get her cigarettes. Timmy didn't even bother to answer her and, as she lit her cigarette, he said quietly, 'I don't like smoking in my car, Mum, if you don't mind.'

It was the way he delivered the words that set her off. Offhand, irritated, as if she was some kind of moron he was being forced to babysit. She turned on him then. 'Don't you talk to me like that! Who the hell do you think you are? This ain't your car, it's your father's car. Like you live in his house, and you eat his food. So don't you dare talk to me like that again, boy. I've had you and your attitude up to here.' She made a chopping motion across her own throat to emphasise her point. 'All that money for private school and you haven't even got any manners.'

Timmy sighed in annoyance; she was a fucking pain when she was like this. He knew one thing – he would never marry a drinker. Finoula didn't drink, and he wondered if Philly knew how lucky he was because of that. When he thought back to this woman's antics over the years…

'You're pissed, Mum. Just put a fucking sock in it, will you?'

It wasn't just the words, it was the complete dismissal in them, as if she was nothing, a no one. But she supposed, to her sons, that is exactly what she was. After all, she had never really been there for them, always too caught up in her own problems, in her nightmare that passed as a life. But this one here, her Timmy, her baby, for him to speak to her so disrespectfully somehow made it seem so much worse. But deep inside, she knew she had no one to blame for this but herself, herself and her weakness. If only she could have taken them as far from Phillip's orbit as possible, but he would never have allowed her to do that. She should have left them there, with him, and saved her own life, because they were like him, so very like him. In every way. Phillip had made sure of that. Especially this younger son of hers.

She knew she was crying, she could hear herself, and she wished she could stop.

'I've never seen your mum pissed, is she really terrible then?'

Finoula was genuinely interested. Philly had told her about his mother's 'problems' – he'd had to since she spent so much time at the house – but, in fairness, his mum had been pretty good recently, considering.

'Not terrible, more sad. She's always suffered from a deep depression. I think it started after Timmy was born, at least that's the impression I get from me nan.'