Martina Cole - The Family

Christine went to the huge larder and opened it. Inside it was neatly stacked with jams and chutneys, bottled fruits and veg. To her, all it represented now was the hours she had spent trying to act like a real wife, a real mother. Feed the kids, make the jams, and pretend your life was fine.

But they had needed more than sustenance – they had needed a mother who had the guts to take them away from the hurt and the anger they had been born into. In her heart of hearts though, she knew now that for Timmy it would still have been the same. He had his father's personality for, like Phillip, he only understood his own needs, and his own wants. They would always be the most important things to him.

The larder also held the household cigarette quota and, opening a carton of Marlboro Lights, she ignored her husband's questions and said instead, as normally as possible, 'What time's Declan and Jamsie getting here? Will they want feeding?'

Phillip walked into the larder with her and, shutting the door behind him, he said quietly, 'Look, Christine, I don't know what's going on here, but it all feels a bit odd. Now tell me, has Timmy upset you? Because if he has, I'll fucking knock him out. He's getting too lairy by half lately. Do you know what he did yesterday?'

She shook her head and whispered, ' 'Course I don't, what happened?'

'He only went and hammered one of my best fucking customers. Slapped him all round the fucking arcade. In full view of the other punters.' He shook his head in disbelief at his son's idiocy. 'I've told him time and time again, never lose your rag in public, and never ever let anyone see you raise your hand to anybody. That's what God created dark alleyways and fucking empty houses for. Privacy means no witnesses. Honestly, it's like he's fucking simple or something lately. You talk to him, and he's fucking miles away and, to be frank, Christine, he's getting on my wick.'

It pleased Christine that she was getting to him, that Timmy was anxious about her and what she knew. He was worried all right. Worried she would be believed. Well, if it went to plan, she would show him once and for all who was fucking stupid. She knew he had thought she was too weak, too frightened, to tell anyone what she knew. But now he wasn't so sure.

'Phillip, will you promise me something?'

He nodded. 'Of course, anything.'

'Will you keep near me and Philly tonight?'

He laughed tiredly and said in disbelief, 'You and Philly?'

She nodded. 'Yes, Phillip, me and Philly. Just promise me.'

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, and she was reminded yet again just how good-looking this man she had married was. Phillip could see she was desperate for him to tell her what she wanted to hear, so sighing heavily, he said in his best placating voice, 'If it will make you happy, darling, then I promise.' He laughed, all joking and full of mischief. 'Cross me heart and hope to die!'

She smiled back at him, playing along as she had for so many years, and realising, not for the first time, just how fucking wearing it could all be. 'Good.'

She felt better now and, going back into the kitchen, she called her elder son in and made them both a stiff drink. Sitting at the big scrubbed pine table she chatted to her son about his new home, his new wife, his new life. And so began her vigil. Phillip was as good as his word and came in and out often, giving her a conspirator's wink every time to cheer her up. She was aware that Breda was annoyed about her monopolising the men. Especially as she had to empty the holdalls containing the handguns and the sawn-off shotguns herself. Eventually though, Philly got up and excused himself from the kitchen. As Christine wandered into the large sitting room, to catch sight of Timmy sitting there calmly with Philly, she nearly walked into the coffee table. Steadying herself, she went over to the window and stood with her back to the room, looking out.

Breda looked at her strangely and said, 'Are you feeling all the ticket, Christine? You seem nervous.'

She turned on her then angrily. 'I'm fine, Breda. What's the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Because the mood I'm in girl, you are liable to get one.' Christine's words caused a hush in the room. She saw her husband and sons stare at her as if they had never seen her before.

This waiting was killing her. Christine was sick of this, so sick of it. Breda had been walking around with a child in one arm and a shotgun in the other, her sons were both acting as if this was normal behaviour. Her husband was obviously thinking she was out of it again, when she was saner than she had ever been in her life before, even with the pills her doctor had prescribed. She felt like she was in a play. Acting out a part. Yet this was her life.

As she saw Timmy get up and go to pull his jacket on she said loudly, 'Where do you think you're going?'

Timmy laughed as if she had made a really funny joke. 'Why, what's it got to do with you?'

Breda was watching them as if they had both gone mad.

'He's going to pick up some stuff from his flat. What's wrong with you, Mum?' Philly was genuinely perplexed; he was looking at Breda now, and they were both shaking their heads at one another, as if she was the nutter on the bus.

'He ain't going nowhere.'

Timmy had put his jacket on now, and he said tiredly, 'Why don't you go to bed, Mum, and let me get on with what I'm doing.'

But Christine knew in her heart that if she let him leave this house, he would disappear from their lives, and none of them would be safe ever again. This son of hers would never rest until he had got his own back, not only on her, but on all of them.

She had inadvertently stumbled across his real agenda, and he knew she was ready to let the secret out. He was leaving all right – leaving the family for good. But she wouldn't allow that, she was determined to make sure that he never got the chance to repeat his attempt on Philly's life. Whatever had made him like this, she would probably never know for sure, but she would protect Philly if it was the last thing she ever did.

'You can't let him leave, Philly. Where's your father?' She wanted Phillip here, wanted him nearby.

Timmy was pushing past her when Phillip walked into the room and announced, 'Declan is already at the barn, and he wants me to meet him up there. Apparently him and Jamal came in through the fields. Why the fuck would they do that? Has this whole fucking family gone funny tonight? He sounds as fucking nervous as you, Timmy.'

Philly and Breda glanced at one another again, and Christine saw that they both guessed something was going down. But looking at Breda with her grandchild in her arms, and at her Philly, who didn't know his days were numbered, she knew she had to take control of this situation now. Timmy wasn't going to go anywhere without a fight, and Breda and that poor child didn't need to be caught up in the middle of this. She had made this happen, the least she could do was see it through to the bitter end.

'You stay here with the baby, Breda, I need to talk to Declan about something. Philly, do me a favour, will you?' They were all looking at her again as if she had just grown an extra tit and was feeding a lion cub with it. 'Stay here and ring Finoula for me, me and her have a surprise for you.'

She was talking utter shite, but she was desperate to keep them there so Timmy couldn't get away. Then she saw the lights from a car coming down the drive, and she felt the tension seeping out of her. He had done it. She had trusted him and he had done it for her. So when she burst into tears of relief, Baby

Porrick joined in, only louder, and with much more energy.