She yawned. She was so tired, but she knew it was because of the injections they were giving her. It was nice to slip into unconsciousness, leave all her troubles behind. Now she had an even bigger worry.
'Are you listening to me, Mrs Murphy?'
The doctor's voice was irritating her, but she answered him nicely. ' 'Course I am, Doctor. Can I go and see my son now?'
He nodded. Christine Murphy was a strange woman, and he didn't like dealing with her, or that husband of hers. They thought they owned the hospital, even going so far as to take over all the family rooms – no one else got a look in. So the sooner that boy could be moved to a private facility the better, as far as he was concerned. Everyone in the hospital treated them like celebrities and, though he wouldn't say any of this out loud, thugs like these were not people he particularly wanted to have to placate on a daily basis. They behaved as though he was their own personal physician, calling him at all hours, walking into his consulting rooms as if he was a plumber or something, not a highly skilled surgeon. They had even arranged for professional cleaners to come in. MRS A was constantly on their lips, and these were people he would have assumed had trouble saying the most basic of sentences. His wife said he was a snob, but if she had to deal with people like the Murphys every day she might understand his feelings a bit more.
There were other ill people in the ICU, people who didn't live in a world where getting shot was treated as a normal occurrence. People who were ill through no fault of their own. And he would rather spend his time and energy on them than on this shower, who seemed to think that the world turned specifically for them and their cohorts.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four
Finoula was tired out, but she wouldn't sleep. She was still sitting by Philly's bed, holding his hand tightly. He looked so vulnerable lying there with all the tubes and the machines around him. He couldn't die, she wouldn't let him, and thankfully the doctors seemed to think he was over the worst. As she looked around her at the bareness of the walls, and smelled the disinfectant and the underlying scent of death that these places always seemed to have, she felt the urge to cry once more.
'Hey, Philly, I've just thought, maybe me and you could go on holiday when you're recovered. A bit of sun and sangria maybe? Nowhere too far, just a few hours away.' She was always talking to him when they were alone; it made her feel better. She had read once that the hearing was the last to go, and if he was going to go, then she wanted him to go hearing her voice. 'I love you, Philly, please wake up, please talk to me.'
Why was he still unconscious? No one seemed to know the reason for it. The doctor said it happened occasionally and it was because of the anaesthetic. But his stomach was sewn up, and he should eventually be all right if only he would come out of his coma. She laid her head on their joined hands and started to talk again.
'Timmy and that will be here soon. They always come around this time, and they bring me something to eat – not that I have any appetite, of course. But it's nice they think of me, eh? Your nan's gone home, and your mum's been in. She looks awful, bless her, but then I would be the same if it was my son.'
She wiped her eyes with her free hand, and sniffed loudly. She knew she needed to have a good blow, but she was loath to let go of his hand, and her tissues were in her handbag on the floor by the doorway.
'Stop crying, Finoula.'
She looked up then, into Philly's eyes, and saw he was looking at her.
'Oh my God! You're awake!' She was almost screaming in her excitement. Throwing her arms around him, she kissed his face and cried uncontrollably. He was awake, he was talking, and he was the love of her life. God, she knew, really was good.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five
'Now this is much more like it!'
Philly laughed at his brother's words. The private hospital was like an expensive hotel, and he thought it was great. Sky Sports, the lot. 'I bet it's costing a pretty wedge?'
Timmy grinned. 'You always have to price everything, don't you? Who cares, we can afford it.'
'Oh, don't worry, bruv, I ain't complaining.'
Finoula had left them to talk, she was good like that, and Timmy said as much. 'That Finoula was nearly out of her mind with worry, Philly, she's a fucking diamond bird.'
It was strange hearing Timmy talk at times; he spoke Mockney, like Guy Ritchie and other posh boys who thought they were Cockneys. He had always had a lovely speaking voice, and he could speak like the Queen when the fancy took him. But then Philly supposed he was the same in many respects. But he took umbrage, for some reason, at his brother referring to Finoula as a 'bird'.
'I'm marrying her, if she'll have me.'
Timmy grinned widely, he had been expecting this, they all had. 'You should, Philly, she never wavered, bless her, not once. Most girls would have been on the trot at the first whiff of cordite.'
Philly laughed, because it was true. 'Anything yet?'
Timmy shook his head in bafflement. 'Not a fucking word, it's just not possible, is it?'
Philly didn't answer his brother. That was what was bothering him so much. It was as if he had been shot by a fucking phantom and, as they all knew, that was not something that was easily accomplished. Especially not when it involved people like them. No one would be willing to do the dirty deed, it was too risky. It was like all this shit about Bantry calling people in to work the drugs in the clubs. Bantry, if he had still been alive, of course, wouldn't have touched something that high profile in a million years. That was a young man's game. Dealing was never part of their businesses. They controlled it, yeah, but they wouldn't get involved in the day-to-day, so none of it made any sense. It was the old bullshit baffles brains scenario, but he would suss it out eventually. He was missing something, they all were, it was just a matter of finding out what.
'Is Dad still dragging people out of bed at three in the morning and interrogating them?'
Timmy laughed as he said, 'No, thank fuck. He nearly found Bin Laden a couple of times in East London! He fucking went after everyone – Asian, Greek, fucking Slovakian… You name any country, and I bet he has threatened at least one of its citizens.'
Philly was roaring now; they often laughed at their father's actions, though never to his face. But Philly was pleased to know that his father was determined to get to the bottom of all of this. It was a diabolical liberty, and it was personal. Phillip Murphy would never let this one go, and neither would his elder son. It was funny, but getting shot had done Philly a lot of good, made him realise that life was for living. More than that, it had given him a personal insight into the damage a gun could do. It would definitely be his weapon of choice for the future and, like his father before him, he now believed wholeheartedly in the old adage: shoot first and ask questions later. Wipe the fuckers out, off the face of the earth, never leave anyone in a position to come back at you. Somewhere along the line, someone had been nursing a grudge, and that was why he had been singled out. He believed that his brush with death was not because of something he had done, it was payback for something his father had done in the past. Someone had waited, and they had planned, and they had eventually felt confident enough to act on their feelings.
These were thoughts he would keep to himself for a while; he would keep a close eye on exactly what came out in the next few months, and only then would he give voice to his inner thoughts. It seemed he was more like his father and brother than he had been given credit for.