Martina Cole - The Family

Phillip Murphy, shaking his head in bewilderment, went to his wife and said sadly, 'What the hell is wrong with you, Christine?'

At that moment Jamsie Murphy came in the back door and, grabbing Timmy by the throat, said angrily, 'Wait till you see what I've got in my boot, you treacherous little cunt.'

As Phillip and Philly stepped towards Jamsie menacingly, their only thought to protect Timmy who was now trying desperately to break free of Jamsie's chokehold, Christine cried brokenly, 'Leave Jamsie alone! Just listen to what he's got to say.'

She was nearly hysterical with grief now, realising the enormity of what was going to happen, and knowing it was because of her. Timmy was looking at her with such hatred even Phillip was stopped in his tracks at the sight of it. It was so deep it was almost tangible.

'You fucking drunk! You're scum, Mother. Fucking filth…'

Phillip Murphy dragged his son away from his brother, all his anger at Jamsie forgotten now he was faced with his son's disrespect for the woman who had borne him. Forcing him to the ground he said angrily, 'You never, ever speak to her like that, do you hear me?' Then he hit him, and before she knew it Christine was watching her son being battered. She was nodding her head as if egging her husband on. For the first time ever, she was taking an active role in the family's penchant for violent retribution but, as yet, no one in that room except Jamsie knew why.

Jamsie went to her and, taking her gently by the arm, he pulled her to one side. 'It's all right, Christine, you did the right thing, love.'

She was nodding again; tears were still running down her face, but they were silent tears now. 'I know, Jamsie, I know. But it's still hard.'

Phillip had stopped punching Timmy and, standing up, he looked from his wife, to his brother, to his son. Timmy was just lying there, looking at them all, no emotion showing on his face, nothing. Then he turned to his father and said laughingly, 'I was this far -' he held his finger and thumb about an inch apart – 'this far from taking you and him out. But I tell you now, Mum, I don't regret a second of it. I just wish I'd taken you out years ago. Because you're nothing, you're just a drunken fucking no one, who let him rule all our fucking lives.'

Phillip was amazed at the diatribe, and even he was loath to ask what it was about, but he couldn't help himself. 'Right, I've just about had fucking enough of this shit. What the fuck is going on here, people?'

Philly and Breda were watching it all like a nightmare they had accidentally stumbled into, even Baby Porrick had quietened down as if interested in finding out what the hell was actually going on.

Christine exploded angrily, and with utter credibility, 'For crying out loud, Breda, will you take that child from the room? He doesn't need to see any of this!'

Breda, for the first time ever, did as she was asked without an argument. She had a feeling that whatever this was about, she didn't want to know, and she certainly didn't want to get involved.

Christine looked at her husband and, nodding her head towards her brother-in-law, she said with conviction, and searing clarity, 'Now then, Phillip. You better listen to what Jamsie has to say, and you, Philly, had better get Graham Planter out of the boot of Jamsie's car.'

For once, to her amazement, they did exactly as she asked.

Christine was sitting on the sofa in the semi-darkness, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, when she finally heard the back door open, and footsteps walking across the kitchen flags. She looked at the doorway, and saw the figure of her husband standing there. Even in the half light she could see the devastation on his handsome face.

'Is it over?'

He knew exactly what she meant, and he nodded.

'In the furnace, is he?'

He nodded again, almost imperceptibly.

They were both quiet for long moments, and she knew there had been a subtle shifting in their positions in the last few hours. Phillip had not imagined anything like this could ever happen, it was beyond his comprehension really. She knew he would not see it all for what it was, that Timmy had turned out just like him, and had acted just as he would have acted had he been in his position. Timmy had learned subterfuge and treachery at the knee of the master, but Phillip would see this as someone else's fault, mainly Timmy's.

'Are you all right?'

She nodded in the darkness, then, leaning over, she turned on the lamp nearest her. Its light was as unexpected as it was brilliant. She saw her beautiful room, the antiques, the expensive carpets and curtains. Saw the beauty of her surroundings, as if for the first time, knowing she had made it all so lovely to cover up the muck and the filth that it represented.

'Do you want another drink?'

She sighed. As bad as it was, she also felt as if she had finally shrugged off some of the fear that she had lived with for so long. 'Yeah, why not.'

He poured them both drinks and, as he handed her the glass, she saw the bruises on his hands and the blood that he had not bothered to rinse off properly. She knew then that her son had not died an easy death, and yet at this moment she didn't care. She felt nothing, but this feeling of numbness would eventually pass, and then it would hit her like a ton of shit.

'I still can't believe it, Christine.' And he couldn't, she knew that.

'I am leaving you, Phillip. I should have left years ago. I can't live like this any longer. You got what you wanted, you finally made me a part of all this whether I wanted it or not.' She gestured around the room to emphasise her point. 'I had to choose between my sons, and I did what I thought was right. I know I was right, I know I was. Even though this will all haunt me for the rest of my days. But I am leaving you, Phillip, and if that means I end up in the furnace, then so be it.'

It was a good few minutes before Phillip answered her. She was holding her breath in anticipation of his words, and they surprised her when they finally came.

'Where do you want to go?'

She knew what it had cost him to say that and, as much as she hated him at times, she felt a small spark of sorrow for him, because she knew more than anyone what it had taken for him to utter them.

She shrugged. 'I don't care, Phillip. Anywhere. Spain maybe.'

He nodded. 'Do you want the farm? You can have it, Christine, you deserve it.'

She shook her head, and sipped deeply at her drink. It was seventy-year-old Scotch, and she wondered at how she could gulp it down and still feel as sober as a judge. But she supposed murder could do that to a person. She was probably still in shock.

'You keep it all, Phillip. I never want to see this place again, to be perfectly honest.'

'You can have whatever you want, Christine. I'll be generous. I suppose I owe you. I certainly owe you my life, and that's a big debt.'

'You owe me Philly's life and all. God love him, I bet he's devastated.'

'Well, put it this way, he ain't exactly celebrating, if you know what I mean.' Phillip tried to laugh it off, but even he was having trouble accepting what had happened.

Christine placed her drink on the table and, getting up, she straightened her clothes. She could feel her husband's eyes watching her every move. 'I'm off then. I've packed a bag, I'm going to me mum's.'

He nodded, and she knew he would let her go now. He had no power over her any longer. She was leaving.

'I love you, Christine, remember that.'

She looked down at him then and, smiling gently, she said frankly, 'No, you don't, Phillip, you never did. You don't know what love means and neither did our Timmy. But Philly does, so you can do me one last thing – promise me you won't take that away from him.'