by Annie Groves
Every time he’d passed his mother’s house, on a recce, he’d been relieved to see the gate was still missing. He knew any direct offer of help from him would be rejected. Just a glimpse of him might again make her frightened and unwell, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that, so he’d made sure to keep out of sight.
Earlier that morning, he’d seen Pamela walking towards the bus stop on the corner of her road. He’d known she’d be away from home for some hours, working as a waitress, because he’d previously checked where she went when she set off in the mornings. On one occasion he’d followed the bus and had noticed her go inside a place called the Greengage Café. A short while later he’d spied her, dressed in white pinafore and cap, serving behind the counter. It had looked the sort of cheap and cheerful place that he and the lads might use during their dinner break to stodge up on pie ’n’ mash before going back to work. He knew too that Pamela didn’t leave work till after three in the afternoon, and that she seemed to live alone. He’d kept an eye out for her husband, or any other family members who might be living at the address. He’d even knocked once, after she’d set off for work, just in case somebody might be in there. He’d thought it best to find out rather than be spotted hanging about. But there had been no response, and no neighbours had appeared to give him the third degree.
Today he hadn’t been so lucky.
After Pamela had got on the bus that morning to go to work he’d pulled off from where he’d parked out of sight, behind a larger vehicle, to halt outside her house.
Unfortunately, just as he’d got out of his van, the neighbour who’d threatened him with the police on the day he’d come to introduce himself to his mother had been on her way out, swinging a shopping bag.
Chris cursed his bad luck but managed a vague smile in response to the woman’s barked greeting.
‘So you’re here to do the gate, are you?’ Mrs Rathbone plonked her hands on her hips and cocked her head, eyeing him suspiciously.
Chris nodded and looked busy, shuffling paperwork on his bonnet.
‘You must have given her a better price than the other fellow. Disgrace, he was! He wanted a fortune for a little job like that! Mrs Riley only wanted the gate put back to stop the litter blowing up the path. She told me she wasn’t going to bother having it done after all … she must’ve changed her mind.’
‘I charge reasonable rates,’ Chris muttered, and turned his back on her hoping she’d quickly get going.
‘She’s not in, anyhow, because she works Tuesdays in a caff and won’t be back till this afternoon.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t matter. Can do the job if she’s in or out.’ Chris strode to the back of his vehicle and started rummaging in it for tools, wishing she’d just piss off so he could get started.
‘Shame they never kept the gate that was on there,’ Gladys Rathbone remarked, following him to peer inquisitively into the van. ‘Nothing wrong with it, but they got rid of it, you see. You could just have fixed that back on for her, and she’d have saved herself a tidy amount.’
‘Yeah? What happened to it, then?’ Chris slanted a glance at her.
‘Gave it to the scrap man after it got taken off because of the wheelchair. Even then it was still a scrape for him getting through the opening.’ She nodded at the privet hedge. ‘So she had to cut that back quite a bit with the shears, but it’s grown over nicely now.’
Chris straightened, turned slightly towards her, frowning enquiringly, but wary of seeming to be prying.
‘Mrs Riley’s husband lost a leg in the war. He was in a wheelchair from about …’ she looked heavenwards, calculating the years. ‘Say … 1942 it must’ve been when he got invalided home. Died two years later, poor soul … infection. Only got married, the two of them, shortly before he joined up, so she ended up his nurse more than his wife … no children …’ Drawing herself to attention, the woman shot him a look, realising she’d spoken very much out of turn. Briskly she buttoned her coat. ‘Well, I’ve got to be off.’ She checked inside her shopping bag before marching off up the street.
As soon as she’d gone Chris measured the opening, praying that it would be the right size, or near enough, so he could plane the gate to suit. He’d chosen it with care, driving the merchants mad by making them bring out practically every timber variety they had stocked in the warehouse till he saw one that seemed right. But, as he strode to and fro on the pavement, he was glad to see his one matched well with those hanging on the gateposts of the neighbouring houses.
He quickly went to the back of the van and lifted out the gate then a moment later returned for his tools.
