Women on the Home Front (88 page)

As a light sleet started to fall, Christopher moved further inside the hallway. He took Grace's elbow and pulled her in to shelter so they stood face to face in semi-darkness.

‘But I couldn't get rid of her today,' Grace continued. ‘She just said she was coming with me when I told her I was visiting Wendy.' Seeing his puzzlement she explained, ‘I've got a friend who lives off Muswell Hill. I knew when I told mum I was seeing her today, she'd want to come too just so's we could divert here.' She drew daintily on her cigarette and blew smoke out of her mouth at once. ‘Me mum is here 'cos she's nosy, you see, not being kind … sorry about that.'

‘No need to be,' Christopher replied. ‘Matilda's obviously glad of her company …' As though to prove his point another rumble of laughter could be heard above.

‘Just because people live like this doesn't mean it should be treated like a bloody freak show.' Grace glanced about at her dismal surroundings. ‘They deserve some respect. I like your aunt. I did when I was younger too. I bet all the way home on the bus me mum'll be going on about the state of her place. Worse it is, better she'll like it.'

‘Don't be so sensitive,' Chris soothed with a tinge of mockery. ‘Matilda's the last person to feel sorry for herself, or ashamed of herself. She could move out of here tomorrow if she wanted.'

Grace avoided his eyes and stared off through the open doorway.

‘You always was a soft touch, Grace Coleman.' He slipped a low-lidded look over her petite figure.

‘You mean I was a cry baby,' she said tightly.

‘Didn't say that. Don't remember you bawling often but you was always trying to stop us tying tin cans to dogs' tails …'

‘Well, it was bloody cruel!'

‘'Course it were, but as a boy I didn't know no better.'

‘Your mother should've taught you not to torment dumb animals …' She bit her lip, having remembered that Christopher's mother was dead, and his father had brought him up. ‘Sorry.' She blushed scarlet. ‘Sorry … forgot your mum passed away, didn't she …'

‘She ain't dead,' Christopher said unemotionally. ‘I found out years ago that were a lie me dad told me to shut me up asking after her. They broke up when I was still a baby and me mum took off.'

‘Really?' The information was so surprising Grace forgot to immediately exhale and she coughed and spluttered as smoke reached her lungs. ‘Where is she now?' she squeaked.

Christopher shrugged with feigned nonchalance. ‘Who bleedin' knows?' He made an exaggerated gesture with his arm. ‘Mystery, ain't it, and looks like it'll stay that way, 'cos nobody seems to want to tell me.'

‘Perhaps they don't want to hurt you,' Grace suggested, having recovered her breath. ‘She might have got killed in the war or moved away and remarried.' She gave him a kind smile.‘Your mum might have a new husband and family.'

‘Well, she didn't want her old ones, so that's on the cards.'

Grace bit her lip, feeling awkward in the presence of his bitterness, but she knew whatever he was feeling about his parents hadn't stopped him studying her from beneath his long, low lashes.

‘Why didn't you just say you don't smoke?'

‘I do sometimes,' she retorted, having noticed humour far back in his deep brown eyes. ‘Usually when I go out and have a drink.' She dropped the half-smoked cigarette onto the boards and put a foot on it.

Christopher could see she was edging away from him towards the stairs to join her mother. He didn't want to lose her company just yet. Grace Coleman had grown into a very attractive woman, and he knew he'd like to ask her out, but it was more than that. She had a sweet kindness about her and, as her presence eased more memories to the surface, he suspected he'd liked her years ago for the same reason.

‘Matilda told me you work in the City as a typist,' Christopher said.

‘She told me you do building work.'

‘Another topic of conversation over?' he murmured with a half-smile as she took another step towards the stairs. ‘What else did she tell you about me?'

‘Nothing. And I didn't ask.' Grace gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘I know it's ages since we saw each other, but I do remember you were a little bit conceited, even then, Christopher Wild.'

He took a couple of steps after her. ‘I was sorry to hear about your dad.'

‘Thanks,' Grace said huskily and halted by the banisters. ‘It seems he's been gone ages, but it's only a few years.' She paused. ‘How about your dad? Did he go off to fight?'

‘He joined up in 1941,' Chris answered. ‘He would've gone before but he didn't want to leave me.'

