Women on the Home Front (89 page)

Stephen rocked the kettle to judge how much water was in it then put it on the gas stove and turned to face her, resigned to getting a lecture.

‘It's time Christopher was told all about what went on between you 'n' Pam.' Matilda didn't believe in preamble.

The month of May had arrived in a blaze of sunshine and had seemed to fire Matilda into action. For weeks past she'd been playing over in her mind the conversation she'd had with Christopher and wondering whether it was best to speak up or let sleeping dogs lie. She'd been glad to see Shirley and Grace Coleman that afternoon, not simply for a nice chat about her Coronation Day plans, but because their appearance had cut short her awkward conversation with her nephew. From the moment they'd all left, Matilda had been cross with herself for being relieved about it. One thing Matilda Keiver had never been was a coward, and yet she'd felt like one that day. She knew Christopher had reached a point in his life where he was no longer going to let the matter of his mum's whereabouts drop. And that was brave of him. So she'd decided to be equally courageous and tackle his father, even though it was bound to cause ructions. It was a problem they could solve together because if he wanted help she was ready to offer it.

Stephen's jaw had sagged towards his chest. He hadn't been expecting that! He'd thought his aunt had probably got the pikeys on her mind, and was about to nag him to back off on further hostilities to protect his, and Christopher's, safety and livelihood.

‘What the bleedin' hell's brought this on?' he barked, rattling cups and saucers onto the wooden draining board.

‘Not what …
who
…' Matilda replied, arms akimbo. ‘Few weeks ago Chris asked me again about his mum and I did me best to answer him. But I'm warning you, this time he's not gonna be fobbed off.' She dragged a chair out from under the small formica-topped table and sat down, sighing as she stretched out her aching legs. ‘Been giving it a lot of thought, y'know, Stevie; I reckon you should come clean over it once 'n' fer all.'

Having conquered his shock Stephen made a dismissive gesture. ‘He'll forget about it now he's got this new girlfriend. Right keen on Grace, he is …'

‘He won't forget it,' Matilda contradicted him, undeterred by her nephew's effort to change the subject.

‘What's he said then?' Stephen snapped testily.

‘He wants to know anything I can tell him about her. He asked to see a photo of her.'

‘Well, there ain't none.'

‘I told him that,' Matilda replied levelly. ‘I said there was a wedding photo but you gave it to Pam.'

‘Shouldn't have told him nuthin' about photos,' Stevie returned harshly. He clattered teaspoons onto saucers and spun away from the sink to glare at his aunt.

‘I've told you before, I ain't lying about any of it. Up to now I've just told him the bare bones and tried to make meself scarce quick as I could. But I'm done with that. He's a man and he's got a right to know. I care about him as much as I do about you, and don't you forget it!'

‘Well, if you care that much, don't go upsetting him, and you will if you keep on and he finds out his mother was cruel to him. Should never have told him in the first place that she was alive. Were only you kept on about it made me tell him she weren't dead.'

‘I went on about it because you'd told lies! And lies always come back to bite yer!' Matilda stormed.

‘What's all the shouting about … ?'

Neither Matilda nor Stephen had heard the front door opening, or Christopher walking down the hall. He came further into the kitchen swinging a look between the guilty faces of his father and great-aunt.

And he knew, without either of them answering him.

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Glad you're both here, and talking about me mum, 'cos I've got something to say on that subject too.'

Stephen licked his lips and darted a look at Matilda. She was gazing earnestly at her great-nephew.

‘I'm gonna start looking for her,' Chris announced. ‘Fact is, I already have started.' He stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I've been to the place you told me she and her parents were last known to have lived.' He stared at his father for a comment but Stephen was tight-lipped, whitening in anger. ‘The lady who now lives in that house remembers the Plummers. She reckoned they moved off to Cambridge over twenty years ago but ain't sure if their daughter went with them or stayed in London.' He watched his aunt and father exchange a look, but still neither of them said a word. ‘If there's anything you can tell me I'd be grateful to hear it, but if you don't want to help, it don't matter 'cos I'm still gonna try and find her somehow, just to get things straight in me head.'