‘Bleedin’ hell, decided to turn up, have you?’ Vic’s expression was as sour as his speech. ‘I’ve been coverin’ fer you, y’know. We was goin’ like the clappers till you started doin’ a disappearing act fer days on end. So don’t blame us now we’re behind again. Where’ve you been slopin’ off to this past week?’
‘Mind yer own business, and stop nagging,’ Chris replied mildly. ‘I’m here now, ain’t I?’
Vic went off muttering beneath his breath.
‘Where’s he been hiding this time?’ Billy mouthed, jerking his head Chris’s way.
‘Gawd knows …’ Vic grunted and, raising his hammer, brought it down with a crash on a doorframe.
‘Bird trouble, bet yer life,’ Billy said with a cautious peer towards the door to make sure Chris was out of earshot. ‘He ain’t been the same since he started seeing Grace Coleman. Don’t go out nowhere, ’less it’s with her.’ He pressed down a thumb onto his open palm. ‘That’s where she’s got him … right under …’
‘She is a good-looking sort. I know I would …’ Ted made a lewd gesture with his fist.
‘I don’t reckon even he’s managed to get a leg over with that one … she’s a right tight knickers, if you ask me,’ Billy replied with a smirk. ‘Anyhow, saw Sharon Webb down Tottenham Royal on Saturday and she was asking after Chris.’
The mention of Sharon brought his mates’ eyes swivelling his way. She’d always been a favourite with the boys since she had a voluptuous look of Diana Dors about her.
‘Chris could be in there again like a shot if he wanted. Dunno whether to tell him about Sharon asking after ’im being as him and Grace seem to be back on …’
‘He was always a lucky bleeder like that; surprised he puts up with being henpecked.’ Vic started stamping his boot against the frame until it splintered and came out in a cloud of dust.
His remark had given Billy and Ted an opportunity to exchange a gleeful look. ‘Yeah …’ cos you make sure you let Deirdre know who wears the trousers in your house, don’t yer, Vic?’ Billy mocked.
‘Yeah … and you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face once you ’n’ Bet get married, mate. Ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, having a missus ’n’ kids.’
‘Deirdre ain’t dropped her nipper yet, what you moanin’ about?’
‘Me brother’s got two under five and I’ve seen what goes on, don’t worry about that,’ Vic returned dolefully.
‘When’s it due?’
‘Five months to go …’
‘Five months? Got ages then to learn how to change dirty nappies.’ Ted started chuckling.
‘You lot are worse’n a bunch of old women, y’know that.’ Chris had come in and dumped down a ten-pound hammer. ‘Get that wall down, Ted, and the rest of you …’
‘Whoa … whoa … hang on …’ Billy made a meal of finding his watch up his sleeve then stared at it. ‘It’s just a couple of minutes to dinnertime. We’ve been here since quarter to eight, and I’m bleedin’ starving, so I’m off to the caff.’
‘I’ll come ’n’ all. Deirdre ain’t done me no sandwiches today.’
‘That’s a result then, Vic,’ Ted said drolly and downed tools. He turned to Chris. ‘Here … some old tramp’s been kipping upstairs again.’
Chris glanced around as he picked up the ten-pound hammer, propped against the wall. ‘How d
’you know that?’
‘Couple of old blankets and a few empty bottles are up there. Must be bleedin’ desperate to use this place to doss in.’
As Vic started shrugging into his jacket he muttered, ‘No harm in it, surely, if someone is making use of some o’ the houses.’
‘Just half an hour …’ Chris yelled after them as they all trooped out.
But he was smiling as he took a swing at the wall. He hoped his mum was pleased with her new gate, but if she wasn’t, and had it taken off so she could burn it because it came from him, he knew he’d still be glad he’d done it. He doubted she’d contact him, either to thank him, or to have a go about him trespassing and interfering. But he’d thought of a way to do her a favour, and perhaps let her know, despite everything that had gone on between her and his dad, he was his own person, and he only wished her well.
