Women on the Home Front (108 page)

‘'Ere, Vic, I ain't sure about this …' The woman's voice sounded whiny. ‘I think I wanna go home.'

‘Just keep hold of me hand.' Vic Wilson was picking his way through debris, dragging her with him. His foot knocked against a chunk of rubble and he sent it skittering sideways with his boot and started up the stairs. On reaching the landing he turned right and fumbled in his pocket for candles and matches. He got the light going and led the way to a pile of dustsheets beneath which were stashed a couple of old blankets. He dripped wax onto boards then stuck the burning candle on the floor. Its flame elongated, throwing leaping shadows on the walls of the derelict property.

‘It's too cold 'n' creepy, Vic, I wanna go home.' The woman started retreating towards the door.

Vic leapt up and grabbed her hand. ‘You was alright last week, Sandra. Just 'cos there's a bit of fog about don't mean you need to get all frightened. Ain't Halloween is it, you silly mare? Come 'n' see what I got under the floorboards.' He tugged her back with him to the dustsheets and prised up a loose board to reveal a bottle of gin and a few brown ales. With a flourish he produced a couple of dusty tumblers from the same place.

‘Don't suppose you've brought any orange to go with that gin.' It was a peevish complaint but Sandra was already cleaning out the glass with the sleeve of her coat.

‘Do us a favour …' Vic muttered, spearing her a sour look. He lunged for her, pulling her down beside him on the makeshift bed. ‘What more could any gel want, eh? Candlelight … nice drink … even got you some chocolate …' He drew from his pocket a bar of Dairy Milk and broke it in half.

She snuggled up to him, unwrapping her share of the chocolate to take a bite. ‘Pour us a gin then, Vic.'

He half-filled her glass then got the top off his brown ale and took a swig. ‘Bottoms up.'

‘What you said to Deirdre?' Sandra wound a dark curl about a finger while sliding a sly look at him.

‘None o' yer business, I've told you that before.' Vic took another gulp of beer and put down the bottle.

‘Your wife ain't gonna believe you've gone out with mates on a night like this.'

Vic took Sandra's glass of gin and put it down on the boards then rolled on top of her buxom body. ‘Never mind about her …' he growled, sinking his hot mouth against her throat and drawing deeply. ‘Thinkin' about you now, ain't I, and it's about time we got you out o' them clothes …'

‘It's bleedin' freezin',' Sandra protested, trying to hang onto her coat as he shoved it roughly off her shoulders.

‘I'll soon warm you up gel, don't you worry about that.'

‘What was that?' Sandra struggled to sit up, snatching at her coat to cover her plump bare breasts.

Vic had heard the noise too. He scrambled onto his knees and went on all fours towards the door. Through the cloudy darkness he could just make out a pinprick of light moving down below. He sped back to retrieve his trousers and yank them up, thinking all the while he was glad he'd had the foresight to bring a weapon of some sorts with him, just in case they were disturbed.

‘Who's that?' he roared out. ‘Show yer fucking self before I come down and put a crowbar over yer crust.'

Sandra was soon at his side, pulling on his arm, terrified. ‘Who is it, Vic? Has some dirty old sod been spying on us at it?'

‘Wouldn't have seen much, would he, in this?' Vic snarled, shaking her off. He crept out onto the landing, feeling his way, and peered over the banister into the opaque blackness. He heard a few whispered words then and the accents were unmistakable. ‘If that's you, O'Connor, I'm on me way down to break yer fuckin' neck.' In fact Vic knew he was going to do nothing of the sort. He was shaking like a leaf. He didn't mind a tear-up with the pikeys when he was mob-handed, but he didn't fancy taking them on alone, especially with Sandra cramping his style.

But it seemed he wasn't going to need to worry about defending them. He heard a few more guttural mutterings, and somebody stumbling and cursing, before an engine roared. He fumbled back past Sandra to peer out of the front window at the street. It was impossible to see any more than a shifting shadow as the vehicle pulled away but he'd recognised the sound of Declan's cranky old motor.

