Women on the Home Front (87 page)

‘Don't you go wasting yer money!' Matilda mockingly rebuked. ‘You know I don't hold with drinkin' 'n' gamblin'!'

Christopher grinned at that. It was common knowledge in the family that his great-aunt Matilda had been a very heavy drinker and a bookie's runner in her time.

Christopher drew out his cigarettes and offered the pack to Ted. He knew his aunt had never smoked, which he found quite a surprise as she'd had plenty of other vices. Having lit up and taken a long drag he settled back. ‘Any more tea in that pot?'

‘Make a fresh lot if there ain't,' Matilda offered, giving the pot a shake.

Christopher was aware of his friend slanting an irritated look at him. Ted was eager to get going and Chris was equally eager to get shot of him. In fact he wished Ted hadn't accompanied him to his aunt's because he'd wanted to speak to her in private about something. But Ted could be thick-skinned, and not easy to shake off, when he had nothing else to do.

‘Why don't you get off now, mate? I'm stopping a bit for another cup of tea with me Aunt Til. Didn't realise it was getting on.' Christopher very obviously checked his watch.

‘Yeah … will do,' Ted mumbled. He'd had enough sitting around in Matilda's shithole. He got up with much shaking of his trouser legs and polished his shoes on the backs of his shins. ‘See yer then, Mrs K. Thanks fer the biscuits.'

‘Mind how you go, son,' Matilda called as he closed the door. ‘What's on your mind, Chris?' she asked as soon as they were alone.

Christopher darted a look at her and shrugged, thinking she could be too cute and blunt at times. His aunt had realised straight away he had an ulterior motive in getting rid of Ted, but he'd not yet worked out how to go about things. What he wanted to talk about had always been a taboo subject in their family. ‘Just wondering what you can tell me about me mum,' he blurted out.

Matilda dropped her eyes to her cup. She hadn't been expecting that! It had been some years since Christopher had last quizzed her over his mother, and she'd thought she'd satisfied him that she'd nothing more to reveal. ‘What is it you want to know about yer mum that I ain't already told you?' she asked levelly.

‘Well, that's just it … nobody's really told me anything much about her.' Christopher made an effort not to sound as if he was blaming anyone. ‘Dad won't tell me nuthin'. Bleedin' hell, wanted me to think she was dead for years and years, didn't he!' He gestured in annoyance. ‘You know what he's like. He just clams up and gets narky soon as I mention her.'

‘Well … that's understandable. They've been divorced a very long time, y'know. Weren't married fer long in the first place.'

‘Yeah, I know; but I don't see why he won't even talk about her,' Christopher insisted, his voice rising. ‘Ain't I allowed to know anything other than her name was Pamela Plummer and they was only married a very short time?'

‘'Course you are,' Matilda soothed gruffly. ‘But it were all a long time ago now, Chris, and things get forgot. Yer dad probably can't remember a lot of what went on. Crikey … you're twenty-four. You was only a babe in arms when they broke up and yer dad took on looking after you.'

‘Have
you
forgot everything about her?' Christopher asked.

‘No … like I told you before, she was a pretty young woman, I thought so anyhow,' Matilda said carefully. ‘Quite small and blonde, were Pamela, so nothing like you in looks.' She gave her tall, dark-haired nephew a fond smile. ‘You're the spit of your dad and Uncle Rob.'

‘Is there a photo of her, d'you know?'

‘I've not seen one in years,' Matilda replied truthfully. ‘But I saw a picture of them on their wedding day. I know yer dad gave it to Pam when they broke up. He didn't want it.'

That was a vital clue Christopher hadn't known and he pounced on the information. ‘So me dad were the one wanted to split up?'

‘Don't think it was
just
him,' Matilda said gently. ‘As you know, yer mum 'n' dad didn't get on and both of 'em soon realised they'd made a mistake. They was too young, y'see. It just didn't work out between them. It happens sometimes; people get caught up in the excitement of weddings 'n' ferget that afterwards babies come along and it's not all a lark but bloody hard work.'

‘So it was me that was the problem. When I come along …'

‘Don't be daft!' Matilda ejected quickly, cursing herself for phrasing things badly. ‘What I meant to say is: when money's tight, and work's tight, it puts pressures on people and …'

‘And they couldn't be bothered to try and stick together, even though they had me …'

‘Now I didn't say that, Chris!' Matilda gave him a stern look. She felt she'd dug herself into a hole and must be careful how she climbed out.

