Women on the Home Front (86 page)

‘I've said the same thing to him, and we always end up having a row about it, Mrs Keiver.'

‘Call me Matilda, we're neighbours after all, and if you change yer mind I know of a woman down Tufnell Park way who's looking fer a cleanin' lady. I know she's alright 'cos I used to do a bit of charring for her mum, in me time.'

The baby coughed and mewed plaintively and Matilda leaned forward to look in the pram. ‘Want to get that little 'un along to the doctor, don't you …'

‘She's fine … she teeths with a bit of bronchitis, that's all it is,' Noreen said quickly. ‘I have linctus at home.'

They turned into Whadcoat Street and ambled along in amiable quiet. As they drew close to the shop Matilda said, ‘Better go 'n' pay something off me tab at Smithie's. Miserable old git'll be after me otherwise. You take care of yerselves …' Having ruffled Kathleeen's hair Matilda set off across the road.

‘Ain't you had enough of hanging around in this stinking hole all week?'

‘You don't have to hang about here if you don't want to.' Christopher ignored his friend's scowl and blew into his cupped palms to warm them. Despite the approach of spring a light sleet was descending and treacherously coating the pavement so he trod carefully in his smart leather shoes and stuffed his hands into his pockets to protect them from an icy breeze. He came to a halt in front of his aunt's dilapidated house. Once the door had been painted bottle green but now only a few flakes of colour clung to the splintery wood. Christopher turned to Ted Potts. He'd tried to shake him off earlier so he could visit his aunt on his own. ‘Why don't you go and knock Vic up.' He jerked his head, hoping to hurry Ted on his way. ‘I'll meet you both at the dog track at about seven o'clock.'

‘Nah … 's'alright.' Ted gave a martyred sigh. ‘I'm here now, ain't I. I'll stick around with you.' He didn't relish going into this fleapit to see Christopher's great-aunt, yet neither did he want to go to Vic's home. If Vic's wife were about he'd get an ear-bashing for luring Vic off out. Deirdre kept tabs on Vic and, considering that they'd only been married two years, and Vic had already been caught out with another woman, it wasn't surprising.

‘Go on …' Christopher twitched his head again. But his friend seemed content to slouch against the doorjamb and fiddle with a penknife. Once he had it open he started idly cleaning his nails. Christopher scowled and raised a hand to hammer on the door. A window above was shoved up and he stepped back to grin at the wrinkled face, edged by two plaited grey buns, peering out.

‘That you, Chris? Come on up. Door's open,' Matilda called down. ‘See you've brought yer mate with yer.'

‘Alright up there, Mrs K?' Ted Potts called in greeting, a wonky fag wagging between his lips. ‘Brass monkeys out here, it is.'

‘Got the kettle on,' Matilda informed them before ramming home the sash in its frame.

The two young men proceeded into a dingy damp hallway and up some perilously rickety stairs. Very few of the spindles remained and the handrail shuddered when touched. On the first-floor landing a door stood open and Christopher and Ted filed into Matilda's home.

It never failed to amaze Ted why anyone would choose to continue living here now that the Council was clearing the street and re-housing people elsewhere. But Christopher had told him that his aunt would hang on in her first-floor room till she was forced out. Chris had said in an odd way he understood Matilda's hankering to grip onto her past.

At present Matilda was the only person occupying this particular tenement house and Christopher had urged her to spread out a bit and make use of a couple of the other rooms too. The rent would be the same for one room or all nine of them. Mr Keane, the landlord, was glad to get paid anything at all. Over half of the properties in the street were now empty and producing no income for their owners. The worst examples had been abandoned completely by the freeholders.

But Matilda's view was that it was easier, in the winter months, for a person living alone to keep cosy in a small space. So she lived, slept, ate in a single first-floor front room, much as she had for a good part of her life. Fortunately, in a road of derelict houses she'd found one that was slightly better than the rest. Most had never been connected to electricity but she'd managed to get a property where she could plug in her precious wireless that had been a Christmas gift from her nephew, Rob.

‘Kettle's just boiled,' Matilda said. ‘Who's fer tea?'

There was no response to her offer because both her nephew and his friend were staring at the little girl sitting on the bed, chewing on a biscuit. The child gave them both a shy smile then ducked her face behind a curtain of long ebony hair.

