Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six
'Are you sure, Finoula? I mean, love, he's just been shot. Remember that – you could have been burying him, and been left with a couple of kids all on your own. Not that I'm saying a word against him, mind, he's a lovely lad. But I want you to be sure about what you're taking on.'
Finoula loved her dad, but he was a worry-guts at times. 'I understand what you're saying, Dad, but I love him, and I want to marry him. This has just made us both realise how much we want to be together.'
Jack McCormack nodded, it was what he had expected. But, as her father, he needed to say what he had said. One thing was for sure – if the boy had died and left her a widow, she would never have wanted for anything, and that counted for a lot in his world.
'Then you've got my blessing. Congratulations, Finny. He's a good one, even with a belly like a tea strainer.'
Mary Mac was pleased too; she had always liked Veronica Murphy, and the two women would enjoy sharing a marriage like this.
'So when is the happy day?'
Finoula shrugged. 'Soon, Dad. Philly wants you and Mum to come in the hospital and talk it all over with his mum and dad.'
Mad Jack grinned. 'Come here, and give your old dad a kiss.'
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven
'I think she's a wonderful girl, Philly, and you'll both be very happy, I know it.'
'Thanks, Mum.' He knew she meant every word she said. It was funny but her and Finoula got on like a house on fire, which was strange in a way because a lot of people didn't really get his mum. She could come across as a bit odd. But Finoula seemed to understand her, and she treated her with the utmost respect.
'How are you feeling, son, really?'
Christine asked the same thing ten times a visit, and he answered with the same words. 'I'm fine, Mum, truly. Now stop dwelling on it.'
She didn't answer him, she knew he wouldn't tell her anything of import, none of them ever did. She was like a child as far as they were concerned, not to be worried with trivialities. But she knew who did it, and the knowledge frightened her. It wasn't so much what she had seen that was bothering her now, it was what it meant for all of them.
'Do you think you'll ever find the culprit, son?'
Philly shrugged. 'I hope so. It's something I would like to know because I think shooting someone is a pretty serious action, don't you? I want to find the person who wanted me dead, Mum.'
She nodded. 'If you did find them though, you or your father or one of you lot would kill them, wouldn't you?'
He remained silent. It was the first time she had ever referred to his life in the business, and he wasn't about to get into any discussions with her about serious matters that had fuck-all to do with anyone except the people concerned. He could just imagine her face if he decided to tell her the truth about the lives they led, especially as it had already sent her into the madhouse on more than one occasion. She was a strange cove, this mother of his. The weirdest thing was that, for once, she seemed genuinely interested in what was going on; he supposed that was because she had nearly lost him. He looked at her then, sorry she had been given all this worry, and appreciative of how much it must have affected her.
'Come on, Mum, let's drop this now, eh?'
Christine smiled sadly, and he saw that she was genuinely vexed. Hugging her to him, he said loudly, 'Let's get this wedding arranged, shall we? You and Finoula will make sure it's a blinder.'
But Christine couldn't hold back her tears. She was crying now, sobbing, and he held her gently to him, wishing she wouldn't do this to him when he still felt so weak and so tired. But he understood the fright she must have experienced, and he knew it was his job, as a son, to put her mind at rest as best he could.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight
Declan was annoyed, but he knew it was a futile emotion. They had turned over every stone in the fucking Smoke, Spain and even fucking Portugal, and still there was nothing to go on. Not even a murmur.
It had been three months since the shooting, and they were no nearer to finding out any more than they had been at the beginning. Initially they had believed that they would be inundated with fucking accusations, theories, the lot. They had expected the usual nutters trying to get an old score settled by saying their mortal enemy had done it. But no. Nothing. Had he really thought they were in with a chance of naming the fucker concerned? How naive were they, thinking it would all be over in a few days? It seemed now that whoever was responsible had the nous and the clout to make people forgo a hundred grand reward. That took a serious amount of fear; most people they dealt with would grass up their own fucking grannies for a tenth of that. Even Phillip was beginning to think they would never solve this fucking mystery, and if he was getting disheartened then things were bad. But no one seemed to know anything, and that in itself was suspicious. Someone, somewhere, had to be in the know.
Breda knew what they were all thinking, so she said what was on her mind. 'Look, Phillip, your Philly is a bit of a hothead at the best of times, are you sure he ain't had a tear-up with someone and conveniently forgot about it?'
Phillip shook his head. 'Crossed my mind, don't worry, Breda, but he says no, and so do his associates. Anyway we would have heard a whisper about something like that. People talk. Stands to reason.'
She nodded. That made sense, someone would have mentioned something so obvious. 'This is fucking mental, it's like they shot the wrong person or something!'
Phillip was in absolute agreement. 'Don't think that hasn't occurred to me and all, Breda.'
Declan sighed, and wished he was anywhere else on the planet but in this office, on Southend Seafront. He said slowly and deliberately, 'Well, we're out of fucking options, Phillip. Even though it grieves me to say that, but you know the old saying, it all comes out in the wash. This will come out eventually, it's just waiting till that happens.'
Breda's mobile rang and she answered it quickly. After a brief conversation she called off and, looking at Phillip, she said tersely, 'That was Timmy. Christine's on a bender, he had a call from the Moonraker pub. They want her out by the sounds of it, in case you find out she's been served, Phillip. They've got a new barmaid by all accounts, didn't realise the score.'
Most of the pubs in Southend knew better than to serve Christine Murphy, Phillip had seen to that years ago. But she still slipped past the safety precautions occasionally. Plus, there were a lot of pubs these days that changed hands frequently thanks to the ridiculous no-smoking laws. People were going out of business hand over fist. So it was getting harder and harder to police her.
Phillip rolled his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. 'Oh for fuck's sake! This is all we fucking need. Her on a fucking tear-up around Southend Seafront.'
Breda sighed. She felt sorry for Christine a lot of the time, she thought she had been doing well, and she said as much. 'Well, be fair, Phillip, she has been good until now. I don't know if I could have coped so well had my Porrick been shot.'
Phillip was furious now and he said snidely, 'Your Porrick wouldn't even notice if he got shot. He's a fucking moron – no brain, no fucking pain, him. I hope that baby his bird's having ain't as thick as him.'
Declan saw Breda's face drain of any colour at the vitriol in her brother's voice. Standing up she said quietly, and with tears choking her voice, 'Thanks a fucking lot, Phillip! That's my boy you're talking about. Whatever he might be, he's still my son, and I love him. Just because he ain't a fucking intellectual you look down your nose at him, but he earns his wage and you know it. Still, it's always good to know where we stand with each other, ain't it?' Then she left them.