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‘Now you done the right thing by her, they ain’t going to care either way.’ Robert took his brother’s lapels between his fingers and straightened them. He re-pinned his carnation with deliberate slowness to allow his brother to blink the glistening tears from his eyes. ‘Come on, you daft git, forget about the past. You got a future with Pam and a baby to think about now.’ He gripped Stevie’s shoulders in an encouraging way. ‘Your wife ain’t going to thank you for going soft on her tonight, you know,’ he lewdly mocked.
Stevie sniffed a laugh, still blinking rapidly. ‘I know you shouldn’t say it about your own, but … God, am I glad he’s six foot under.’
‘Everyone’s glad he’s gone,’ Robert said brusquely. ‘Now that’s enough about him; this is a day to enjoy and I ain’t talking about any of it no more.’
‘If you two don’t come back in, I’ll bring the party out here.’ Silhouetted in the aperture of the pub doorway was a young woman dressed in a white silk sheath that stopped short of her knees and displayed her shapely legs. She sashayed forward a few steps then hopped and removed first one then the other of her shoes and carried them with her. ‘Gawd, me dogs aren’t half barking. Old uncle Ned must’ve trod on me feet a dozen times when we was doing the Charleston.’ She slipped her arm through her husband’s. ‘What you two doing out here?’ She gave her brother-in-law a meaningful look, whilst massaging sore toes. ‘What’ve you been up to, Rob? Vicky’s been looking for you. I reckon she thinks you’ve gone off her.’ She paused, hoping for an answer but all she got was an indifferent shrug. ‘We saw the way Gloria was making a play for you earlier.’ Stevie’s new wife slanted her sly eyes up at her brother-in-law. ‘In case you don’t know the rules, Robert Wild, the best man’s supposed to get off with the bridesmaid, not the tart behind the bar.’
‘I’ve been enjoying a smoke,’ Robert explained smoothly and ignored the rest.
A subtle glance passed between the brothers.
An hour earlier Stevie had stepped into the Duke’s corridor just in time to see his brother gliding downstairs shrugging on his jacket. Gloria had reappeared a moment or two later and taken up position behind the bar looking flushed and secretly pleased. Robert had made sure he’d timed it right: the drinking by that time was well under way and the pair of them wouldn’t have been absent long enough to arouse any suspicions. Stevie knew if he hadn’t happened to nip out for a smoke and a breath of air, he’d have been none the wiser either. Robert didn’t boast about his conquests, or anything else he had.
Gloria was a looker with a magnificent bust that magnetised a man’s eyes from the moment he was over the Duke’s threshold. Stevie wouldn’t blame any bloke for taking off her what was offered on a plate, even if the chance had come up during his wedding reception and the girl with an ambition to become Robert’s sweetheart was Pam’s bridesmaid. Stevie knew his wife’s friend was kidding herself. So did Robert, although he seemed in no hurry to shatter Vicky’s illusions about hooking him. His brother wouldn’t restrict himself to just one woman. Pam could matchmake all she liked, but Robert would take or leave Vicky Watson, just as he had all the others who’d believed they could rein him in and get his ring on their finger.
At that moment Vicky flounced out on to the pavement. ‘So, where’ve you been?’ she demanded of Robert, fanning her sulky face with a hand.
‘I’ve been right here. Why d’you want to know?’
A sheepish smile was Vicky’s apology and she fixed her eyes on the cigarette packet rotating idly in his hands. ‘I wouldn’t mind a fag.’
Robert offered her the cigarettes and once she’d taken one and he’d lit it, he started towards the pub. Vicky quickly slipped her arm through his and the newly married couple followed, locked in an embrace that made them stumble and giggle. Stevie swung his new bride into his arms and carried her wriggling over the threshold.
‘That’s you two sorted out for later. That’s my boys.’ The growling voice erupted in a lascivious chuckle.
Robert glanced over his shoulder to see a couple, half shadowed by a high wall, watching them.
