Christine looked at her mother and marvelled at the woman's hypocrisy and her complete lack of loyalty, not just to her, but towards her future son-in-law. Phillip had made sure that her dad's shop was finally paying off. Her mother would be enjoying the benefits of his interference, of his putting money in their pockets. She had previously acted like she was, if not exactly pleased about their relationship, willing to accept it. Her duplicity was too much for Christine to bear. The fact that her words were a bit too close for comfort didn't help either.
'We're getting married, Mum, but I need your consent to do that. We love each other and we're going to make something of ourselves, whatever you might think to the contrary. Now, I have come round here to ask you to sign the papers. If you don't sign them, then my Phillip will be forced to come round here himself and, believe me, Mum, he won't be as amenable as I am, do you get my drift?'
Christine could see the fear that her words had caused, could feel her mother's discomfort and, despite herself, she found herself actually enjoying it. The two-faced old bitch was finally getting her comeuppance.
'Are you threatening me, Christine, your own mother?' Eileen's voice was low, almost inaudible, as she realised that her daughter now held all the cards, was the stronger of the two, and all through her liaison with Phillip Murphy.
'I'm not threatening you, Mum, I'm just stating a fact.'
'Well.' Eileen shrugged, resigned to her daughter's fate. 'You know what they say don't you, Christine? Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.'
Christine grinned then, and for the first time she felt superior to this woman. Placing the papers that would allow her to get married on the kitchen table, she said happily, 'I've got exactly what I asked for, Mum – I got away from you, didn't I?'
Eileen sighed. Seeing her husband's signature already there she swallowed back the urge to cry, and said brightly, 'Well, whatever you might think of me, Christine, I only ever wanted what was best for you. One day you will understand that. When that baby you're carrying comes into the world, you'll finally understand why I was like I was. You always want better for your kids, better than you had. It's called being a mother.'
She turned away from her daughter, and busied herself making a pot of tea. Christine watched her quietly, saw the drooping of her shoulders, heard the defeat in her voice, and wished with all her heart that things could have been different. Her mother was an avaricious, demanding and deeply unhappy woman; this, coupled with her snobbery and her unwavering belief that she was better than everyone around her, had guaranteed that she would always be incapable of ever experiencing any real happiness. Consequently, those within her orbit were also denied the chance of any real happiness as well. If Christine had any doubts left about marrying into the Murphys, this woman had just removed them. She would rather die than become like her mother. Her discontentment with her lot, and with her family, had eventually bled into every aspect of all their lives until none of them knew how to be happy. The Murphys had welcomed her with open arms and she saw that, no matter what, they were there for one another. They loved each other, and it showed.
Thinking of the life inside her, she put her hand on her still- flat belly, and for the first time since she had found out she was pregnant, she actually welcomed the child. She was young and healthy, she had a man who loved her, and a new family who had taken her into their lives and made her feel welcome and wanted.
Just ten minutes in the house she had grown up in had made her realise how lucky she was.
Chapter Twenty-One
The pub was packed, and the heat was overwhelming. It was noisy and it was scruffy, and Christine loved everything about it. The pub was their local, this was Phillip's domain now. People came here to pay him money owed, or to ask favours from him, and it was where he showed the world he lived in how much his reputation had grown and how his name was becoming synonymous with Billy Bantry's and Keith Kenton's. In this world he moved in, reputation was everything, as was the female beside you.
As Christine saw Keith and Phillip talking together across the other side of the room, she felt a surge of pride. People were deferential to them, to her as well. It was a whole new world. Joanie was smiling at her happily – Christine could tell she'd had a few drinks; she made a point of having them frequently. But Christine couldn't begrudge her that; if she wasn't pregnant, she'd be doing the same. Unlike her friend though, she wouldn't have drunk so much so quickly – Phillip would have made sure of that. He wasn't a drinker, not really. He didn't like the feeling of being out of control, he had told her that on more than one occasion. He believed that alcohol, like drugs, was for mugs. He said that when people were drunk they opened themselves up for stupidity. He only drank with her, and that was because he trusted her enough to let himself go. He didn't like to see a woman in drink, and his arguments with his sister Breda over her drinking were frequent and passionate. Breda was the antithesis of Phillip; she drank, drugged and fucked with a passion that was almost unbearable to witness. She was like a man in that respect, she did what she wanted without any thought for the consequences. She didn't even attempt to try and get herself a steady bloke, she went out, she got drunk, and she got laid. End of story. Christine knew that it bothered Phillip. Even though it was what Breda wanted, was what she enjoyed. She made no secret of her lifestyle, and even though it wasn't unusual in this day and age for a girl to live her own life in her own way, Christine knew that Phillip saw his sister's antics as a reflection on him personally. Breda was an exemplary mother to her son, and she adored him, but her attitude was that when she went out, she went all out, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Tonight Breda was hanging all over a heavily built Greek- looking man, with cheap shoes and thick curly hair. Christine was aware that her Phillip was keeping an eye on his sister, only he was watching her antics surreptitiously. Breda was pretty, but she was already hard faced, her delicate features obscured by her heavy make-up and her constant frown. She talked too much and too loudly. Her conversation was peppered with profanities and innuendo. As Phillip had screamed at her one night, she was one step away from charging for it. And Christine understood his fears. Breda was self-destructive once she had a few Bacardis, she seemed to almost enjoy the reaction she got from her brothers and the people around her. The worse she behaved, the happier she seemed to be. It was like a game she played, as if she was just seeing how far she could push them. But tonight Christine sensed a new undercurrent to Breda's behaviour, this man she was all over was a stranger, he was not her usual type of conquest. Breda had a few blokes on the go, and she made a point of seeing them on the quiet. She didn't usually pull total strangers in full view of her brothers and their assorted friends and acquaintances. That was a definite no-no in anyone's books.
The man in question was with two other Greeks, and all three were happily hitting on Breda. Breda, for her part, was loving the attention she was getting from them. Like a lot of the Greek men in East London, they were only in England to get out of their national service. They came over and worked as waiters, or attended college, until such time as they could go back home. Their families paid for them to come over, and that money guaranteed that they could swerve the army, and at the same time learn a trade. These men were obviously so new to the area they didn't realise the girl they were all so enamoured of was far more dangerous than anything the Greek army might have thrown at them. All they saw was an available English girl and, in their limited experience, most of the English girls they had met were not only available, but happy to oblige in any way they could. For Greek men from small villages, this was heady stuff indeed.