by Annie Groves
Christopher’s uncle was always known either as the guvnor, or Mr Wild. None of Wild Brothers’ employees was under any illusions as to who ran the show, or where familiarity ended.
‘Yeah,’ Christopher said hoarsely. ‘He’ll be at the warehouse off Holloway Road.’
Vic nodded.
‘Would you tell him to let Pearl know?’ Christopher knew his father’s girlfriend would be distraught to hear the news but she’d be even more upset if she were the last to find out. He dug in a pocket and brought out his van key and handed it over. In seconds Vic was reversing at speed out into Lennox Road.
‘Woss gone on?’ a woman’s gravelly voice called.
Christopher turned to see old Beattie Evans, who still lived in the street, hobbling towards him leaning heavily on a stick.
‘Me dad’s had an accident,’ he answered croakily. ‘Would you let me aunt know he’s gone to hospital when she gets back from the market?’
Beattie nodded, mouth agape. ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ she muttered. ‘Stevie don’t look good.’ She glanced about at the stricken faces. The shortarse looked as though he was about to collapse, or throw up. And she could see why: he’d got his eyes fixed on the blood escaping from beneath Stevie’s head and trickling towards the gutter.
Beattie had lived in The Bunk long enough not to be badly affected by the sight of a bit of claret. In Campbell Road’s heyday she’d watched men caving each other’s skulls in with iron bars. In fact, she’d seen Matilda Keiver, in her prime, put a poker over a bloke’s head when he wouldn’t pay his rent. But those days were gone and everybody had gone soft in her opinion. She knew that hot sweet tea often did the trick on such occasions. ‘Get anybody a cuppa, can I?’ she offered gamely.
‘Coming in the ambulance?’
Christopher pivoted about to see one of the crew addressing him. They had his father on a stretcher in the back and were ready to go. He nodded and clambered in quickly. A moment later he’d sprung out again to talk to Ted and Billy.
‘Get everything under lock and key before you leave.’ He sent a stare of violent hatred along the road. ‘I wouldn’t put it past those pikeys to try and turn this to their advantage.’
‘I bought new ladders just a few months ago. I know I fucking did. I bought a couple of step ladders and a high reach, and I know you had ’em, ’cos I delivered them to you myself when you was working on that extension in Tooley Street.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘So why was he up a fucking worm-eaten old ladder messing about with gutters?’ Robert Wild turned a look of angry disbelief on his nephew. ‘If you needed more ladders why didn’t somebody just say so?’
Robert and Christopher were standing together in the waiting room of the hospital, and attempting to keep their voices low during a fraught exchange. At intervals both men were darting glances at the double doors that led to the wards, praying that the doctor would reappear with reassuring news.
Chris’s uncle had turned up just twenty minutes or so after the ambulance had arrived and Chris had been enormously relieved to see him. He didn’t relish having this conversation with his guvnor, but he was glad to have somebody with him to prevent his imagination running riot. Every time he heard a hum of activity behind the doors his heart leapt to his throat. He was certain the doctor would rush out at any moment to tell him they hadn’t been able to save his father. The waiting room was almost empty: just an elderly couple sat huddled together on chairs at the end of one row. They looked as anxious as Chris felt and he guessed they too were praying for good news from the staff about a relative.
Aware of his uncle’s steady stare Christopher ran a hand across the back of his neck and dropped his chin. He knew he’d have to grass his dad up, and he was already feeling guilty as hell over his accident.
Stephen had told him not to let on to Robert that the new ladder had been stolen. He’d said he’d replace it himself without the guvnor ever finding out that the Irish crew had stolen it off his van. Christopher had suspected his dad had felt embarrassed, and also at fault for having forgotten to padlock the new ladder. In the past they’d been able to leave equipment unattended for a short while without risking losing it, but since the Paddies had turned up in The Bunk anything out in the open had needed nailing down. Christopher also understood that his dad didn’t like feeling beholden to his brother, or that he was in his shadow, although, of course, he was, on both counts.
‘Didicois working down Whadcoat Street have been stealing stuff,’ Christopher admitted gruffly. ‘We’ve lost shovels to ’em ’n’ all. They nearly had a pick away too only I caught ’em red-handed.’
Robert’s expression made words unnecessary.
‘He didn’t want you to know,’ Christopher sighed out as two nurses bustled past in a rustle of starch. ‘Said he’d replace the stuff we’d lost out of his wages when he could afford to. Felt it was his fault for not keeping a closer eye on it all.’
Robert spun away, his fingers splayed rigidly above his head in a gesture of sheer exasperation, as he hissed a string of curses that made Chris wince.
‘Have you let Pearl know?’ Chris swiftly changed the subject.
Robert nodded. ‘Sent Gil round to the shop where she works to get her and bring her here straight away. Thought they’d have arrived by now. Traffic must be bad …’ He glanced at the large round clock on the waiting-room wall. It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon and Chris realised he’d been here for over an hour already.
‘Came as soon as I heard off Beattie about the accident.’ Matilda hurried in through the swing doors. ‘How is he?’
‘Don’t know yet … waiting to hear.’ Christopher drew his aunt towards the row of hard-backed chairs and made her sit down. He could see she was breathless and agitated. He sat beside her while his uncle paced to and fro.
Ten minutes later Pearl appeared, ashen-faced. She rushed over but Gil, the warehouseman who’d given her a lift, hung back by the door as though conscious he wasn’t family and should keep to a respectful distance on such a solemn occasion.
‘How bad is he? Is he going to die?’ Pearl blurted out. She was a tubby woman and the tops of her arms were visibly quivering beneath her cardigan. She looked dishevelled, as though she’d dropped everything to race here. Suddenly she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to scrub at her watering eyes.
‘Waiting for the doctor to come and give us his verdict.’ Robert had put an arm around her trembling shoulders. ‘He’s strong as an ox, is Stevie,’ he encouraged her. ‘Take more’n a tumble to see him off …’
‘He’s been telling me about those pikeys in the street.’ Pearl was generally easy-going but, at present, her face was puckered in anger at the thought that Stephen might have been set about. ‘Have they done it to him? Was he in a fight?’ She shoved at her sleeves in agitation, eyes narrowing vengefully.
‘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.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘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 he
r 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.