‘Did you live alone when he went?'

‘Sometimes. But I was with Matilda or me Uncle Rob in London so I wasn't really on me own. Rob was me guvnor too. I started work in his warehouse in Holloway Road before I left school.'

‘You had a lot of freedom …' Grace sounded a little envious.

‘Yeah, it was great. I tried to join up meself when I was seventeen.' He grinned at the memory. ‘Me and a couple of mates went down Euston Road recruiting office.'

‘And?'

‘They chucked two of us out for being too young even though we tried to blag our way in with a lot of chat about bringing our birth certificates back another day. Sammy Piper got took on though. He'd just turned nineteen. Never saw him again, but he might've come through alright.'

‘Lots didn't,' Grace said sadly.

‘Yeah …'

‘Well, better go up and say hello …'

Chris watched her start up the stairs.

‘First door on the left,' he called as she gingerly put a hand on the wobbly banister.

‘Just saying to Shirley we had a reunion on a miserable old day all them weeks ago when the king died, but if she comes over here on Coronation Day it'll be a right good knees-up. Won't be in the doldrums then, will we, Shirl?'

‘I'll say that for you, Aunt Til, you do know how to have a bit of a shindig in the street.' Chris chuckled.

‘We'll have to get started on plans for a street party. It'll probably be the last one we have, too, now the demolition's well under way.' Matilda grimaced her regret at having to acknowledge that fact.

When Whadcoat Street replaced Campbell Road, and Biggerstaff Road took over as the name for Paddington Street, a death knell had sounded for the notorious Bunk. Oddly, Matilda – and many others too – still mourned its passing and were prepared to hang on in what was left of the street till the bitter end. Of course, Matilda realised the decaying terraces couldn't remain – the majority were beyond repair – yet still she felt a wrench at knowing the living stage, where a multitude of precious memories had been played out, was in terminal decline.

‘We've got till next June to get everything ready for the big day and don't you lot go knocking down the houses this end till I say you can,' she jokingly scolded her nephew.

‘No chance of that, Aunt Til; guvnor reckons there's a few years' worth of work here and he wants us to end up with the lot.'

‘Glad to hear it,' Tilly nodded, satisfied. ‘We'll make it the best party yet … go out on a bang, as it were,' she said emphatically. ‘We could get some fireworks, and have a big bonfire … ask all the old crowd over for a final Bunk get-together.' She gleefully rubbed together her palms. ‘Some of 'em, like the Whitton gels and the Lovats, ain't moved that far away and a lot turn up on Bonfire Night every year. 'Course all my lot'll be coming over. The little 'uns will love it. Not that some of 'em are so little any more. You couldn't move down here last November 5th: busier'n Piccadilly Circus, it were.'

‘Well, of course, if we don't have a do going on down our street in Tottenham, I expect we might manage to come over for it.' Shirley had sent a startled look her daughter's way while listening to Matilda's enthusiastic plans. The idea of mingling socially with slum dwellers, past or present, horrified her.

Grace knew her mother would sooner stay indoors on her own on Queen Elizabeth's Coronation Day than be caught making merry with people from The Bunk. Yet, personally, she would be glad of an invitation to a street party in Whadcoat Street. Matilda was a wonderfully natural character, in Grace's estimation. She imagined the Keiver family had great, uninhibited fun when they got together.

‘Ain't you gotta be off, Chris?' Matilda gently ribbed her nephew in the break in the conversation. She'd noticed he was having difficulty keeping his eyes off Shirley's daughter, unsurprisingly considering how pretty Grace was. Although she was in her early twenties Matilda reckoned the girl could have passed for a teenager because she was so small and slim. She ran an eye over her stylish coat and leather court shoes, admiring the elegant way Grace was turned out. Shirley, on the other hand, looked as though she was trying to recapture her youth: her coat barely reached her knobbly knees and her make-up looked too thick in Matilda's opinion. Her lips twitched in a private smile as she turned her attention to her nephew.

‘Chris is meeting his pals soon 'n' going to Harringay dogs,' she announced.

‘Plenty of time yet,' Christopher said and settled back in his chair. ‘Do you remember Ted Potts?' he asked Grace.