Matilda grunted a laugh. ‘Say hello to Kathleen, you two. I'm keepin' an eye on her for Noreen while she's off out doing a bit of cleaning to earn herself a couple o' bob.'

‘I thought the Murphys had two little 'uns,' Chris said, recovering from the surprise of seeing his aunt doing a spot of babysitting.

‘Noreen's taken Rosie with her in the pram. She's not walking yet and still sleeps a lot, so ain't a problem. But this little one gets fed up waiting fer her mum to finish work, don't yer, Kathleen?'

Kathleen nodded her small head. ‘You'd sooner come and sit with yer Auntie Matilda, wouldn't yer? Like me biscuits, don't yer …' She gave the child an affectionate grin. ‘Anyhow I know your daddy's home now 'cos I saw him walking up the street out the window. So do you want to go home or wait for Mummy to fetch you?'

Kathleen slanted a peek at Ted. ‘Home …' she whispered.

Chris burst out laughing. ‘That's your ugly mug scared her off. Told you to go off to Vince's, didn't I …'

‘Take her back home fer us, Chris, would you, and I'll make the tea.'

‘Me aunt saw you were back so asked me to drop Kathleen off home.' Chris had been holding the little girl's hand, but as Kieran Murphy cautiously opened the door to him, he offered it to her father to take.

Kieran Murphy continued staring at him, looking shocked. ‘Mrs Keiver's been minding Kathleen?'

‘Yeah … while Noreen's at work, didn't you know?' Chris could see the fellow's freckled cheeks reddening in embarrassment or anger.

‘Please tell your aunt thank you very much,' Kieran returned stiffly, drawing his daughter to his side. He was about to shut the door but quickly stepped forward before Chris had gone too far. ‘You work for Wild Brothers, don't you. I've seen you driving one of their vans.'

Chris retraced his steps. ‘Yeah, I'm Chris Wild.'

‘Is there any work going at all?'

Chris stuffed his hands in his pockets. He'd had a feeling he was soon going to have this question fired at him by Kieran Murphy. He'd seen the fellow watching them working, trying to pluck up the courage to come over and ask for a job. And now he was going to have to disappoint him.

‘Sorry,' he grimaced ruefully. ‘If me guvnor had his way he'd put someone off.'

Kieran gave a crisp nod and retreated back inside, mumbling his thanks.

‘That tea brewed?' Christopher, now back at Matilda's, pulled out a chair, parking himself at the battered planked table.

‘Not fer me, thanks, Mrs K,' Ted said quickly, having noted the grimy chips on some cups in an enamel bowl. He was seated on a chair that was losing its stuffing and was glad Chris had quickly returned from taking the kid home because he'd run out of small talk with Matilda. He gazed about at old mismatched furniture that he knew his parents would have been embarrassed to put out for the dustmen to cart off. The iron bedstead shoved in the corner was strewn with tatty clothes and other odds and ends. A large oval mirror in a gilt frame hung on the wall, above the hob grate where the kettle was puffing steam, and was reflecting Ted's expression of distaste back at him.

‘So how you lads doing up the other end?' Matilda asked cheerily.

The last time she'd entered the demolition zone where the lads were working had been when she'd felt compelled to join her nephews in commiserating about the king's death.

She set two cups and saucers on the table and gave the teapot a swirl to mix the leaves then tested the brew by pouring a few drops. It looked strong enough so she filled the cups and dripped milk from a half-empty bottle into them before handing one to Christopher.

‘Had another fight with the Paddies the other day,' Ted conversationally told Matilda, ignoring Christopher's quelling look. He took a peer in the biscuit box Matilda had stuck under his nose and selected a digestive. ‘Pikeys got a right good kicking, Mrs K …' He blushed. ‘No offence, o' course …' He'd just remembered that Matilda's second husband, Reg Donovan, had been a didicoi. And she also seemed fond of the Murphy family.

‘My Reg knew what he was,' Matilda said with a fond smile, settling down at the table opposite her nephew. ‘You lot better make sure you keep yer wits about you if there's punches getting thrown. Make sure yer dad keeps out of it,' Matilda told Christopher, wagging a finger close to his face. ‘Stevie's getting on a bit and shouldn't be getting into scraps with younger men.'