From what her neighbour had said about her losing her husband, it seemed she’d had an unhappy, unlucky life. Chris felt annoyed with his father for having called her names when he knew nothing about her now. Stevie didn’t appreciate how fortunate he was. He had Pearl, and a brother who was supporting him in opening up a new business, and a son who took him down the Arsenal and cared about him – even when he was acting like a silly old sod. What did his mother have? A job in a greasy-spoon caff, and an empty house to go home to.
Whatever Pamela Plummer might have done in the past, Chris doubted it had been so bad that she’d deserved to suffer so much since. If his father discovered how it’d turned out for her, he’d probably mutter about what goes round comes round, and think she’d got her just desserts.
Chris knew he wasn’t yet completely content; he’d found out that his mother was alive, and he knew he’d like very much to see her again. Perhaps, through her, he’d find out a bit about his Plummer grandparents. If they were dead too, she might have no family at all … except him. Next time he went that way, and he knew he would, if the gate was still standing, it’d be a good sign, and he’d take a chance and knock on her door …
Chris heard his stomach grumble and realised he was hungry. He strolled out to the van and rummaged for the big pack of sandwiches and the flask of tea his dad had done him that morning. He went back inside, sat down with his back to what was left of the wall, and started eating. It was a moment before he sensed he wasn’t alone. He turned his head to see little Kathleen Murphy staring at him … or rather at his cheese and pickle sandwich.
Chris smiled at her, thinking she was a sweet little thing, but wondering what on earth she was doing here. She was shoeless and coatless on a late November day and he realised she was lucky not to have hurt herself climbing over the rubble in the hallway. He pushed himself upright.
‘Hello … where’s your mum?’
The girl pointed outside and then at his sandwich.
‘Your name’s Kathleen, isn’t it?’
‘Kathleen Murphy,’ she said in a lilting accent.
She pointed again at his sandwich but Chris could tell she was either too polite or shy to ask outright for it.
He rummaged in his lunch box and got out a fresh one and offered it. ‘Take you home now,’ he said.
She moved towards him for the food, wincing as her tiny feet stepped on grit.
Swinging her up in his arms he said, ‘Now, Kathleen, I think we should find your mum.’ He felt her cold little body beneath his palms and automatically rubbed at her legs to warm them.
Kathleen grabbed at the sandwich and immediately took a bite out of it.
‘Hello … Mrs Murphy … you in?’ Chris had stopped at the bottom of some stairs in a musty hallway to yell out.
A moment later he heard the sound of a baby’s cries followed by its hacking cough. He started up the stairs, carrying Kathleen.
Before he reached the top a woman appeared, looking harassed. She halted, gawping at him and turning pale. Chris could tell she’d no idea her daughter had gone missing.
‘Kathleen … ?’ Noreen gasped. ‘What … where has she been … ?’
‘She came down the road and into the house we’re working on,’ Chris explained. ‘No harm done,’ he reassured her when a look of mingling shame and embarrassment transformed Noreen Murphy’s shocked expression.
‘Sorry about that … I thought she was playing out here on the landing … that’s where she was …’ She indicated a doll discarded on dirty bare boards.
‘No harm done,’ Chris repeated and set the girl down next to her mother. ‘She seems a bit cold … and hungry.’
Again the woman’s face flushed guiltily and she lowered her eyes. ‘I was just going to do us a bite to eat.’ Noreen knew that for a lie. She’d been waiting for her husband to come home with some groceries, but if Kieran hadn’t managed to find Declan O’Connor, and get his wages from the tight-fist, he’d be back with nothing for them to eat.
‘What’s going on?’ Kieran Murphy’s voice sounded soft and suspicious as he started up the stairs towards them.
Chris could tell straight away that Mrs Murphy didn’t want her husband to find out one of their children had been neglected, and could have got hurt. But he didn’t see any way to avoid telling the truth. The last thing he wanted was Kieran jumping to the conclusion that he was making a play for his missus while he was out looking for work. And Noreen was a good-looking young woman despite her dishevelled appearance.
‘Your daughter was just outside, I brought her in,’ Chris said succinctly.
