The Family Read Online Free PDF

might believe she was better than everyone, she had been born over a newsagent's in East London. The shop her husband now ran had been bought with the proceeds of that newsagent's. That she still looked down on everyone around her was a constant source of irritation to her only daughter.
        Looking squarely at her mother, Christine asked sarcastically, 'What's a "no mark", Mum?'
        Her mother's hand shot out and physically knocked her across the room. Then, grabbing her daughter's hair, Eileen dragged her into the downstairs toilet. Pushing her face against the mirror, she screamed, 'Look at yourself, you stupid girl! You could have anyone, do anything with your life.'
        Christine was not going to cry, no matter what, so, pulling herself from her mother's grasp, she said, 'What, like you did, you mean?' The words were quietly spoken, but the implication was there for anyone to hear.
        'You nasty little mare. After all I've done for you…'
        'That's all I've ever heard, Mum, all me life, what you've done for me. Well, I wish you hadn't bothered, because I want out of here. Sooner rather than later, and I know you don't like Phil, but that's half the attraction. I'd shag a tramp if it got me away from you.'
        Christine knew then that she had finally gone too far.
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Chapter Eight
        
        Phillip Murphy was really angry, but as usual he kept his feelings to himself. He understood only too well the value of blandness; in his job, the less people could gauge about you the less they could put away for future reference. Consequently, no matter what he was paid to do, he did it quietly, quickly and, most importantly, without expressing any kind of opinion whatsoever. He was already getting a reputation as a good earner. As someone who took the job on offer and didn't ask questions either way and, more to the point, didn't feel the urge to discuss it with all and sundry.
        His attitude was it wasn't any of his business and, for that reason, he had no interest in the history of the people involved. He wasn't in the market for hearing grievances or explanations. He wanted his poke, and he would happily carry out what was requested of him to get it without a prolonged discussion. He prided himself on his knack for not caring about the people involved - not the people who paid him, and definitely not the people he was paid to visit.
        Until now, that was.
        It didn't mean he wasn't aware of the situations he had been asked to deal with. He always knew exactly what the score was, he just never asked the person concerned why they wanted his services. The fact that he expected a very nice fee for what he did spoke volumes. His price told the person who needed his expertise that he knew exactly what was going on, but that he didn't let it cloud his judgement in any way. If he wasn't told anything it was assumed he did not know anything. It was simple economics. He just wanted his money, he was not a fucking agony aunt. This endeared him to people because they knew he never discussed his work, and never felt the need to prove himself by running off his mouth. And his brothers were the same. But most petty Faces were banged up because they couldn't resist opening their traps. They needed people to know who they were and what they were capable of. Liked to name-drop the people they were working for, liked the fact that they felt a bit of reflected glory. Real Faces were too shrewd to let anyone know anything, no matter how big or how small. It was enough for them to know they had done it and got away with it; they certainly didn't feel the need to broadcast it to the fucking nation.
        Now here he was, standing before Stan Barclay, a man he had grown up respecting, a man his father had always spoken of in hushed tones, and he was asking Phillip to do something that was not only against the grain, but an insult to boot. There wasn't much Phillip wouldn't do, but even