Walking My Baby Back Home

by Joan Jonker

  ‘It hurts all over, but me ankle’s the worst – it’s agony.’ Colin tried to keep the tears back; after all, big boys shouldn’t cry like a baby. ‘And I’ve dropped me parcel of chips.’

  John looked around. ‘Here’s your parcel, but that’s the least of your worries. If I help you up, could you stand?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Colin sniffed, ‘but I don’t think so. Me ankle’s not half paining me.’

  ‘Which ankle is it?’

  ‘Me left one.’

  John ran his hand down from the knee, but when he came to the ankle the boy yelped in pain. ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to stand on it, so we’ll have to think of a way to get you home so we can see what the damage is. What’s your name and where d’you live?’

  ‘Colin Baker. I live at Edith Road, number twenty-one. I’ll have to get home ’cos me mam’s waiting for the chips for the dinner.’

  John slipped one arm under the boy’s knees and the other under his arms. ‘I’ll sit you on the pavement while I see to my bike. If the wheel’s not buckled, you can sit on the seat and I’ll wheel you home.’

  Although Colin was in great pain, he told himself this man must be awful strong ’cos he’d picked him up as though he was a baby. He also told himself it was his own fault for not looking before he ran across the road. He wouldn’t half get a lecture off his mam.

  John towered over him. ‘The front wheel of the bike is so buckled I couldn’t possibly push you home on it, we’d be all over the road. The only alternative is for me to carry you.’

  Colin gaped. ‘Yer couldn’t carry me all that way, I’m nearly twelve!’

  John chuckled. It was a long time since he was twelve, but he knew he’d have been mortified if anyone had suggested carrying him like a baby. ‘Let me stand you up and see if you could manage to hop on your good foot if I support you.’ He put a hand under each of Colin’s armpits and lifted him effortlessly from the ground. ‘Put your weight on your right foot first, now slowly lower your left foot.’

  Colin let out a scream and would have collapsed if John hadn’t been holding him. ‘I can’t, it hurts too much.’

  Without a word, John scooped him up in his arms. ‘Like it or not, son, this is the only way you’re going to get home. It may be just a bad sprain, then again you could have broken your ankle and you’ll need to have it seen to.’

  ‘He’s a long time,’ Dot said, pacing the floor. ‘I wonder what’s keeping him?’

  ‘There’s probably a big queue, Mam,’ Katy said. ‘Lots of people will be having chips tonight for quickness.’

  ‘If he’s met one of his mates and is standing yapping, I’ll have his ruddy guts for garters. The flaming chips will be cold when we get them.’

  Just then the knocker sounded and Dot hurried out. ‘Where the heck . . .’ The words faded as she gazed in astonishment at the man standing before her. He looked about ten feet tall and was built like a battleship.

  ‘Mrs Baker, my name’s John Kershaw and—’

  Dot suddenly realised he was cradling Colin in his arms and she let out a cry. ‘Oh, my God, what’s happened to me son? Has he been in an accident? Is he hurt bad?’

  ‘He ran in front of my bike,’ John explained, ‘and he seems to have hurt his ankle. With any luck, he’s just sprained it.’ When Dot seemed struck dumb with fright, he asked, ‘Is your husband in, to take him from me?’

  ‘I’m a widow.’ Dot’s brain cleared when she realised she’d have to invite the man in. She couldn’t manage to carry Colin, neither could Katy. The living room was clean, but that’s all you could say for it; it was certainly no palace. But what the hell, she didn’t know the man from Adam and would probably never see him again. ‘Would you carry him in for me, please, and we can put him on the couch.’ She opened the door wide and stepped on to the bottom stair to give him more room to manoeuvre in the tiny hall. ‘Katy,’ she called, ‘will yer clear the couch for us, there’s a good girl. Our Colin’s been hurt.’

  Katy had been listening from the living-room door, and when John carried Colin through, she asked, ‘Is me brother hurt bad?’

  ‘I don’t think so, dear, but someone should take a look at his ankle.’ John gently lowered the boy on to the couch before gazing into his anxious face. ‘I think it’s just a bad sprain and with cold compresses on, it should be all right in a few days.’

  Dot pushed him none too gently because he was stopping her from getting to her son. ‘Excuse me, please.’ She dropped to her knees at the side of the couch and, cupping Colin’s face, she kissed him. ‘Where does it hurt, sunshine?’

  ‘It’s me ankle, Mam, it’s murder.’

