Women on the Home Front (91 page)

‘No, nothing like that,' Robert soothed. ‘He's had a fall from a ladder …'

Pearl gulped in a startled breath. ‘How high up was he … ?' she started.

Matilda was first to notice the white-coated doctor entering and she sprung from her chair, flinching at the sharp pain in her knee. The little group converged on the portly fellow.

‘He's been very lucky.' The doctor addressed Christopher. ‘All things considered, it's a miracle, young man, I'm not now writing your father's death certificate.' He waited until the information had sunk in and expressions of sheer thankfulness were transforming four faces. ‘He's badly bruised and has a broken leg and collarbone and a few cracked ribs. The ladder probably saved him from worse injury. From the few words he's said, he remembers landing on top of part of it and it probably broke his fall.' He paused, aware of hungry eyes on him; the invalid's family was silently devouring every word he uttered. ‘It's the nasty head injury that's most worrying,' the doctor continued. ‘He's concussed … I'm hoping that's all it is. But we'll need to keep a careful eye on him.'

Christopher nodded vigorously, feeling so utterly relieved that he thought he might burst out crying. He could feel heat in his eyes and a stinging sensation attacking his nose. He tried to say a few words of thanks but his throat seemed to have closed so he let his uncle do the talking and sank down onto the chair next to the one Pearl had tottered to. He put his elbows on his grimy overall knees and let his forehead sink into his cupped palms.

‘Can I go and see him?' Robert asked.

‘I think just his son should see him today.' The doctor paused. ‘And only for a few minutes; you mustn't excite him at all. He's drifting in and out of consciousness and needs to rest.'

Christopher nodded wordlessly and, as the doctor gave him a kind smile, he felt his eyes fill up again.

‘You'll keep him in here for as long as necessary, won't you, doctor? Don't let him come out till you're sure he's ready.' Robert knew his brother well enough: Stevie would discharge himself as soon as he was able to get his feet to the ground.

‘I'll sit by his bed and make sure he don't do a runner, if needs be,' Matilda announced, thrusting her shaking hands into her coat pockets.

A sob suddenly burst from Pearl and she wailed against Christopher's shoulder, ‘Stupid sod, he is. What's he doing going up ladders at his age when there's you young men to do that …'

Robert went over and patted comfortingly at her back. ‘Don't worry, luv,' he consoled her. ‘Soon as he gets out of here I'm gonna have his guts fer garters over it.'

‘It's not your fault.'

‘Yeah … it is …' Christopher immediately spurned Grace's comfort. ‘We'd argued again just this morning about me wanting to find me mum.' The tip of his cigarette glowed and, in the ensuing silence, smoke drifted through his nostrils to mingle with night air. He turned away from the van's open window to gaze at her. ‘Made a change for us to speak actually, even if it were just a blazing row. He's been giving me the silent treatment for weeks. Hell it is trying to work with somebody all day long when they won't say a word to you.'

‘It's not your fault he went up that ladder, Chris,' Grace gently persisted. ‘Your dad decided to use it, and he should've known better.' One of her hands covered his fingers, resting idle on his thigh. ‘You'd all told him it was dangerous. What more could any of you have done?'

‘Could've kept quiet about me mum, that's what
I
could've done. Wish I'd never bloody mentioned anything about going looking for her. Me dad was right. He's always been around for me. What's she done except made herself scarce for over twenty years?' The bitter outburst tailed away only to be resumed a moment later. ‘I knew it'd upset him badly if I started going on about her, but still I did it.'

‘You've got a right to know about your mother,' Grace quietly reasoned. ‘Anyhow, rowing over your mum doesn't excuse him doing something stupid.' She huffed. ‘For Heaven's sake, at his age, he should've known better than risk his life like that!'

Irritably, Christopher whipped his fingers out from under Grace's warm palm. He knew there was sense in what she was saying but anxiety and guilt continued gnawing at him. ‘Neither of us has been able to concentrate properly since this blew up. He probably forgot the ladder were knackered because of everything else going round in his head.' Chris flicked the dog end out of the van window and immediately drew out another cigarette from the pack. ‘And where was I, eh, when it happened?' His tone was viciously self-mocking. ‘Buying fags down the shop, weren't I, 'cos I couldn't stand the bad atmosphere and needed a break. If I'd been where I should've been, and seen him hoisting it, I'd've put a fourteen-pound hammer through the poxy thing right there and then.'