‘Piss off, mate. Private party.’ Robert had already ejected several gatecrashers from the reception. The chance of a free feed and unlimited booze was too hard to resist for most people who lived around Campbell Road and struggled to put a plate of chips on the table. Once news of the wedding had got around, half of The Bunk’s inhabitants had been angling for invitations to the reception.
‘That’s no way to speak to yer old dad, Bobbie.’
It was a moment before Robert pivoted about. Only a few people called him Bobbie now. Family, mostly.
‘Remember me?’
Now the ribaldry was gone, Robert realised the voice was the same even if the man in front of him looked to be a pale imitation of his former self.
The father he remembered had been a muscled fellow with a dark head of hair and a lean face. The man sauntering towards them looked to have shrivelled in height and ballooned in weight. He appeared, too, to be fair-headed but was, Robert realised, almost completely grey. But his eyes, dark and sharp, were the same, pinning him down, still no escape.
For a moment Robert felt rooted to the spot, trapped in his brother’s nightmare of last night. He licked his parched lips and shot a look at his brother. Stevie was gawping at him, slack-jawed, waiting for reassurance that it was just a phantom and everything was going to be all right.
‘Go back inside.’ It was a hoarse murmur as Robert disentangled his arm from Vicky’s clutch and gave the middle of her back a little push to hurry her on her way.
She tottered forward with a mew of indignation.
‘Go inside, Pam,’ Robert ordered his sister-in-law, his voice strengthening.
She looked mutinous, but Stevie dropped her quickly to her feet, where she landed in an ungainly hobble. He nodded vigorously at her to do as she’d been told. His obvious agitation prompted her to obey, albeit with a sullen expression.
‘What the fuck d’you want?’ Robert spat through his teeth as soon as the two young women had disappeared into the pub.
‘We thought you died in the war. We thought you was dead.’ Stevie’s words emerged in a strange, high-pitched whine.
‘Ain’t dead, son.’
It had been said in that gentle way Jimmy had that had always set Rob’s teeth on edge. His crooning voice had been as deceitful as everything else about him. Robert took a step forward to put himself between his father and his brother.
‘Just some real bad things was goin’ on at the time and I had to get away,’ Jimmy continued in his dreary drawl. ‘Best thing for everyone, you see, for me to disappear fer a while.’
‘Best thing now ’n’ all,’ Robert ejected through his teeth. ‘So get goin’ ’n’ don’t ever come back. There’s nothing here for you. D’you understand? Nothing.’
‘That ain’t nice, Bobbie.’ Jimmy sounded plaintive. ‘I come to wish me son all the best for his future happiness, ain’t I?’
‘How d’you know I was getting wed?’ Stevie had recovered a little from his shock. Although he was visibly shaking, he had a few questions ready. He grabbed the cigarettes from Rob and fumbled to get one lit then dragged deeply on it. ‘You been spyin’ on me? How d’you know anything about me now?’
‘Just ’cos I ain’t been around, don’t mean I ain’t been keepin’ a watchful eye on yers. You’re me flesh ’n’ blood.’
Robert threw back his head and roared out a vicious laugh. He took a menacing pace forward, stopping Jimmy from coming any closer to his brother. Their father had been edging forward one step at a time and Robert knew it was his intention to win them over with his wonky smile and weasel words. When they were kids it might have worked; just as a whipping with a belt had worked. But it was different now.
‘This ain’t the time fer none of yer lies,’ Robert enunciated through stretched lips. ‘If you care about Steve’s future happiness you’ll fuck off now and stay away from all of us.’ He jabbed a finger close to Jimmy’s chin. Now he was within striking distance he could see what the dusk had disguised. One side of his father’s face now had a slightly concave shape as though, at some time during the last decade, his cheekbone had been smashed. ‘So get going or there’s gonna be blood ’n’ guts all over the place.’ Robert leaned forward. ‘We ain’t scared of you now. You’re nothing to us and we ain’t interested in any of yer threats or promises …’
‘Bobbie … hang on … let’s hear where he’s been …’ Stephen had reverted to using his childhood name, something he hadn’t done in many years. Robert knew that hearing Jimmy use it had prompted him to do so and it enraged him. He swung about and glared at his brother.