  Dot’s eyes travelled down to his feet and she gasped with horror. ‘Oh, my God! Will yer look at his foot, it’s swollen to twice the size and his shoe’s digging into him.’ She made to undo the shoelace but her son screamed at her to leave it.

  ‘Don’t touch it, Mam, it hurts too much.’

  John bent to take a look. ‘Your mother will have to take your shoe off, son, so we can see what the damage is.’ He pressed on Dot’s shoulder. ‘Would you like me to do it for you, Mrs Baker?’

  ‘Yes, let him, Mam.’ Colin trusted the man who had carried him all the way home and hadn’t hurt him once. ‘Go on, Mam.’

  Dot shuffled on her knees to the end of the couch. ‘Would you mind, Mr Kershaw? I know we shouldn’t be keeping yer ’cos yer wife’s probably got yer dinner ready.’

  ‘I’m a bachelor, Mrs Baker, there’s no one at home waiting for me.’ John knelt down and smiled at Colin. ‘This will probably hurt, but only for a couple of seconds, until I get your shoe off. I know you’re going to be brave, so close your eyes and grip hold of your mother’s hand.’

  Colin did as he was told, and to prove he was brave he ground his teeth together to stop himself from screaming when the shoe was removed.

  Dot felt a stab of shame when she saw her son’s big toe sticking out of a huge hole in the toe of his sock. She had new ones for him to wear tomorrow but that was no excuse for the way he looked now. This man must think she was a bad mother who couldn’t look after her children properly. She felt her hand being gripped tight as Mr Kershaw tried to ease the sock off, and she stroked the boy’s head. ‘There, nearly over now, sunshine. Yer’ve been a very good boy.’

  John examined the swelling before asking, ‘Would you be brave for another minute, Colin, while I touch it?’ Without waiting for a reply, the big man gently touched the flesh, probing lightly for signs of a fracture. ‘I don’t think he’s broken anything, but it might be just as well to let a doctor see him.’

  Dot was silent for a moment. He’d seen the state of the room, and the state of Colin’s sock, so there was no point in pretending things were different than they were. ‘I can’t afford to bring the doctor out, Mr Kershaw, I don’t have the money. I’ve never borrowed from anyone because I don’t believe in it. But if Colin’s still in pain in a day or two, I’ll get the money from somewhere.’

  John could see what it cost her to say what she had, so the words he had ready to offer to pay for the doctor remained unsaid. ‘If you keep putting cold compresses on it, they should take the swelling down. I’m sure it’s only a sprain.’

  ‘How did it happen?’ Dot asked. ‘I suppose he was running without looking where he was going, as usual.’

  John raised his brows at Colin. ‘I think I’ll let the lad tell you that himself.’ When he grinned he revealed a set of strong white teeth. ‘As you can see, he wouldn’t part with the chips. He’s hung on to those as though his life depended on it.’

  Dot had seen the parcel under her son’s arm but she’d been too upset to give it a thought. Now she took it from him and handed it to Katy. ‘They’ll be stiff by now, but put them on a plate in the oven and I’ll warm them up later.’

  As Katy walked to the kitchen she asked over her shoulder, ‘Shall I make the gentleman a cup of tea, Mam?’

  Dot felt herself cringe inside. Jo
hn Kershaw was well dressed and spoke without a trace of a Liverpool accent. He wouldn’t appreciate a cracked cup with a saucer that didn’t match. This would be another black mark against her. She was trying to think of an excuse when Colin piped up.

  ‘Yeah, ask him to have a cup of tea, Mam.’

  ‘I think Mr Kershaw would like to be on his way,’ Dot said. ‘He’s wasted enough of his time on you.’ She struggled to her feet and found she had to crane her neck to meet John’s eyes. ‘You mentioned you were on a bike – where is it?’

  ‘I’ve left it parked against a wall in an alley. It won’t get stolen because the front wheel is buckled and it would be useless to anyone.’ His teeth flashed. ‘I would very much like a cup of tea.’

  Dot reached a decision. ‘Look, Mr Kershaw, I’m very grateful for the way yer’ve helped Colin, it was very kind of yer. Most people would have left him to get on with it. And ye’re more than welcome to a cup of tea. But I can’t go on making excuses for our living conditions, so yer’ll have to take us as you find us. My husband died ten years ago and I had to go to work to keep the family together. It’s been hard going and there’s never been enough to renew things as they wore out. So if yer still want a drink of tea I must warn you in advance that if the cup ye’re given has a handle, yer’ll be very lucky.’