‘And me mum never wanted to see me after that?' Christopher asked earnestly. ‘Why not?'

‘I'm not saying she didn't want to see you,' Matilda answered slowly. ‘But I
do
know she went back home to live with her folks. Mr and Mrs Plummer moved away from round here shortly after the divorce came through. I think Pam went with them, and haven't seen nuthin' of her since. Could be she got herself hitched again.'

‘So I might have half-brothers or -sisters?'

‘S'pose you might …' Matilda agreed.

Christopher drew out his cigarette packet and Matilda pointed at them, glad of a reason to change the subject.

‘And you can do with cutting down on them coffin nails, 'n' all, Christopher, or you'll be going the same way as poor old King George.'

She suddenly turned her head, frowning. The bang on the door was unexpected, but she was very glad of the distraction. She knew she'd have to say something to Stephen about Christopher's renewed interest in his mother. She wasn't too cowardly to get involved – in her time she'd upturned greater cans of worms within the family – but this truth was very personal and would be hurtful to Christopher. It was his father's place – or his mother's – to tell him the whole story about his past, not hers. The fact that Stevie avoided all mention of Pamela told Matilda he still harboured bitter memories about his brief marriage.

‘Go down and see who it is, will yer, Chris. Paid me rent so it can't be Podge,' she reassured him. Podge Peters had been collecting Mr Keane's rents for decades. Only Podge wasn't fat any more. He was a shadow of his former self now he had lung disease.

Chris shoved himself up out of his chair, a soundless sigh in his throat, knowing the conversation about his mother was finished and he'd discovered very little that was new, or might help him find her.

As Matilda heard him clattering down the stairs she shook her head sadly to herself.

‘Oh! Sorry! We were after Mrs Keiver.'

Being confronted by a dapper young man, rather than Matilda, had disconcerted Shirley Coleman. The door had only been open a matter of seconds but already an odour of damp was assaulting her nostrils and behind him, in the hallway, was a disgusting glimpse of decay.

‘You've found her,' Christopher replied. His eyes lingered on the younger of the two women, thinking she was worth a second look and not just because she appeared vaguely familiar. They seemed neat and well-spoken and Christopher knew if they were Jehovah's witnesses, or rattling a tin for the Sally Army, they were in for a surprise.

‘You ain't here to preach to her are you?' The warning mingled with faint amusement in his tone as he propped an elbow on the doorframe and drew on his cigarette. ‘'Cos, if you are, I'd advise you to clear off while you can or she might pelt you with winkle shells. I've seen her do it.'

He became aware that the pretty young woman had been staring at him while he'd been fondly reminiscing on his auntie's method of dispersing unwanted do-gooders. He exhaled smoke, gazing right back, deepening the pink in her cold cheeks.

‘Who is it, Chris?' Matilda yelled from the top of the stairs, bobbing to and fro for a glimpse of the callers. Her arthritis was playing her up and she didn't fancy going down to find out.

Invariably, when somebody came knocking on Matilda's door, she'd shove up the front window and converse with visitors through it. Sometimes she even chucked down her rent money at Podge Peters if she didn't feel inclined to make the effort to open up to him.

A dawning realisation lifted Grace's brow a moment after she heard Matilda bawl out the name. ‘You must be Christopher Wild,' she garbled, wishing she hadn't stared so obviously at him. She could tell he'd noticed her gawping. In common with her mother, as soon as he'd opened the door, she'd thought him a fine specimen of a man, with a wholesome appearance that seemed out of place in a slum. ‘You won't remember me,' she rushed on with a breathless smile. ‘Grace Coleman, and this is my mum, Shirley.' She put a hand on her mother's arm then abruptly stuck it out for him to shake.

Christopher stopped lounging and dropped his cigarette butt on the floor. ‘That's a coincidence; Matilda wasn't long ago talking about you two. She met you in London weeks ago, the day the king died.' He gave Grace's hand a firm shake, then extended the same courtesy to Shirley.