‘You’re not wanted here.’ Robert sent that over a shoulder at his father as he gripped Stephen’s arm and shoved him towards the pub.
‘We goin’ in fer a drink, Jim? Could do with a drink, Jim.’ The woman who’d been lurking quietly by the kerb took a pace forward. Her short, skinny body had easily been overlooked in the shadowy gloom. But now she nervously approached. Edie Greaves had need of a drink and Jimmy had promised her he knew of a place where they could go this evening and get treated handsomely for free. In fact, he’d been promising her many good things would come their way once they got to Islington. In Edie’s eyes, the only benefit so far had been in managing to abscond and leave a pile of debts behind in Kent.
Robert turned back just in time to note the change in his father’s attitude. He recognised the look gripping Jimmy’s sagging face and it turned his guts. Jimmy sorely wanted to tell the woman to shut up or, as he’d frequently done with their mother, stop her complaints with his fist. But he couldn’t because he was putting on an act for them all. The prodigal father had come to give his blessing to his son’s marriage. Like fuck! Robert knew that if this miserable, cowardly excuse for a man had come to find them it was because he wanted something very badly. The crafty bastard had probably already made it his business to find out that Stephen had nothing to offer, so Robert knew it was him he was after. Somehow, Jimmy Wild had discovered he’d done all right for himself and had come back to Islington to see what was in it for him.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Matilda Keiver came bursting out of the pub trailing people in her wake. ‘Pam said there’s a feller being a nuisance. Want him shifted, Rob?’ The crowd behind her chortled and encouraged her playful belligerence. Everyone knew Tilly Keiver wasn’t frightened of a fight. If a bloke needed a slap, she was the one to give it to him. And he’d come off worst. Her nephews knew her reputation too, and would usually have laughed along with the others.
But they didn’t; and after a moment it penetrated Matilda’s booze-fuddled brain that something wasn’t right. She marched forward, whiskey glass in hand, squinting into the dusk to see who was causing a ruckus at her nephew’s big day. After their mum had died, and when they were just starting out fending for themselves as young teenagers, Tilly had done what she could to help Rob and Steve even though money was tight for her too as a war widow. She still treated Fran’s boys as an extension of her own family. Today she’d had the status of the groom’s mother, and the bride’s family were duly conscious of her role.
Tilly stopped and frowned at the man lounging against a wall a few feet away.
‘Hello, Tilly. Remember me?’
At the sound of his voice, she froze, open-mouthed, her whiskey hovering by her lips. A moment later the glass slipped from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the ground, spattering her shins and the hem of her best dress.
‘Jimmy?’ she gasped, and tottered a step closer, her head leading the way as though she were trying to identify a deadly reptile without getting close enough for it to strike.
‘Long time no see,’ he murmured, grinning at her. ‘Bet you missed me, ain’t yer?’
At this she bounded forward, letting fly with her fists. ‘You fuckin’ bastard! You should be dead!’ She sobbed in anguish.
Jimmy ducked easily out of the way of her assault. ‘No need fer that, Til. I’d’ve got you another drink, gel, honest!’ He hadn’t lost the knack of winding her up in a way that only she could hear and understand. ‘Still need the booze then, do yer?’ he laughed, fending her off as her clawed fingers flew at his face.
And that was all the private chat they managed after not seeing one another for almost ten years. The next moment Edie Greaves had hold of Tilly’s thick, fiery hair and was yanking back her head to slap her face. Robert landed a heavy hand on his father’s chest and shoved him so hard he was freed from Tilly’s grip and went tottering backwards until he collapsed on his backside on the pavement.