  John’s rich laughter filled the room. ‘Mrs Baker, I take my tea to work in an enamel billy-can and I drink from the top of it. It used to have a blue rim, but now there’s no blue to be seen it’s so cracked. I thank you for your honesty and I admire you for it, but I am not a snob.’

  Colin was gazing up at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t half a big man, he could probably take six men on in a fight and beat them all. ‘There yer are, Mam, he wants to stay for a cup of tea. And he can have some of my chips to make a buttie with.’

  Dot relaxed and grinned. ‘No matter how badly hurt my son was, he’d still be thinking of his ruddy tummy. Sit down, Mr Kershaw, and I’ll see if I can find a cup with a handle.’

  Katy had come to the kitchen door when she heard John laughing. She couldn’t ever remember hearing a man’s laughter in the house before and it sounded nice. ‘I started work last week, Mr Kershaw, so in a couple of weeks we’ll have a new tea-set ’cos it’s near the top of the list we’ve made out of things we want. Isn’t that right, Mam?’

  ‘Yes, sunshine, that’s right. But I’m sure Mr Kershaw doesn’t want to wait a couple of weeks for a cup of tea, so stick the kettle on, please.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got an idea.’ John put his hand on the arm of the chair to lever himself up. ‘Why don’t I go down to the chippy and get some fresh chips for you?’

  ‘Certainly not! I wouldn’t hear of it!’ Dot wasn’t having any of that. He seemed a nice bloke but that’s as far as it went. She wasn’t taking charity from him. ‘While we’re waiting for the kettle, I’ll nip upstairs and root out an old sheet I can tear up to make a cold compress for Colin’s ankle.’

  An hour later, John was still sitting in the chair at the side of the fireplace. At first Dot had been willing him to drink his tea and go, so she could finish what she had to do. Then she told herself she was being miserable – it was Christmas Eve, after all. And it was nice for the children to have a man to talk to. He had a good sense of humour and had them roaring with laughter as he related some of the antics he’d got up to when he was at school.

  ‘Does bachelor mean yer haven’t got a wife?’ Colin asked.

  Dot was horrified. ‘Colin, don’t be so cheeky! You shouldn’t ask questions like that.’

  ‘I don’t mind, Mrs Baker.’ John smiled at her before turning his eyes to Colin. ‘No, I haven’t got a wife. You see, my mother was an invalid and I looked after her until she died last year. I had a number of girlfriends, but none of them were prepared to take my mother on.’

  Colin was still curious. ‘Yer don’t half speak posh. Are yer rich?’

  ‘Colin!’ Dot didn’t know where to put her face for the best. ‘Ye’re going too far. Stop asking so many questions.’ She appealed to John. ‘Yer’ll have to excuse him, he’s not used to having a man in the house.’

  ‘I can assure you I don’t mind, Mrs Baker.’

  ‘Well, I do. And for heaven’s sake stop calling me Mrs Baker, me name’s Dorothy.’

  ‘Nobody calls yer Dorothy though, do they, Mam?’ Katy said. ‘Yer only ever get Dot.’

  Dot threw her hands in the air and laughed. ‘I can’t win, can I? OK, it’s Dot, and I know you’re John. That’s sorted that out.’

  ‘Well, with your permission, Dot, I’ll answer Colin’s question. My mother used to be a school-teacher before I was born, and she was a stickler for good grammar. When I was young it was woe betide me if I didn’t pronounce my words properly, and I’m afraid—’ John’s head swivelled around when there was the sound of something crashing against the wall at the side of him. When this was followed by a high-pitched scream and the sound of sobbing, he looked across the room to see Dot’s hands covering her face. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  Dot sprang to her feet. ‘We have a neighbour who likes to knock his wife around. I’ll have to go in there and see if I can help her. He’s a real villain and once he starts on her there’s no stopping him. He’s always been the same, but he’s got to be stopped because she’s . . . er, she’s not well.’

  John noticed the hesitation and the quick, concerned glance she’d given Colin. There was more to what was going on than she’d admitted. So when she was on her way out, he jumped up. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘He’s a bad man, Mr Kershaw,’ Katy shouted after him. ‘Don’t let him hurt me mam.’