The pikies had been back under cover of the fog, no doubt to see what they could pinch. Vic knew that thankfully nothing was left behind in the way of tools in the evening. Everything got cleared out and taken away on the vans. He knew there'd be no reason to mention this little episode to anybody. No harm was done. He let out a sigh of sheer relief and turned to give Sandra a winning smile. Overlooking the fact that a mop of brown curls was sticking to the tears streaming down her face, and she was vibrating from head to toe in shock, he said jauntily, ‘Scared 'em away, see, now … where was we?'

‘Thank Christ fer that.' Stevie had opened the door to a bright clear day. ‘Come 'n' take a look, Chris.' He turned, smiling happily, to see his son coming along the passage eating a piece of toast.

‘About bleedin' time too,' Chris said with a relieved sigh. He'd been bored stiff cooped up at home while waiting for the dreadful smog that had blighted the capital for four days to disperse. During that time London had come to a virtual standstill due to the hazardous atmosphere.

When he got to Whadcoat Street the first person he saw was Kieran Murphy. Chris realised the man had been loitering by the railings, waiting for him to turn up, so he could talk to him.

‘Need to thank you very much for what you did for us the other day.' Kieran bashfully rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. ‘Already said thank you to your aunt Matilda for looking after Kathleen while you took Rosie to the hospital. Mrs Keiver's a fine woman.'

‘Yeah, she is,' Chris said. ‘And I was pleased to help get the little 'un to a doctor. How is Rosie?'

‘She's fine and back home, thank you for asking.'

Chris noticed Kieran's eyes filling up and he gave his arm a small comforting shake. ‘I know the poor little mite's had a cough for a while, so it's good to know she's better.'

‘They kept her in the hospital overnight and dosed her with strong medicine,' Kieran gruffly explained. ‘Noreen has the bottle and must give Rosie some every day this week. A lot of people had the same complaint because of the terrible smog. A very busy place, it was …' He paused, looking bashful. ‘We should have taken Rosie to a doctor sooner but we were worried they'd find out we lived here …' Kieran glanced at the slum behind him.

‘Right … got you …' Chris said, immediately understanding the couple's fears. He'd heard his aunt recounting tales of Bunk children being forcibly removed from their parents when the authorities deemed them in danger of neglect.

‘I thank the lord the hospital was as busy as it was, for few questions were asked of us. I thank the lord we have the National Health Service too,' Kieran admitted with a grimace.

‘Don't know how we managed before without it,' Chris agreed. ‘You still lookin' fer work?' he asked abruptly in an attempt to buck Kieran up.

Kieran nodded and shuffled his feet. ‘Noreen told you that I'd gone after O'Connor for my pay on that day.'

‘Did you get your money?'

Kieran shook his head. He angled his face to show Chris the bruise on a profile he'd been keeping averted. ‘Got that instead. He's an evil man.'

‘He's that alright. No work in Ireland for you?'

‘I had work but …' Kieran sighed. ‘There was a lot of bitterness between my kin and Noreen's. We come from different sides of the troubles and we didn't want our children in the middle of a feud. Better that Kathleen and Rosie have just the two of us than know a lot of uncles and cousins who hate one another.'

‘Right … I'm with you …' Chris said sympathetically. ‘Well, I can let you have a day a week for about a month, that's all though. Guvnor won't wear more'n that 'cos there's nothing in the price, y'see. But you might be able to pick up a bit elsewhere and make yer money up, and it'll get you past Christmas.'

Kieran's drawn expression transformed into a smile. ‘That's grand, thank you. When can I start?'

‘No time like the present,' Chris answered.

Kieran pumped one of Chris's hands then turned to rush back towards his house to tell Noreen the good news.

Chris grimaced ruefully to himself. He knew his uncle wouldn't pay out another penny on the job – he was going to have to dock his own pay to give Kieran his wages. Yet he didn't regret doing it, although he knew he'd keep his generosity to himself. The lads wouldn't understand. But Grace would; she'd know why he'd had to help out a man who wanted desperately to provide for his family when Christmas was coming for two little girls …

‘You've got a damned cheek, d'you know that?'

‘Just wanted to speak to you, that's all.'

Grace shot a look at her friend Wendy. But Wendy shrugged and rolled her eyes, letting Grace know she was equally astonished at this unexpected meeting with Hugh Wilkins. She had seen Grace's ex-fiancé some months ago when out shopping, but she'd not bumped into him since.