More people had come out of the pub to see what was going on. Alice Chaplin rushed to her mother’s side and a moment later her sister Bethany joined her in trying to prise the two women apart. As Edie stumbled away, breathing hard, Tilly drew back her lips in a snarl and landed a final punch on the side of her opponent’s head.
‘Come back tomorrer and have some more,’ Tilly spat at her, knuckling blood from her lips.
‘For Gawd’s sake! What’s going on?’ Alice demanded, gazing horrified at her mother’s cut mouth.
Trying not to meet her eyes, Tilly put an arm round Alice’s shoulders. ‘Let’s get back inside,’ she muttered hoarsely, shrugging off concerned guests who’d come to her aid. Catching sight of Pam’s mother, who was gawping at her with disgust, Tilly tilted up her chin and gave her such a fierce look the woman scuttled back through the Duke’s doors.
‘Little Alice … you’ve grown, ain’t yer?’
Alice looked about to see where the voice had come from. There was something horribly familiar about it, and instinctively her stomach had lurched. But her mother had hold of her arm and was forcefully steering her towards the pub. Breaking free of her mother’s grip, she turned with an unaccountable feeling of dread. It was then that she saw him. He was still sitting on the pavement, but comfortably now, as though he liked it there, with his arms clasped about his knees. ‘Did you marry the lanky git who lived next door?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Geoff Lovat, weren’t it? He were right sweet on you, as I recall …’
Alice glanced over at her husband, her eyes wild with terror, her heart drumming so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. Josh Chaplin had their daughter in his arms. Lilian was still sleeping, undisturbed by the pandemonium. He quickly handed over his precious burden to a woman close by in readiness to rush to his wife’s aid, but by the time he reached her she’d crumpled unconscious to the floor.
TWO
‘I did feel a right fool, fainting like that.’
‘All things considered, it’s lucky you didn’t have a bleedin’ heart attack,’ Tilly returned forcefully. ‘Or me, fer that matter,’ she continued in a mutter. Slanting a look at her daughter, she poured her a cup of tea then pulled out a chair opposite her at the table. A silence settled on the two women as they brooded on their own thoughts, elbows on the splintered tabletop, cups cradled in their palms.
A few days had passed since Stevie’s wedding reception had been ruined by Jimmy Wild’s reappearance in the land of the living. The party had broken up after the commotion, despite the newly wed couple’s half-hearted attempt to persuade people to jolly up and stay a while longer. The bride’s parents had been the first to leave. Mr and Mrs Plummer had scrambled to collect their coats and fled, relatives in tow. Tilly had felt like telling them that their daughter had a bun in the oven, just to wipe the contempt from their faces. But by then everyone had had enough. The festive atmosphere had vanished. The immediate family had been too preoccupied with the turbulent emotions and memories stirred up by Jimmy’s resurfacing; the guests couldn’t wait to get out and spread the gossip. Even for this neighbourhood, where calamity and drama were regular visitors, this was sensational news.
Tilly and Alice had not seen each other since that evening. Once Alice had revived from her faint, Robert had insisted on taking Alice, Josh and little Lilian home in his car. Today it was business as usual for those in employment, but Alice had taken a day off from her job as a charwoman. Abandoning her usual routine of taking Lilian with her to clients’ houses, she had set out early and dropped her daughter off with her mother-in-law to be looked after for an hour or two whilst she visited Tilly. Normally she would have walked, but today she had caught the bus from Wood Green to Islington. There was an urgency about this visit that justified the fare being spent.
‘He was dead!’ Alice whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He was dead, wasn’t he, Mum?’ she pleaded. ‘All that blood …’ Her voice tailed off.
‘Seems he wasn’t. He must’ve just been knocked unconscious after yer aunt Fran whacked him with that iron pot …’ Tilly shuddered. ‘Did you notice that dent in his cheek?’ She clamped her lips together. ‘No point in going over it now. I put it out me mind years ago and it’s staying out.’