‘Well get this straight in yer head,' Stephen suddenly bellowed. ‘She didn't want you,
I
did! And
I
was the one took on the job of bringing you up, 'cos she was too bleedin' useless to be a mother …'

‘That's enough!' Matilda had shoved herself to her feet. ‘Christopher wants to find out what happened to his mum. That's natural enough …'

‘She weren't never a natural mother; she was a lazy good-fer-nuthin' slut …'

‘Shut up!' Matilda roared, swiping out at Stephen's arm with the back of her hand to quieten him. ‘If Christopher manages to find Pam, and she's got the guts to have an honest talk with him, he can make up his own mind about her, and what went on.'

‘No … let him carry on,' Christopher said quietly. ‘Finding out more in a few minutes than I've learned in twenty-four fucking years.' He gazed at his father. ‘Why didn't you tell me that before? Why didn't you say she was lazy and useless and we were better off without her?' he asked in a voice hoarse with emotion.

‘Didn't want to upset you about any of it,' Stephen forced out. ‘What kid wants to know that sort of thing about his mum?'

‘Me … I'd've liked to know. D'you think she'd want to see me now? Did she ever try and see me after you broke up?'

Stephen clamped together his lips but gave a savage shake of his head. It was a lie. He'd had dozens of letters from Pamela over the first few years after their divorce. In them, she'd begged to see Christopher, but he hadn't allowed it. The letters had petered out and, after their son turned five, the birthday cards stopped arriving too. Everything had been burned, but Stephen could remember they'd all had a London postmark. It had been the first thing he'd checked: whether she was still living locally. But he'd never seen her, although he'd expected her to turn up on his doorstep and demand to see their son. Stephen had jumped to the cosy conclusion that when the chips were down, she just couldn't be bothered.

‘Why wouldn't she want to see me? I wouldn't make a nuisance of meself. All I want to do is spend an afternoon talking to her about when I was little and what she's been up to … that's all …'

Matilda felt tears needle her eyes and she swung about and started fiddling with the teapot and crockery.

Stephen strode for the door, grim-faced, but Christopher stepped in front of him to stop him leaving the kitchen. ‘Did she go off with another man? Is that it?'

Stephen shoved at Christopher's arm to move him. But Christopher refused to budge, so he stuck a finger under his son's nose. ‘The only thing you need to know is … who's looked after yer? Eh? Who's got you over bumps and scrapes and the bleedin' measles and all the rest of it? I've spent me life going without and bringing you up …'

‘Yeah, I know. And I'm grateful to you fer making sacrifices. But it took the two of you to get me here in the first place. You ain't everything …'

Stephen swore beneath his breath. ‘You'd better fuckin' move, son, or there's gonna be trouble,' he threatened softly.

‘Christopher …' Matilda's grey head gestured for her great-nephew to move aside.

Stephen strode into the hallway and ripped his coat off the banisters before slamming out of the front door.

‘Well … that went well,' Christopher said acidly. But his face was ashen with strain.

‘Sit down,' Matilda said gently.

Once he was seated she put a cup of steaming tea in front of him and loaded sugar into it.

‘Fer what it's worth, Chris,' she said quietly, ‘I think you're doing the right thing.' She placed a rough hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed. ‘Can tell you like Grace a lot, even though you've not been walking out long together. Sometimes things just seem right, don't they …'

He nodded and sipped from his tea.

‘Things are changing for you, Chris. You're a man … oh, I know you have been fer quite a while, but comes a time when the larking about with yer mates gotta stop 'cos something far more important comes into your life.' She walked away to the draining board. ‘Yer dad'll get over it; be good fer him 'n' all ter jump this hurdle, then perhaps he'll start thinking about settling down again himself. He's still a youngish man. No reason why him 'n' Pearl can't get married. Can't use the excuse of caring fer his boy for ever, can he?' she said lightly.

Christopher shook his head but didn't look up. ‘D'you know where I could start looking?'