Grace gladly put down her cup of tea. It had a slight tang to it as though the milk in it was on the turn. ‘Yeah … I think I do. Quite short, wasn't he, when we were at school?'

‘Yeah, that's him; he still is a shortarse. He was here this afternoon. You only just missed him. How about Vic Wilson? Do you remember him?'

‘He was a rotten bully,' Grace stated, narrowing her eyes.

‘Not any more.' Christopher choked a laugh. ‘He's married to Deirdre Thorn and she's got him right under her thumb.'

‘Oh … I remember her! She was in my class at school.'

‘His wife only keeps tabs on him 'cos he's been playing around,' Matilda interjected. ‘Can't blame the gel for doing that.'

‘How about Bill Bright?'

‘Remember Billy.' Grace nodded. ‘My friend Maureen liked him.'

‘He got engaged a few months ago to Bet Sweetman.'

‘Sounds like you two have got some catching up to do another time,' Shirley said with an arch look at Matilda. She gathered up her coat and handbag. ‘Anyway, time we got off, Grace. You ready?' She shrugged into her coat.

‘Thanks for the tea, Mrs Keiver.' Grace got to her feet, pulled her gloves from her coat pocket, and put them on. ‘It'd be nice to come over for your street party next year. Thanks for the invitation.' Grace knew her mother had shot her a quelling glance but she ignored her.

‘You're very welcome, Grace, and if I need some help with me plans I reckon I can count on you as another pair of hands.' Matilda gave her a beam.

‘Of course,' Grace said. ‘I make good sandwiches, you know.'

‘Well, got to get that bus,' Shirley interrupted in a strained voice.

‘Want a lift back to Tottenham? I've only got the works van but you're welcome to a ride. It's only got one passenger seat in the front but you can squash together and I'll dust it off first.'

‘No … it's alright; thanks all the same … don't want to put you out …' Grace murmured.

‘No trouble … I'm going that way in any case.'

‘Yeah, why not, Grace,' Shirley butted in. ‘Save us the bus fare and I don't fancy hanging about waiting at the stop in this weather. Freeze to death out there, we will.'

‘Right, that's settled then,' Chris said and went to drop a farewell kiss on his aunt's freckled brow.

Moments after pulling up at the kerb in front of their house Christopher had courteously jumped from the van to help them out as the passenger door wasn't easy to handle: it slid stiffly along rather than opening outwards.

‘Have you got time to come in for a cup of tea, Christopher?'

‘I'm drowning in tea, thanks all the same, Mrs Coleman.'

Shirley's eyes veered between her daughter and Christopher, noting they were standing close together.

‘Well … I'm going in,' Shirley said with a significant look. ‘And I could do with a hand getting tea ready.'

‘D'you fancy coming out with me sometime next week? Say Thursday about seven?' asked Christopher as soon as she was gone.

‘That was quick!' Grace exclaimed, suppressing a smile. ‘No small talk first?'

‘We've done all that this afternoon,' he returned. ‘No point in wasting time as far as I'm concerned.' He tilted his head to look into her honey-coloured eyes. ‘So I don't bother with small talk, and you don't play hard to get … deal?'

‘Alright … but I can't be home late as I start work early and have to catch the tube at seven-thirty.'

Christopher caught her chin to kiss her but she held him off with a fist planted hard against his coat. ‘We've not even been out yet,' she squeaked in indignation.

‘Yeah … but I saved your life … and you still owe me …'

She giggled at the mock gravity in his voice, liking the way one of his fingers manoeuvred easily to stroke her cheek. ‘So you remember, do you? Thought you'd forgotten about teaching me to swim.'

‘It's all coming back to me,' he said softly and removing her controlling hand from his chest, he kissed her gently on the lips before strolling away.

‘Got a bone to pick with you, Stephen.'

Stephen watched his aunt stomp over his threshold and carry on straight into the kitchen. He closed the door and followed her, quite meekly and without comment. She'd made the trip to Crouch End to see him so he knew something was bugging her.

After their mum had died of Spanish flu this woman had been a substitute mother to Stephen and his brother Robert. They both loved her and respected her blunt wisdom and sense of fair play. Even now she'd advanced in years, and was no longer the bruiser she'd once been, she wasn't afraid to tackle any problem head on, especially if it involved family.