Martina Cole - The Family

'I've got a funny feeling on me that's all, Phil, it's since Philly, you know…' she trailed off.

Christine only had to mention the shooting and Phillip was immediately all husbandly concern. He understood how deeply she had been affected by it, and Phillip had always admired how much she cared. Christine knew he was fascinated by other people's emotions, and how they affected them and their everyday lives. On a basic level, he needed to observe them, so he could attempt to imitate them. It was how he had survived so long without being sussed out. So the briefest mention of Philly being shot, and he was all over her, worried it would make her ill again, make her have to go away from him again.

Christine also knew he was still puzzling over who the culprit could be, and she had nearly told him so many times in the last few weeks. But she couldn't. She was frightened – if she did tell him, she couldn't predict what he would do. Being Phillip Murphy, he would decide whether that was a sign of strength in his son, or a weakness that meant he had to obliterate him. Even though she felt he would choose Philly, with this man you could never be sure. Like King Herod, who had killed three of his own kids, Phillip had the capacity not just for great brutality, but also great kindness. He would also assume, as she had, that he was next in line for the chop. And she didn't want anything to happen to Timmy either – not because of her anyway. It was such a quandary, and it was her fault, all because of her, and a determination many years ago to best her mother. The more her mother had been against her marrying Phillip Murphy, the more determined she was to have him.

All she had wanted was to be a part of a big, happy family; well, she had got her wish – to be part of a big family anyway – for all the good that it had done her. She had married a murderer, and she had given birth to two sons, one of whom was capable of literally anything, and another one who she felt might just have a chance at a normal life because he had married Finoula. She was a sensible girl, a decent girl. Philly respected her, and the way she had acted after he had been shot had shown them that she had the staying power needed to be married to a Murphy. Christine had a terrible feeling on her that, many years ago, Veronica Murphy had thought the exact same about her where Phillip was concerned. Had seen her as his saving grace, because if he loved her so much he had to have some good in him. Philly was ruthless, yes, too caught up in his father's world, true, but he was basically a good person, a good man and, at the moment, Christine was holding on to that fact like a lifeline. She had to believe that some good had come out of her marriage or she would never rest easy again.

After all, they had to have some of her in them, didn't they? They were carried inside her, she had given them half their DNA. Had the only thing she had given them been her weakness? Her Timmy had indeed turned out to be like the spit out of his father's mouth – someone had said that to her just after he had been born, and it came back to her now. Philly, on the other hand, looked like his father, but didn't have the same mannerisms like Timmy did. Philly did have his father's utter disregard for what other people wanted or needed though; it was all business to him.

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.

'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.'