‘Bexleyheath,' Matilda said. ‘I reckon if you was to go there and make some enquiries you might find out something about Pam Plummer … or Pam Wild. She might have kept to her married name, but I know when it all happened, and the two of 'em was eaten up with bitterness, she didn't want to be known as a Wild. Then of course, she might have married again in the meantime, which would make it all a bit harder.' She paused. ‘And you've got to accept that she might be dead, Chris. Whole of London took a battering during the war and lots of casualties … so if she stuck around in town …'

‘Yeah …' he sighed. ‘Just be nice to know though. What makes you say Bexleyheath?'

‘Ran into a friend of your mum's I hadn't seen in a while, before the war. Vicky Watson was her bridesmaid. She said she'd sort of lost touch with Pam but thought she'd gone south of the river, Bexleyheath way. I remember Vicky seemed a bit cagey. It made me think Pam might have a new man in her life. Or perhaps Vicky just thought I harboured grudges over what went on between yer mum and dad. But that weren't the case then and it ain't now.'

‘Where does Vicky Watson live?' Christopher immediately asked.

‘Ain't Vicky Watson now; she's married to David Green who works for the Water Board. Or he was working there when I spoke to her. But that were over thirteen years ago. I think they had a place in Clapham, but 'course they might've got bombed out.'

‘Thanks, Aunt Til.'

Christopher had spoken so huskily, so gratefully, that Tilly dipped her head to conceal the tears in her eyes. ‘I'll be getting off then,' she croaked, putting her empty cup down on the draining board.

‘Want a lift back?'

‘If you've got time it'd save me poor old legs,' Matilda answered with a smile.

‘Don't reckon your old legs are as bad as you make out,' he ribbed her, glad to lighten the atmosphere.

‘You try falling out a bleedin' first-floor winder and see how you feel,' she came back indignantly, but with a rueful chuckle.

When he was younger, Christopher had had a macabre fascination with knowing all the details about Matilda's narrow escape from death. It had never been kept a secret from him that his paternal grandfather had been the black sheep of the family and had tried to murder Matilda. There had been no point trying to cover up the scandal as many people knew it first-hand. The younger generation had had gruesome details passed down to them about the night Jimmy had a fight with a gangster and was mortally wounded. Rather than wait, and let nature take its course, Jimmy had committed suicide by falling from a window and dragging Matilda out with him. Jimmy had died that night, although his legend lived on. He was still spoken about by some locals with a mixture of dread and awe. At school, Christopher had enjoyed his mates being envious of him because of his notorious ancestor. But those juvenile feelings had passed; now he felt an acute sense of loss at never having known even one of his grandparents.

‘Did Mr and Mrs Plummer ever try to keep in touch with me? I suppose even if they had me dad wouldn't have allowed it.'

Matilda slowly walked to the front door. She turned to Christopher before opening it. ‘They were ashamed, Chris. Not of you – of their daughter and what had gone on. They were strait-laced people … not like us. Staying respectable and not being gossiped about could've been more important to 'em than seeing their grandson.' She sighed. ‘That's just my opinion. Could be there were other reasons they kept quiet. If you get to speak to yer mum she'll tell you about them, I expect.'

As Chris helped Matilda out of his van in Whadcoat Street he spied Kieran Murphy pushing a pram over the threshold of his house. The man raised a hand to them but didn't stop to talk; he immediately disappeared inside.

‘Ain't seen much of Noreen lately; I reckon he's got her under lock 'n' key.' Matilda scowled.

‘Not done no more babysitting?'

‘He don't want her workin'. Thought Noreen had told Kieran she'd got a little job cleanin' but seems she went behind his back and he hit the rafters over it. He's made her promise to give it up and stay home with the kids. Know she ain't lyin' over his temper 'cos I've heard them going at it hammer 'n' tongs on a few occasions.' Matilda gave a sorrowful shake of her head. ‘Pride's all well 'n' good when you can afford it. But that man can't.'

‘Could tell he had the 'ump about you minding Kathleen the day I took her home. Asked me for work that day too.'

‘Rob wouldn't wear it, would he?'