  Dot found Maggie O’Connor outside Mary’s front door and her husband hovering a short distance away. ‘Sure, isn’t there something wrong with a man when he’ll hit a woman who’s carrying his child? As sure as God’s in His heaven, the divil will kill that girl one of these days. But we’ve got to do something, Dot, ’cos I’d not be resting in me bed if I thought I’d stood by and not raised a hand to help.’ Maggie looked surprised when John loomed up behind Dot. ‘I’m sorry, me darlin’, I didn’t know yer had a visitor.’

  Dot was brief with the introductions. ‘John Kershaw, this is Maggie O’Connor and her husband, Paddy.’ Standing by the front window they could clearly hear Tom Campbell’s raised voice and Mary’s sobs. ‘To hell with this, someone’s got to put a stop to it.’ Dot curled her fist and banged as hard as she could on one of the door panels. ‘Open this door!’ she commanded.

  The shouting stopped and for a few seconds there was silence. Then they heard a string of obscenities before the door was flung open. Tom Campbell, the worse for drink, stood swaying on the top step and looked down at Dot. ‘Oh, it’s the bleedin’ nosy cow from next door.’ He belched loudly and the smell of beer was strong and sickening. ‘Bugger off, back to yer own house an’ yer two bastards, and mind yer own bleedin’ business.’

  Dot stood her ground. ‘I’m making Mary my business. You keep yer hands off her or else yer’ll be sorry.’

  Hanging on to the doorframe for support, Tom Campbell bent his head and belched again in Dot’s face. His speech slurred, he said, ‘She’s my wife an’ I’ll do what I like with ’er. Now just you bugger off. Why don’t yer go down Lime Street with the whores an’ get yerself a feller?’ He began to laugh like someone deranged. ‘Do you the world of good, that would. Yer’ll have forgotten by now what it’s like to have a man inside yer.’

  Dot curled her fists and bent her elbows, ready to fly at him, but she felt herself being pulled back and her place was taken by John. Without a word, he reached up and grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt, pulled him off the step and slammed him back against the wall.

  ‘Now, what you’ve just said to Mrs Baker, I want you to repeat to me so I can be sure I heard correctly.’

  Tom Campbell blinked rapidly to try and focus. Through the drunken mist, he could just make out that the man holding him was tall a
nd hefty. And there were a few other people there but they were only shapes, he couldn’t see their features properly. ‘Who the bleedin’ hell are you? Take yer hands off me or I’ll get the police to yer,’ he bluffed.

  ‘I will personally escort you to the police station myself, after we’ve had a little chat. Now what was this about Lime Street and whores?’

  ‘It’s that bleedin’ cow next door I was talkin’ about. She wants to get herself a man, do her good, the miserable bitch.’

  John turned to Dot. ‘Would you and your friend see how his wife is?’

  Dot nodded and beckoned to Maggie. Her foot was on the top step when she heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and she quickly stepped backwards, almost knocking Maggie over. She wasn’t going to miss this. It was about time Tom Campbell had a man to stand up to.

  He had yelped with pain when John struck, and he was now holding a hand to the side of his face when he growled, ‘Who the bloody hell are you? I’ve never seen yer before, so just you piss off and take that cow from next door with yer.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ John said, ‘you really are asking for it.’ He drew his left arm back and aimed straight at Tom’s cheek. It wasn’t a heavy blow, not meant to break bones, but it brought a sharp cry of pain from the man who was sobering up quickly. ‘Now I want you to apologise to Mrs Baker first, then I want your assurance that you will never raise your hand again to your wife. Do you understand?’

  Tom Campbell had called into the pub on his way home from work. Well, it was Christmas Eve, he was entitled to a drink. It never entered his head that his wife might need money to get some shopping in for over the holiday. He had drunk seven pints of beer and it had filled him with Dutch courage. But the two blows had blunted that courage somewhat. Still, he wasn’t having a total stranger telling him what to do, so he blustered, ‘Yer what? Some hopes you’ve got, Mister-whatever-your-name is. I’m not apologising to no one, certainly not some frustrated old cow. And as for me wife, if I want to hit her I’ll bleedin’ well hit her.’ A sly look came over his face and his lips curled. ‘I get it now. That one next door is yer fancy woman and ye’re filling yer boots in there on the quiet. Not that I blame yer, she’s not a bad bit of stuff. I’d have got me own leg over there if I wasn’t gettin’ all I want at home.’ Little realising that every word was digging him in deeper, he went on: ‘She’s good in bed, is my wife, like havin’ me own little slave. She does everythin’ I tell her to – d’yer know what I mean?’