‘Should we tell Rob and Steve what actually went on?’ Alice asked with an apprehensive glance at her mother. ‘I know we’ve never lied, rather just avoided the subject, but …’
‘No!’ Tilly harshly interrupted. ‘Let sleeping dogs lie where they’re concerned. No point in upsetting them more’n they are already. If they’re interested in knowing where he’s been, or why he disappeared, they’ll have to ask Jimmy for answers.’
‘Will he tell them the truth, d’you reckon?’
‘If he does, it’ll be the first time in his miserable life,’ Tilly grimly replied. She pursed her lips. ‘He won’t want his sons, or anybody else for that matter, knowing he went on a rampage that night and we managed to turn the tables on him.’ Matilda slid a look up at Alice. ‘What did Josh have to say about it all?’
Alice shook her head in despair. ‘He doesn’t know what to think or to say, same as me.’ Her dark eyes seemed huge in her pale face as she gazed at Tilly. She knew that the same dark thoughts and secrets were circling in both their minds, but that didn’t make it any easier to speak about it. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Geoff. He was too young to fight, but he went to war anyway because of Jimmy’s wickedness. He died thinking he’d killed him.’ Tears of frustration glistened in Alice’s eyes as she remembered the strong, handsome youth she’d considered to be her best friend a decade ago.
Geoff had saved her from being molested by her uncle and, during a vicious fight, and in self-defence, had stabbed Jimmy with his own knife. On that dreadful night she’d been out with Geoff and had returned home to discover her monster of an uncle battering and attempting to rape her mother. She’d never forget the sickening sight of her mum’s bloodied face, or Jimmy’s penis poking out of his dirty underclothes as he loomed over Tilly sprawled, semi-conscious, on the floor. Alice knew that harrowing scene would remain in her memory until she died. When she tried to flee to get help, Jimmy had turned his attention on her, forcing her down on to the bed. With her mother too badly injured to protect her, it had been sheer good luck that Geoff was still close by and had heard her scream. He’d raced to her aid, and in doing so had forfeited his life.
There wasn’t a day went by that she didn’t devote private minutes to Geoff’s memory. Why would she not, when he’d sacrificed everything for her?
When she’d been growing up in Campbell Road the Lovat family had lived next door. Her big sister Sophy had married Danny Lovat, the eldest child of Bert and Margaret Lovat. The Lovats were still Tilly’s neighbours although they’d moved to the better end of Campbell Road where they’d got more room for their brood, most of whom still lived at home. The Lovats had been guests at Stevie’s wedding and had been as flabbergasted as everyone else to discover that Jimmy Wild was not dead.
But Bert and Margaret were not among the handful of people who knew why Jimmy had suddenly vanished from The Bunk. They would not have understood why his turning up alive was so devastating for Matilda and Alice. And they certainly had no idea that their son’s abrupt decision to go to war had been prompted by his role in Jimmy’s disappearance. At eighteen, Geoff had perished fighting in Flanders, as had Alice’s father.
‘Damn shame the swine ain’t dead.’ Tilly’s mouth pressed into a hard line. ‘Still, it don’t matter. Alive, dead – he’s nothing to us now. He can crawl back under his stone and stay there. I’m just glad yer Aunt Fran ain’t here to see the day.’
Tilly fingered her healing lip. She didn’t bear a grudge against Jimmy’s other half for clumping her. If the woman hadn’t been with him for long she might not know better than to stick up for the evil git. It had taken her sister Fran fifteen years to finally turn her back on him. This new woman had shown her loyalty in public, but what went on behind their closed doors was anybody’s guess. Tilly could guess. She knew Jimmy Wild would never change.
‘That poor cow he’s got in tow don’t know what she’s let herself in for. There’s plenty of people round here could tell her her fortune if she sticks with him.’ She grunted a sour laugh. ‘Nellie’ll give her a piece of advice,’ she said, mentioning one of Jimmy’s fancy women. Nellie Tucker had been a looker in her time and choosy in her punters, but now she’d grown blowsy and turned tuppenny tricks for drunks coming out of pubs. Tilly reckoned that every woman who came into contact with Jimmy Wild would be degraded by the experience. She’d fought hard to prevent it happening to her.
