Timmy sighed in annoyance; she was a fucking pain when she was like this. He knew one thing – he would never marry a drinker. Finoula didn't drink, and he wondered if Philly knew how lucky he was because of that. When he thought back to this woman's antics over the years…
'You're pissed, Mum. Just put a fucking sock in it, will you?'
It wasn't just the words, it was the complete dismissal in them, as if she was nothing, a no one. But she supposed, to her sons, that is exactly what she was. After all, she had never really been there for them, always too caught up in her own problems, in her nightmare that passed as a life. But this one here, her Timmy, her baby, for him to speak to her so disrespectfully somehow made it seem so much worse. But deep inside, she knew she had no one to blame for this but herself, herself and her weakness. If only she could have taken them as far from Phillip's orbit as possible, but he would never have allowed her to do that. She should have left them there, with him, and saved her own life, because they were like him, so very like him. In every way. Phillip had made sure of that. Especially this younger son of hers.
She knew she was crying, she could hear herself, and she wished she could stop.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty
'I've never seen your mum pissed, is she really terrible then?'
Finoula was genuinely interested. Philly had told her about his mother's 'problems' – he'd had to since she spent so much time at the house – but, in fairness, his mum had been pretty good recently, considering.
'Not terrible, more sad. She's always suffered from a deep depression. I think it started after Timmy was born, at least that's the impression I get from me nan.'
'Postnatal depression they call it, Philly.'
He shrugged in bewilderment. 'Whatever. Anyway, she goes on benders, but not that often these days. When we were kids she was out of her nut twenty-four-seven, on pills and booze. To be honest, I don't know how me dad's stuck it. In and out of rehab, it was like living with an old Amy Winehouse.' He was trying to make light of it, but Finoula could see that it hurt him.
'I like her, I think she's lonely, Philly. She always seems as if she's not really a part of anything, do you know what I mean?'
He knew exactly what she meant, and he loved her for it. She had sussed it all out, and he knew he was lucky to have someone like her, someone so understanding, and so kind.
'She don't mean any harm, Finny, but sometimes when we were kids, she was so embarrassing, pissed out of her nut, talking shite.' He started to laugh then. 'She came up the school once in odd shoes. Honest, me and Timmy nearly died, they were different colours and everything – she was so drunk the school wouldn't let her drive home again, so me dad came and got us. But she was doing her crust, effing and blinding.'
'What, your mum?' Finoula's voice was incredulous, she couldn't imagine Christine Murphy being like that, she was such a nice woman.
Philly nodded at her and said seriously, 'The drink and the pills change her, she's like a different person – it's mental to see her. She talks like a drunken road builder.'
'I hope she's all right tonight. We'll look after her, yeah?'
He nodded, hoping that his mother wasn't on one of her rants against his father. 'Everyone always talks about her when she was young, how pretty she was, how clever. To me and Timmy it's like they're talking about someone who died, because we don't remember her like that at all. See, me and Timmy, we only remember her drunk or stoned, or both. Trying to kiss and cuddle us, and all we could smell was stale breath, and vomit. That was how bad it was at times.'
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One
Timmy watched his mother as she listened at the doorway to Philly and Finoula chatting unawares. She had her hand at her throat, and her eyes screwed shut. He wondered if she realised just how much she had neglected him and Philly over the years so she could drink.
She had wandered inside while he had parked the car and called his father to see where he was. Seeing the devastation on his mother's face at what she had heard made him feel bad now, because no one should hear that about themselves, not even her.
Phillip came in just as she was opening a bottle of white wine in the kitchen and, as he opened his mouth to protest, she put the bottle down on the side and, running to him, she threw herself into his arms. As he held her close, she kept repeating over and over again, 'What have I done?'
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two
'You have what is called a gastric ulcer, Mrs Murphy, and once we get you on the medication the pain should subside greatly. You just have to take better care of yourself. Other than that, you are as well as a woman of your advanced years could expect.'
Veronica didn't like this doctor, he was an arsehole of the first water, talking to her as if she was a newspaper or something. She didn't care how much he charged, he needed to be taken down a peg. 'Is that so, Doctor? Well, let me enlighten you now. My son has paid a fecking fortune for your opinion, and my advice to you is next time you have a woman of my advanced years in your office, remember to talk to her as if she was a grown-up and not a shagging errant teenager. Because, for all your grand education, you could do with a few lessons in good manners and social interaction.'
The last bit was something Finoula had said about Gordon Brown, and Veronica felt it was a good put-down; she only hoped she had used it in the correct context.
Christine and Breda didn't laugh until they were out of the consulting room, then the two of them started to roar.
'Fucking hell, Mum, what brought that on?'
Veronica was still annoyed, but she could see the humour of the situation. 'Who the shag do these people think they are?
Talking to me as if I'm a fool. And with that eejit Phillip paying him good money. I might not be in the first flush of youth, but I'm not in me fecking dotage yet.'
Christine took Veronica's arm. 'Come on, let's get to mine. I've put a casserole in the simmering oven and it'll be ready when we get there.'
Secretly Veronica was over the moon. She had thought as they all had that it was going to be bad news, but it wasn't. God had seen fit to give her a few more years, as she had requested, and she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her. The anxiety had been keeping her up at night. An ulcer of all things! Who would have thought it? A little voice inside was telling her it wasn't even caused by worry – it was guilt. But she ignored it, just as she had been ignoring that voice for years as well.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three
'This is beautiful, Christine. Would you teach me to cook?'
Christine smiled at the wonderful girl her son had somehow managed to bag. She was lovely, really lovely, and not just in looks. She was a kind girl and so thoughtful.
"Course I will, Finny! Anything you particularly want to know how to cook? If you start with things you like it's easier. Then as time passes you go on to more complicated things.'
'Like life?'
They both laughed.
'Yeah, I suppose that's a good comparison. But you and Philly seem so happy, love, I don't think you have anything to worry about there.'
Finoula grinned, her perfect, overly white teeth looked incongruous in the early morning light that flooded the kitchen. She was like a photograph, not a real person, but Christine knew that was how girls were now. They were fighting off ageing before their twenty-fifth birthdays, and everything was about how they looked, not how they felt inside. Maybe they had the right idea. It was the whole Cheryl Cole concept and look how successful she had been! If girls nowadays had an original thought it would die in their heads of loneliness – all they cared about was being pretty. Christine knew she was being harsh, because this girl here had more than a good brain, she had the street smarts to go with it.