‘Yeah … we were there,' Shirley confirmed, as she suddenly noticed that Grace and Christopher had locked eyes and she was being overlooked. She could understand why her daughter was mesmerised, she thought sourly. Christopher Wild was a tall, dark handsome man … but, in Shirley's opinion, he sounded a bit rough and ready, and looked a bit too similar to that nasty bastard who'd run off and left Grace in the lurch a few years ago.

‘We told Matilda we'd pop by at some time. So as we were in the area we thought we'd make it today. Go up, shall I?' Shirley enquired on hearing Matilda's raucous shout to close the bleedin' door 'cos there was a draught.

Christopher shifted aside to let Shirley pass. Grace would have followed, but he put a hand on the doorframe barring her way. ‘Not seen you in ages. Must be ten years or more …'

‘Eleven, I think,' Grace calculated. ‘I wasn't quite twelve when I got evacuated to a farm in Surrey with my brother.'

‘Stop here a minute with me?' He shook the packet of Weights. ‘Me aunt ain't keen on me smoking; reckons I'll get ill if I keep on. If I have one here I'll save meself an ear-bashing about coffin nails. Want one?' he offered politely. ‘Catch up on old times for a minute or two, shall we?'

‘Yeah … thanks …' Grace said and took a cigarette. After Christopher had lit it she turned to stand with her back against the brick wall of the house. ‘Cold out here,' she burbled, aware he was studying her profile.

‘Ain't much warmer inside,' he answered dryly.

‘Did you get evacuated?' She slid a sideways look up at him.

‘Sort of … for a couple of years. But I was lucky in that I got to choose where I went.'

‘How did you swing that?' Grace asked interestedly.

‘Got relatives Southend way so after the heavy bombings on London I got sent off to stay with them. It was only for a couple of years. I was soon back in London working full-time.'

‘You were lucky.'

‘How did you get on in Surrey?'

Grace shrugged. ‘I remember it was quiet, and boring, and a bit smelly. I liked the animals, especially the sheep. They were nice enough people … strict though and posh with it.'

‘Thought they must've been,' Christopher said with a half-smile.

‘Why's that?' she asked sharply.

‘They've taught you to speak proper,' he teased, chuckling when she blushed and turned away. ‘Sounds nice … I like it,' he added.

‘Why's Matilda still live round here?' Grace swiftly changed the subject.

‘Memories, I suppose. She's spent most of her life in The Bunk. Friends, enemies, two husbands, four kids – not counting me dad and uncle who she sort of adopted after their mum died – she's had 'em all right here.' He stared into the distance but it was a lengthy road and the kink at the Biggerstaff intersection robbed him of a complete view.

‘But even so …' Grace began, a mystified look pinching her delicate features as she glanced about at the squalor.

When she and her mother had arrived at the turning into Whadcoat Street they'd been unsure of which house was Matilda's as Shirley had forgotten to ask for the number. So, before venturing into the bowels of The Bunk, they had stopped on the corner of Seven Sisters Road for a recce. Grace's swift, encompassing glance had led her to conclude the road hadn't improved. But it was different. She had been ready to turn around and head home, but her mother had been determined to visit Matilda.

As a tramp-like individual had scuttled up Grace had bravely accosted him. He'd known Matilda, right enough, and had pointed at a door and given them a gap-toothed grin, before ambling away with a bag in each fist and a shilling for his trouble.

When Grace had visited those few times over a decade ago, she'd stood gawping, transfixed, at the rotten houses, the majority of which had been people's homes. But now, interspersed with roughly boarded up residences, business names were pinned to the front of some of the terraces indicating these were buildings in commercial use.

‘She ain't the only one living down here now, y'know.' Christopher was accustomed to seeing revolted interest animating the faces of people unused to the area. He pointed his cigarette at houses further along the terrace. ‘You'd be surprised how many people are kipping inside some of them.' A sudden shriek of laughter from inside made Grace and Chris exchange a rueful smile.

‘Nice of you and yer mum to come and visit her, being as you lost touch for a long while.'

‘Didn't want to come here, to be truthful.' Grace pulled a little face. ‘It was mum's idea. She's not stopped talking about Matilda Keiver, and the old days, since we ran into your aunt by the palace gates.' She shuffled her feet on the pavement to warm them and hunched her shoulders to her ears, tucking her long fair hair inside her collar. ‘She'd have come sooner to see her but I've managed to put her off.'