A knock on the door brought Tilly’s reflections to an end and her on to her feet. ‘Not expecting anyone.’ She frowned at Alice, pushing her chair back from the table.
A neighbour, who’d had rooms in a house across the street for almost as long as Alice could remember, barged in before Tilly had the door properly open. Obviously Beattie Evans was bursting with news she wanted to get off her chest.
‘Ain’t sure how to tell you this, Til,’ the woman wheezed out. It was always Beattie’s way to draw out a drama if she could.
‘Straight out’ll do,’ Tilly responded flatly, planting her hands on her hips.
‘First off, I just seen Lou Perkins. She’s back from Kent and ain’t pleased to know Jimmy’s arrived here before her. She reckoned she’d be the one breaking the news about him not being dead, ‘cos she ran in to him in Dartford market.’
‘That it?’ Tilly barked.
Beattie shook her head. ‘Jimmy and his woman are moving in up the road.’
Beattie had been expecting a fiery response to her news, but even so she jumped back in surprise at the force of it.
‘What?’ Tilly roared. ‘Where? What number?’ She was already rolling up her sleeves. ‘If he thinks he can rub our noses in this, he can bleedin’ think again.’
‘Mum! Don’t!’ Alice shot up from the table to position herself between her mother and the door, blocking her way.
‘He ain’t moving back to Campbell Road!’ Tilly thundered, swinging around to slam a fist on the table and send the cups crashing over. ‘Ain’t havin’ the bastard livin’ near me after what’s gone on. I’ll swing fer him, so help me Gawd. If he weren’t dead before, he soon will be.’
Robert Wild was of the same opinion as his aunt about Jimmy returning to his old stamping ground. Not that Robert lived in Campbell Road any more. For fifteen months he’d been renting a smart townhouse in Tufnell Park and kept his new Sunbeam Tourer parked on a side driveway that used to lead to stables. His ambition was to buy the freehold of the property. But for now he was content to use his profits to expand the businesses he already had, and to invest in more. Robert had a wily head on his shoulders and knew acting flash with his cash could jeopardise his plans for his future security. He was twenty-three and intended to retire a millionaire when he was thirty-five. His only real luxuries were his house, his car, and a few decent suits. He had justified those purchases with the logic that an appearance of modest affluence was necessary when negotiating with people who had more money and experience than he did. Young he may be, but he was careful never to present himself as a chancer, or a threat. He knew he was a match for any of them. He also knew it was too soon to let them become aware of the fact.
He had bought property, but none that he’d consider residing in himself. He was the landlord of a shop in Queensland Road and three tenements in Campbell Road. He also had a nicer house in Playford Road, where his brother and sister-in-law now lived rent-free on the ground floor. He’d picked them up as a job lot for refurbishment three years back. Solly, who’d owned the secondhand shop in Queensland Road, had wanted to quickly offload all his premises and retire to the coast before the cancer eating away at his insides finished its work.
Robert had been twenty at the time. He’d used every penny he’d scrimped and saved from working his market stalls for six years to do the deal behind the back of old Mr Keane, who liked to think he was the wheeler-dealer landlord in Campbell Bunk. The sulky old git hadn’t spoken to him since even though Robert had been at pains not to rub his nose in it because you never knew who you might need on side.
The deal had been struck with Solly because the old Jew liked him, and remembered a promise he’d made years before. When Rob had been at school he’d often run errands for Solly, and he’d done a bit of lifting and carrying the old boy couldn’t manage to do himself. Solly had never paid him; at the time he was a regular tight-fist, but he’d always told Rob he’d see him all right one day. And he’d been true to his word. Rob knew Solly could have got a better price for his properties from old man Keane, but he’d let him have them for what he could afford to pay. It had been the turning point in his career; from that point on he’d been resented and courted in equal measure. In the estimation of most of the folk in these parts, Rob Wild had hit the big time when he took on Solly’s stock.