‘Don't you let me dad hear you say that, 'cos he still reckons he's a bit of an 'andful, y'know.' Joking aside, Christopher knew his aunt was right; his father should steer clear of getting involved in the worsening feud. But, worryingly, Stevie was allowing himself to get wound up by the Irishmen, and Declan O'Connor in particular.

‘Must be bleedin' hard on you, having to work with them close by, but just ignore 'em best you can.' Having given her concise advice Matilda drank some tea. ‘Wage packet at the end of the week's what matters.'

‘Right 'n' all, Mrs K,' Ted stoutly agreed, and helped himself to another biscuit out of the box on the table.

A quiet descended on the musty room and Matilda turned up her paraffin lamp as it was a gloomy late afternoon. She twiddled the knob on the wireless set and some Light Programme music increased in volume. ‘Was listening to them talking about the Coronation Day plans just as you knocked,' she explained. ‘Prince Philip's the Chairman of the Commission doin' all the arranging. It's a while off till the big day but I'm reckoning on us all having a good old knees-up next June. Time'll fly by till then.' She paused, looked reflective. ‘Don't seem five minutes since the old king died but it's well over a month since he took his final journey to Windsor. All done for him now, God rest him.'

Christopher and Ted murmured agreement.

‘Speakin' of George, bless him, I never told you, did I, that I went up to the palace on the day of his death,' Matilda suddenly announced. ‘I stood around by the gates with all the other people. Should've seen the crowds up there! Couldn't hardly get a foot on the pavement for somebody bumping you off again. Very sad atmosphere, it was; men and women crying their eyes out. Got a bit tearful meself, I don't mind admitting. Lots of cars were going in and out of the gates …' She broke off her rattling description to exclaim, with an emphasising thump on the table, ‘Guess who I saw there! Surprised me, I can tell you!'

‘Well, it weren't the king,' Ted weakly joked then fidgeted in embarrassment.

Christopher glowered at him. Like the majority of people, himself included, he knew Matilda was fiercely proud of late King George and wouldn't appreciate tasteless mockery. ‘Who did you see?' he asked his aunt.

‘Shirley Coleman and her daughter, Grace. They'd gone there as well to pay their respects.'

‘Thought the Colemans had gone to Suffolk,' Christopher remarked, dunking his digestive in his tea.

‘No! They moved to Surrey. Grace and her brother Paul got evacuated there to a farm. Then Shirley went that way 'n' all to live close to them when Wilf joined up.'

‘Oh … right,' Christopher said and took a gulp from his cup.

‘Anyhow they're back living in Tottenham … White Hart Lane way. And Grace's got a good job in the City as a typist.'

‘What about old man Coleman?' Ted joined the conversation. ‘Old Wilf were a bit of a miserable git as I recall. Used to play knock down ginger on him, didn't we, Chris?' He leaned forward to give Christopher's arm a nudge. ‘Not that he ever stirred hisself to open the door. It was always his missus chasing us up the road, weren't it?'

‘Oh, Wilf died some years ago. Never recovered from his war injuries, so Shirley said.'

The two young men exchanged a suitably solemn look.

‘Pretty girl, she is.' Matilda gave her nephew a wink. ‘I remember you brought her here once or twice.' She chuckled to herself. ‘She seemed surprised to know I still live here.'

‘Everybody's surprised to know you still live here, Aunt Til,' Christopher returned dryly.

‘Suits me,' Tilly returned brusquely but with a twitch of a smile. After a silence she added, ‘You two look smart.' She studied her nephew and his friend. They were both wearing sharp dark suits. But it was Christopher who redrew her admiring glance, and not just because he was her kin. He had a tall, muscular frame that suited the outfit whereas Ted was short and overweight.

The Wild men had always been handsome; even Chris's evil, long-departed grandfather, Jimmy, who Matilda had despised, had been a looker in his day. Christopher's lean, angular face, deep brown eyes and thick dark hair got him a lot of attention from the girls. In fact Matilda was surprised he hadn't been snapped up long ago. But her great-nephew seemed in no rush, at twenty-four, to give up life as a bachelor, even though some of his friends were now settling down.

‘Where you off to then, all dolled up?' Tilly asked.

‘Me 'n' Ted 'n' Vic are going to Harringay Stadium then to the Starlight Rooms,' Chris explained.