Grace slid closer to him on the seat and leaned her cheek against the tightly bunched muscle in his shoulder. ‘Come on … relax, don't blame yourself,' she softly urged, massaging his forearm with her small fingers. ‘The doctor said he's been very lucky. Tomorrow when you get to the hospital you might find him sitting up having breakfast in bed.'

‘Please God you're right about that …' Chris mumbled. ‘He didn't say a word to me. Don't know if he could hear me talking to him. Looked still as death and whiter'n the sheet tucked under his chin.'

At the hospital Christopher had stayed only briefly with his father yet he'd found the time ample. The sharp, sterile scent of the small side ward, and oppressive silence, had made him glad to spot the doctor beckoning him away after five minutes. Although Stephen's eyelids had flickered up once or twice he either couldn't, or wouldn't, speak to his son. Nevertheless Christopher intended to visit the hospital first thing tomorrow before carrying on to see his uncle Rob and sort out what was to be done about the work situation.

‘He'll be fine after his breakages mend and he's had a good rest!' Grace whispered fiercely against his stubble. She rubbed a finger back and forth on his grimy jaw, realising it wasn't just his overalls that smelled mucky, but his skin too. ‘You could do with a wash and shave.'

Christopher put an arm around her and eased his face against her sweetly scented skin. ‘Don't know what I'd do without you to talk to,' he murmured.

‘Thought you said your Aunt Tilly was a diamond at listening and giving advice,' she teased.

‘She is …' Christopher paused, realising that a couple of months ago he'd have headed straight to Whadcoat Street to sift through the day's troubles with his aunt. But instinctively he'd come away from the hospital and headed towards Tottenham, without even returning home first to wash and change out of his work clothes. ‘It's you I need to talk to now when bad things happen.' His wry smile turned sultry and his lips prowled after hers to claim a hungry kiss. ‘Don't go in yet …' He murmured against her cheek as their lips unsealed.

‘Got to …' she sighed. ‘You know what me mum's like about getting me indoors before eleven during the week …' She glanced sideways at the house and noticed the front-room curtain twitch. ‘Oh, God, she's watching us alright; probably heard the van pull up. Got to go, Chris, 'cos it's work in the morning.'

As soon as Grace had got in the van and seen Chris in his overalls, her pique at his late arrival had withered away. She'd realised at once something was wrong. After hearing the bare bones of Stephen's accident she'd no longer fancied going to the pictures even though he'd sweetly offered to speed home and smarten up so they wouldn't miss the main feature. Instead they'd gone for a drive and she'd allowed him his long silences while he inwardly battled to make sense of what had occurred. Then they'd parked up outside her house and, unprompted, he'd given her a detailed account of the calamity that afternoon. Grace's quietly adamant opinion that he wasn't to blame had started to calm his inner demons, if not completely tame them.

‘Shall we go to the pictures on Saturday instead?'

‘You asking me out, Grace Coleman?' Chris demanded, feigning surprise. ‘'Cos if you are you'd better not start getting fresh with me, y'know.'

She blushed but saucily squeezed his knee. ‘It'll be a change for me to be the one taking liberties, Christopher Wild.' She playfully fended him off as he lunged for her with a growl. ‘My treat this weekend as it's the end of the month and I get paid,' she squeaked while being crushed against his chest.

Christopher relaxed his predatory grip on her arms and smoothed one of her warm cheeks with the backs of his fingers. Something had occurred to him, and he regretted bringing it to her attention and putting a dampener on their plans. ‘I doubt if me dad'll be out of hospital so soon, but if he is, I'm not sure I'll be going anywhere if he's hobbling about and needs looking after.'

‘Oh, yes, 'course … I should've realised …' Grace grimaced in apology.

