As he sipped on his brandy, and looked at his happy but tired- out wife and around his wonderful home, Phillip finally felt like he had made it. The day's events had set him back the national debt, but it had given him the opportunity to show the world just how fucking well he had done. He had seen the looks from the guests, seen the envy mixed with utter admiration for him, his family and his way of life.
Philly had been determined to marry from the farm and he wanted his reception there, whereas Phillip had wanted a top class hotel in the West End, somewhere discreet but classy. But now he was glad it had been on the farm. Because once the marquees had been erected, carpeted and hung with chandeliers, he had been able to indulge in a different kind of showing off. He had the best chefs, and they had cooked only what he grew, from the meat to the veg. That had really impressed so many people; they had thought he played at farming, he realised that now, they didn't see it for the lucrative business it actually was. No, that had been a coup really, people had not comprehended just how successful he was outside of Southend Seafront. He had shown the world that they had the one thing money could never buy: class.
And his Christine, she had looked fantastic. Really gorgeous, and everyone had remarked on it. She had stayed on water all day too, only sipping at the champagne for the toasts.
Oh, he was like a dog with six lamp posts, he was so happy. It had been a triumph for him, and now he was savouring the feeling that came with it.
'Come on, Christine, one glass of brandy won't kill you! Join me in a toast to our son and his lovely bride.'
She moved closer to him on the sofa, and nodding she said happily, 'OK. It was a lovely day, wasn't it?'
'It was a perfect day, and did you see the way everyone was looking around? We fucking showed them all right, they know the real score now.'
Christine felt a moment's sorrow for this big, ignorant lout she was married to. When he talked like this she saw the child inside him, always trying to prove that he was someone, that his family were someones. She closed her eyes and savoured the Courvoisier; he still had cheap taste in brandy, for all his expensive bottles, he still felt the Big C, as he called it, was the only brandy to drink. It wouldn't surprise her if he didn't even like it, it was just another part of his persona. He should have been an actor, because he could act the part of anything with conviction. At the moment he was the proud father, who had just seen his elder son married. But he wouldn't have thought about the happy couple once, though the speech he gave didn't reflect that – it had been amazing. All he was really interested in was what other people thought of the day, how it would have shown him in a good light. It was always about him in the end. He hugged her to him, and she could almost feel his satisfaction.
'Lot of old faces here today, Christine.'
'Yeah, Phillip, four hundred of our closest friends!'
Even he laughed at her droll delivery. 'All right, Christine, but you know me, I like people to see how well we're all doing.'
She nodded. She wasn't about to start a fight, she couldn't be bothered any more if truth be told. It was easier being nice to him, pretending everything was fine. And occasionally, like now, (and she hated admitting this, even to herself) Phillip, when he was happy and content, could be very good company. At moments like this, she could almost pretend they were young again, before she had found out the truth about her husband.
'People were impressed all right. Fucking hell, I was impressed, Phillip, and I helped arrange it!'
He laughed in delight; it was just what he needed to hear, and his Christine like this was the cherry on the cake for him.
'Did you see Mad Jack with those amuse-bouche things! Fucking hell, Christine, he looked at me and his face was so bewildered I just burst out laughing. I told him later though that you had to explain them to me the first time! He's a great man. Philly did well with that girl, she's got a bit of savvy. Reminds me of you, back in the day.'
She smiled, but she didn't answer him, she wasn't getting into any conversations that might open up old wounds. 'Your mum enjoyed herself too. She loves a show-off – she's worse than you!'
He made a wry face and she laughed.
'Probably where I get it from, eh? Timmy seemed a bit subdued. I thought he would enjoy the party more. I mean, he didn't really mix that much, or was it me imagining things?'
Christine thought about it for a few seconds before she said slowly, 'Now you come to think of it, he was very quiet. Mind you, Phillip, they are close those two. Seeing his big brother married off probably made him realise things would change between them now. Especially as Finny wants a baby soon as they can manage it.'
'You're right. I saw him up by the big barn with that horrible little fucker Philly used to knock about with, I couldn't stand him. Graham Planter – snide of the first water, him. All the Planters are the same. His father's a fucking grass, everyone knows that; you can't deal drugs like they do in full view of the Filth and not get a fucking serious talking to. He's never been nabbed once, and that tells me one thing – he's offering the Filth an alternative income. Scum. I kept me temper though, but Timmy could see I wasn't impressed. I told him last year that I didn't want Planter in the arcades. Timmy was all right about it then. He should never have found his way to the wedding reception.'
'Did you say Graham Planter?'
Phillip nodded; the memory had marred his perfect day now, and that rankled. 'Our Timmy can be a right awkward ponce at times, don't you think, Chris?'
She was nodding but thinking of nothing except the fact Graham Planter had been up by the barn. He had not been at the reception, she would have noticed him because his face was stamped on her memory. Graham Planter had shot her Philly. When everyone else had been looking at Philly's wounded body that awful night in the club she had noticed him. He was older, and he had one of those stupid flat caps pulled over his eyes like the DJs wore, but she had recognised his face. He had been Philly's childhood friend not Timmy's. So why would he have been with Timmy at the big barn? She felt sick at the thoughts that were suddenly going through her head.
'Where is Timmy anyway? Did he go back to his flat or stay here?'
Phillip frowned. 'He was drunk, so I assume he's upstairs in his old room. Why?'
She shrugged as if she wasn't that bothered. 'I just wondered, that's all.'
But the shine had gone from the day, and her nerves were once more jangling inside her body. She threw back the brandy in one gulp and then, holding her glass out for more, she said with forced joviality, 'Fuck it, Phillip, let's have a party, shall we?'
He laughed delightedly. 'Anything you want, darling, you've got it. We made history today, you and me. It was perfect, babe. Everything was just perfect.'
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five
Finoula and Phillip were at the Hilton Heathrow. They were flying to LA the next day for their honeymoon and they were both happy, tired and randy.