Kieran’s eyes darted to his wife’s face as he took the remnant of sandwich from Kathleen’s fingers, making her whimper and try to snatch it back.
He thrust the food at Chris then the next moment was roughly steering his wife into their room and dragging his daughter behind him by the hand.
Before Chris had reached the bottom of the stairs he could hear a violent argument in progress and two children crying.
‘Done a good job there, hasn’t he?’
Pamela glanced up to see Gladys Rathbone strolling towards her, inspecting her new gate. Unable to speak, she nodded and removed her hand from where it had lain, curved softly about the top rail.
‘Got a few bits ’n’ bobs myself need doing,’ the woman added. ‘If I wait for Charlie to put me up a few more shelves in the pantry, I’ll be waiting for evermore. Perhaps I might give your fellow a call, see if he’ll give me a quote. When I spoke to him earlier, he said he does reasonable rates.’ She slid Pam an enquiring look, hoping to find out what she’d paid for the job. ‘I will say, he’s a very handsome young man …’ She chuckled dirtily and prodded Pam’s arm.
Pamela raised her head at last and her neighbour saw her bloodshot eyes were glistening.
‘Don’t mind me having a joke about your builder,’ the woman apologised with a frown. ‘You’re thinking of your Stan, aren’t you, Pam … ’course you are. I should’ve known that getting a new gate would bring back sad memories for you. I’ll leave you in peace. But come over a bit later, if you feel like it, and we’ll have a cup of tea and a bit of Battenberg before my Charlie gets home.’
Once she was alone, Pamela latched the gate carefully, noting how easily it snapped into place, how well it swung on silent hinges. She turned and went inside to stare at the scrap of paper she’d found on her doormat that afternoon. It now lay on the hall table and, picking it up, she reread for the hundredth time the message neatly written on a page that had been torn from a cheap notebook.
I was going to paint it but don’t know what colour you like. Anyhow you might get wet paint on your clothes. You don’t owe me anything. Christopher.
A sob swelled in her chest and she sank to sit on the low table clutching her son’s note to her heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘So it’s all back on with you and him, is it?’
‘I’m going out with Chris again, if that’s what you mean,’ Grace confirmed, continuing to brush her hair. As she pinned a section of sleek blonde hair back with a gilt clip she noticed, at the corner
of her eye, her mother still hovering by her bedroom doorway. Grace felt like also saying she was sick of hearing Christopher called him when Shirley knew his name perfectly well. But she bit her lip, waiting for her mother to leave her in peace, so she could finish getting ready to go out. Unfortunately, her mother seemed content to settle back against the doorframe to watch her, so Grace got up from the little dressing-table stool and picked up from the bed the navy-blue wool-crepe dress she’d got out of her wardrobe earlier. She stepped into it then approached her mother and turned her back for her to do her up.
Her mother jerked up the zip then fiddled with the hook and eye at the collar. ‘You need long sleeves on now the weather’s got so cold,’ Shirley lectured, eyeing her daughter’s bare arms. ‘You’ll need a cardigan on over that if you’re not going to catch your death.’
‘I’m getting one out of the drawer in a minute,’ Grace replied, relieved her mother seemed to have turned her attention away from Chris.
‘Your nan tells me that you’ve taken him round there with you a couple of times.’
Grace muttered beneath her breath and bent down to look for her shoes under the bed. ‘Yes, I have. We went for tea and were telling her all about the plans for the Coronation Day party in Whadcoat Street next June. Nan likes Chris; I expect she’s told you that.’ Grace sat down on the edge of the mattress and misted her wrists with perfume, rubbing them together to fire the warm spicy scent.
Shirley hurrumphed. ‘She wouldn’t though, would she, if she knew a bit more about him. You’re lucky I’ve kept her in the dark about what sort of family he comes from or he wouldn’t get past my mother’s doorstep.’
‘You’re wrong about that,’ Grace said calmly. ‘Nan does know his family were once very hard up because I told her. And when we were there she was talking to Chris about his wicked grandfather Jimmy ’cos once she and Granddad met him. We had a laugh about it. Luckily she’s not as prejudiced as you are.’