Pushing aside all thoughts of his father Chris concentrated on the warm woman resting against him. He curved an arm about her, drawing her close so his hands could caress her back, stroke at her nape until she was pliant and curling her body against his. ‘I know it's daft to talk about this so soon, when we've only been going out a couple of months, but …'

Grace shifted position and caught his face between her palms, curtailing his diffident declaration of love. ‘Shhh … time enough for that another day.' She smiled wryly. ‘I'd sooner hear it – if you still want to say it – when you're over the shock of your dad's accident.' Despite her husky rebuff she snuggled up to him encouragingly, tilting up her face to ask, ‘Will you try and find this woman in Clapham so you can ask her some questions?' His puzzled expression prompted her to explain. ‘You told me your aunt Tilly gave you a tip about a woman who knew your mum years ago. I think you said her name was Vicky. Will you try and find her?'

‘Nah … don't think so. Gonna just let it die a death. Since I brought up the subject of me mum we've had nothing but trouble.'

‘I think you
should
keep on looking for her,' Grace demurred, levering herself upright by using a fist on his thigh. ‘Otherwise, when everything's back to normal, you'll start wondering whether you did the right thing giving up. It'll niggle away at you.' She grimaced. ‘Don't want to sound callous, Chris, but perhaps you've been given a good opportunity to try and find this Vicky. While your dad's in hospital he won't know what's going on, and what he doesn't know, can't hurt him,' she pointed out.

‘What if he comes out with it direct and asks whether I'm gonna carry on looking for me mum?' Christopher frowned, mulling over what she'd suggested. ‘I don't want to lie to him yet, if I tell the truth, he might have a relapse.'

‘Don't know the answers, Chris.' Grace shook her head, setting her long blonde hair swinging about her sharp little chin. Her honey-coloured eyes clung to his face. ‘It's up to you what you do. But I know what I'd do … if it were me …' She glanced to her left and sighed as she saw her mother gesticulating at her through the window.

‘Me mum's waving at me. Before I came out this evening she said to ask you in when you brought me home.'

‘Yeah?' Chris stretched his neck to squint at the sight of Shirley's head bobbing behind the curtain. ‘What's she want with me?'

‘To know if you're likely to stay the course, I expect,' Grace muttered sourly, while scowling in her mother's direction. She was aware that secretly her mother hoped he
would
scarper. Shirley had been dropping hints she thought all Matilda's kith and kin beneath them.

‘Thinks I'm a no-good cad, likely to get you in trouble then leave you in the lurch, does she?' Chris suggested with a dry chuckle.

Grace swerved a doe-eyed look at him and Chris realised his teasing had hit a raw nerve.

They hadn't had a serious talk about their respective past affairs. Given that they were in their twenties, they'd both assumed the other had previously been romantically involved, perhaps seriously. Christopher hadn't pried, although he was curious, as any man would be, about a girl he was falling in love with. He knew his Jack the Lad past wouldn't stand up to a lot of scrutiny, and he didn't want to be a liar or a hypocrite about it, so he'd decided to keep quiet and explain himself when he had to. But, a moment ago, a few bitter words from Grace had piqued him into forgetting his strategy.

‘You had a bad experience with someone?' He caught her wrist lightly as she slid towards the door.

‘Most of them,' she returned lightly, attempting to shrug off his hold. When she couldn't she turned back to challenge him. ‘How about you? How many girls have you regretted going out with?'

‘Can't think of any … not that I've gone out with many in the way you mean; just knocked about with most of them,' he answered flatly. ‘So there's bound to be a few who wished they'd never clapped eyes on me.'

‘Why?'

He shrugged, giving her an impenitent look. ‘I've been called a selfish bastard, and a few other names, in my time.'

‘Why?'

‘Why do you think?' He choked a laugh. ‘I'm no different to the next bloke when it comes to pushing his luck on a Saturday night … or I was …'

Their eyes locked and Grace nibbled at her lower lip.

‘You're different,' he said quietly. It was the first time he'd seen her look vulnerable, as though the lustre in her eyes might be caused by tears. ‘I was gonna tell you I think you're special earlier but you stopped me.' He took out his cigarettes but she took the pack from him and closed the lid.