Grace had just been returning from her dinner break with her friend when Hugh had called to her before she'd entered their office building. He'd obviously been loitering in the vicinity with the intention of ambushing her.

‘I'll just go on up, shall I?' Wendy was letting her friend know she'd stick around if Grace wanted her to.

‘It's alright,' Grace sighed and tipped her head towards the door of the building, indicating Wendy should get back to work on time.

‘I'll cover for you if you're a bit late back,' Wendy called from halfway up the steps towards the entrance.

‘I'll be right behind you, don't worry,' Grace said pithily, whipping around to confront Hugh.

‘Don't go mad, Grace,' he said quietly, putting out his hands in supplication. ‘I just wanted to speak to you.'

‘Don't go mad? Just wanted to speak to me?' she hissed. ‘Why shouldn't I go mad? And why d'you want to speak to me? What could we possibly have to say to one another now?'

‘Well, I could say sorry …'

‘Sorry! It's a bit bloody late for that isn't it!'

‘I want to make it up to you …' he continued, shoving a hand through his light brown hair.

Enlightenment suddenly transformed Grace's expression of fury and incomprehension into one of cynicism. ‘You've broken up with her already, haven't you? Chucked you out, did she, when she discovered you were only interested in her money?'

Grace tried to whip past him and enter the building but he gripped her arm.

‘I knew getting married was a mistake from the start, but she kept on about it. I should never have left you,I know that now …'

Grace shook off his fingers. ‘Go and whine to somebody else, Hugh. I'm really not interested.'

‘I know you lost a lot of money when everything was cancelled.'

Grace spun about on a step. ‘Going to offer to reimburse me, are you?' she asked sarcastically.

‘If you want, I'll pay you back.' He gave her a crooked smile. ‘We could have a drink after work. I'm still working at Carruther's in Moorgate. We could meet up and discuss it, if you like.'

‘Get stuffed.' Grace enunciated the phrase quietly and hurried on up the steps to the entrance.

By the time she'd settled at her desk and loaded her typewriter with several sheets of paper, interleaved with carbon for the flimsy copies, she'd calmed down a bit. She could see Wendy peering sideways at her from her desk and she simply shook her head, implying there was nothing urgent or interesting to report.

But hard as Grace tried, she couldn't put from her mind that it had taken her many years to amass the savings that Hugh Wilkins had wasted for her overnight when he'd jilted her. A tiny part of her believed he
owed
her that money, and if there was a way she could get it back without having to pander to the swine, she knew she'd be very keen to hear about it.

‘If that was me I'd meet the rat like a shot and get every penny I could out of him. He owes you it.'

‘He's probably lying about reimbursing me just as he lied about everything else.'

Grace and Wendy were in the ladies' washroom getting ready to leave work. Wendy had kept on about what had gone on with Hugh until Grace had told her. She'd also let her know that it seemed Hugh's marriage was in trouble already and he was sniffing around her again.

‘You going to tell Chris that Hugh lay in wait for you today?'

Grace shook her head. ‘He's got enough on his plate with his work and his moth …' She bit back what she'd been about to say. She never discussed with anybody that Chris was hoping to be reconciled with his mum. Grace had been overjoyed on hearing the news that Pamela had accepted Chris's bouquet of flowers and had let him know she didn't object to seeing him again.

Knowing Chris the way she did, he'd probably offer to meet Hugh for her, just so he could ram the two-timing swine's money back down his throat.

‘What you looking so broody about?'

‘Sorry …' Grace smiled. ‘Didn't know I was.'

‘Want another drink?'

Grace shook her head. ‘How's your dad's fancy teas going?' she asked conversationally, determinedly putting Hugh Wilkins from her mind.

Chris put down his tankard and smiled. ‘Sold out of scones the other day. He reckons those are firm favourites, so are home-baked biscuits, and if he could get a bit more sugar he could double his takings.'

‘Has he done any dinners?'

‘A few pies and Spam fritters with mash and cabbage. But he says people are careful with their cash and sticking to afternoon teas is best 'cos there's more profit.'