He had three men working for him, but Stevie was the only one of his employees he trusted to collect the rents from his tenants in Campbell Road. Today he had taken on the task himself as Stevie and a few of the boys were picking up a shipment of market stock.
He had just stopped to scrape the sole of his shoe on the kerb, having stepped in some slimy cabbage stalks in the hallway of one of his properties, when he looked up and saw Jimmy carrying sacks of possessions into a house a few doors down from the intersection with Paddington Street.
Robert’s lips whitened over his teeth as he spat out a curse. He sprinted across the road and, grabbing his father by the shoulder, viciously spun him against the iron railings. ‘No yer don’t.’ He thrust his face up close to Jimmy’s concave, unshaven cheek. ‘Wherever it was you’ve been hiding yerself all these years, you can piss off back there. I told you, you’re not wanted round here.’
With a strength that belied his grizzled appearance, Jimmy pulled out of his son’s grip. ‘You don’t own this house, Bobbie,’ Jimmy sneered. ‘I made sure of that.’ He didn’t look or sound so complaisant today. ‘Old man Keane’s still got this one, so you can’t put me out. I’ll live where I want. And I want right here.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Be nice ’n’ close to yer aunt Til again. She’ll like that.’ A private joke caused him to smirk. He turned his head towards the junction with Seven Sisters Road where the Keivers had rooms. ‘Be nice ’n’ close to Stevie ’n’ all. Lives just around the corner in Playford Road now, don’t he?’ He started to gather up his belongings and move again towards the door-less portal, beyond which was darkness and a stink of decay.
Robert took hold of his father’s shirt collar and hauled him backwards. He pushed him stumbling into the gutter and threw the bags he’d dropped after him. A few old clothes spewed on to the pavement as one of the bags gaped open.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Edie’s cry reached the two men as a faint wail. She had been proceeding down the road some way behind Jimmy. They’d turned the corner from Seven Sisters together but being relatively unencumbered, he had managed to pull away from her. With one hand Edie was pushing a pram filled to the brim with utensils; the other hand gripped the wrist of a small boy. The child was whimpering and dragging her back because his little legs couldn’t keep up with her faster pace. Behind them, and obviously part of the family, trailed an older boy who looked to be about ten years old and a young woman. Both were carrying boxes. Although the girl was some years older than her brother the resemblance between them was striking. Both had fair complexions and thick blonde hair and eyes of a deep blue.
Seeing Jimmy on his knees, scrabbling with his clothes, Edie started to jog, pulling the toddler with her and making him cry. Despite her spindly limbs she put on a spurt that belied her frail appearance. The creases in her complexion deepened with her determination to find out what was going on. As the toddler stumbled to his knees she let go of his hand and rushed on, the pram bouncing in front of her, and one of her hands batting back pots trembling precariously close to the sides. The young woman immediately dropped her box and went to tend to the whimpering infant. The older boy shuffled close by, obviously preferring to wait for his big sister to accompany him into unknown territory.
If Robert had not been so het up at the sight of his father on Campbell Road he might sooner have spotted Edie and the children trailing in her wake. Having digested the scene he turned back. ‘If you’ve knocked that lot out,’ he snarled at his father, ‘you must’ve started with that old bag before Mum was dead.’ His eyes were redrawn to the young woman who was crouched by the sobbing child and dabbing at his grazed knee with a handkerchief. Robert guessed she was in her late teens. ‘In fact, I’d say you must’ve been at it before we was hanging out the flags believing you was gone for good. Seems we were wrong about everything. We all thought Nellie Tucker was your tart.’
‘Can’t help being popular with the ladies, can I?’ Jimmy grunted a chuckle, still stuffing clothes back into the bag. He seemed unflustered by his son’s rough handling.
