Christine, young though she was, knew all of this instinctively and she could feel the animosity coming off Phillip in waves. She saw the nervousness of the people around him. How they were waiting to see his reaction to his sister's outrageous behaviour. She looked around for Declan and James, but they were nowhere to be seen. Declan was one of the only people capable of talking Phillip round, one of the only people Phillip would listen to. She moved closer to Phillip, pushing her way through the throng of people until she was by his side. He looked at her and smiled happily. She knew that whatever people might say about him and his temper, he was not a lecher, she knew deep inside that she was all he wanted or needed. He was so staid in that respect. His sister's antics were all the more unsettling to him because he had no understanding of why she could be like she was. Christine knew that Phillip would never betray her, as well as she knew he would kill her before he would let another man into her bed.
Breda was so drunk she was unaware that her dress was slipping off her shoulders and that, consequently, she was showing a lot of breast, and her loud raucous laughter was even drowning out the jukebox. The three men seemed mesmerised by her abundance of naked flesh, and the promise in her eyes for all of them.
Perry Croft, the landlord – a short stocky man with a bald head – had the unenviable task of having to serve the men he knew were aggravating the life out of his most important customer. As Breda demanded another drink, he looked over at Phillip, and Christine saw him nod almost imperceptibly in response, his handsome face dark with barely suppressed anger, but unless you knew him as well as she did, the true extent of his annoyance would not be evident at all. The landlord served the drinks without a word, and Christine sipped at her orange juice, worried for Breda and what she was doing.
'How you doing, Chris?'
She smiled at Phillip, at the genuine concern in his voice. 'Fine, Phil. You OK?'
He shrugged nonchalantly. Then, taking her elbow, he steered her through the throng of people and behind the bar itself. She walked through to the back room with him happily, glad of the quiet once the door was shut behind them. It was a heavy oak door, specially designed to keep the noise of the pub out, and any noise made inside the room inaudible to the pub's clientele. It was a very expensive but very necessary fixture. It also had some serious brass work: two mortice locks, two heavy-duty bolts and a steel bar that slipped easily into the wall cavity. It would take a battering ram to open it should the need ever arise – for example, if the police came sniffing around or a rival of some description took it into their heads to come visiting mob- handed. Neither of these scenarios was unheard of in Phillip's world, and he was ready for them.
'Are you sure you're all right, Phillip?'
He sat her down on the black leather sofa and, placing himself gently beside her, he said honestly, 'No, no, Christine, I'm not all right. Breda's gone too far this time.'
His voice was flat, there was no emotion in it whatsoever. Christine searched his face for some kind of clue, for something to tell her what he was feeling inside. He had placed his arm around her shoulders and, though the gesture was a loving one, she knew that as far as he was concerned, she didn't exist for him at this particular moment in time. She turned into him, forcing him to look into her eyes. 'She doesn't mean it, Phil, you know that as well as I do. She just likes to have a laugh, likes to get out and be a young girl again. Please don't fight with her, not tonight. I'm having such a lovely time.'
He looked at her, and she knew it was no good, he would only humour her. His eyes were hard and his handsome face was expressionless. She knew the signs now, knew his moods. When he was like this he scared her, even though she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her.
'I can't swallow this, Chris, she's undermining my credibility by the day. If I can't fucking control my little sister, how can I be expected to control the people who work for me? It's not about her, mate, it's about how her actions affect the people around her. She's out there, out of her fucking nut, with three fucking chancers. This ain't about her any more, it's about me.'
Christine knew he really believed that. In a strange way, she even understood where he was coming from. She understood that his world was a dangerous and unpredictable one. That he was only as good as his reputation. He was young and on his way up, and, for the moment, he had the backing of some serious names. She had learned an awful lot, things she had never thought she would have to know about. But she was with him now, for better or for worse. He would be the father of her child, her children, and she had accepted his way of life because she had no other choice. She guessed that he shielded her from a lot of it but seeing him like this was something she wasn't used to. This was the Phillip Murphy people talked about, not the Phillip Murphy who she was going to marry in one week's time, who treated her like a queen, and smothered her with his love.
'Please, Phil, don't start. Leave her alone, she doesn't mean any harm.'
Before he could answer her, the door opened and Perry Croft popped his head inside. 'Breda just got in a cab, Phil, I thought she needed to get off home.'
Phillip smiled. 'Thanks, mate. We'll be out in a minute.'
Perry was gone without another word. Christine felt her body relaxing, felt the tension leaving her and the lightness of the relief as it washed over her.
Phillip hugged her to him, kissing the top of her head. 'See? You were worried over nothing.'
'I'm sorry, Phil, I overreacted. I just didn't want you to start a row with Breda, she thinks the world of you. And those blokes she was with, they didn't know she was your sister, they didn't know the score. They couldn't believe their luck that she was giving them the time of day!'
Phillip laughed with her then, and she instinctively rubbed her hand across her belly; she was just starting to round out a bit, as Phil's mother so succinctly put it. Her normally flat belly was beginning to grow outwards, and she caressed it happily. She was inordinately pleased that Phillip had listened to her, had taken her feelings into consideration. She knew that Breda's performance had made him angry, angry and ashamed. Her behaviour was anathema to him. But the fact he had put her feelings first really meant a lot to her.
Christine was becoming more comfortable with her situation by the day, she was growing up fast, and that was not a bad thing considering she would be a married woman in one week's time, and a mother in six months' time. Instead of fearing the change a baby would bring to her, she now welcomed the child. It was already the love of her life after Phillip; now she had accepted its existence she felt a deep and abiding connection to it. She hoped it was a boy, because Phillip wanted a son so badly. He didn't actually say that, but she just knew that was the case.
As she settled once more into his arms, she wondered at how she could ever have questioned her feelings for him. She was lucky, a very lucky young woman. Who would soon be a bride and a mother, and who was not yet seventeen. But as Phillip had said to her on more than one occasion, they were young all right, but they were still old enough to have kids and they would enjoy them. Give them a good life, and love them with a vengeance.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Breda walked into the kitchen to her father shouting merrily, 'The dead arose and appeared to many.'