Now, allowed for a short period of time to sit by Jack’s bed, she could see through the window to where, two floors below, Judith was playing marbles in the hospital gardens with another patiently waiting little girl.
‘What are you thinking, love?’ Jack asked thickly. Beneath his rarely worn pyjama jacket, his chest was bulkily bandaged and a saline drip was running into his left arm, just above the wrist.
Her eyes met his, her heart turning over with love and apprehension and deep, deep unhappiness. ‘I was thinking about Mavis,’ she said, her low voice betraying only the merest hint of an accent. ‘I was wondering how long the two of you had been seeing so much of each other. I was wondering if, from now on, that was how you wanted things to be.’
Jack closed his eyes for a moment, his hold on her hand tightening. What had happened last night between himself and Archie had, in a way he couldn’t understand, brought his and Christina’s difficulties into sharp focus. It was impossible any longer to treat her leaving home to live with her mother and stepfather as if it were the outcome of an ordinary, run-of-the-mill domestic spat. Christina didn’t indulge in needlessly dramatic domestic spats. Their marriage was at crisis point, and he didn’t want it to be at crisis point. Christina was special – unique – so far removed in type from a rowdily jolly southeast London girl as to be a creature from another planet. If he lost her he would never find anyone like her ever again. And he wasn’t going to lose her. No matter what the cost, he wouldn’t lose her.
Fighting the fuzziness and nausea that were the after-effects of his anaesthesia, he said with raw truthfulness, knowing the issue could be fudged no longer, ‘Things have been getting out of hand where me and Mavis are concerned, but I haven’t wanted them to, Tina. God’s honest truth, I haven’t wanted them to.’
Christina could feel tears again burning the backs of her eyes. All her life she’d been so self-contained that she hardly ever cried and now, for a whole array of reasons, she couldn’t seem to stop.
‘It’s you I love, Tina!’ Jack’s passionate fierceness drew the interested attention of the occupants of the beds at either side of him. ‘If you don’t believe anything else, you must believe that!’
She did believe it, but it still didn’t make everything workable again. ‘The club,’ she said, willing him to understand how she felt about him having such a dubious business in such a blatant red-light area. ‘Have you other clubs in Soho, beside The 21? And is that what we’ve been living on? Money from . . . from—’
‘The 21 isn’t a strip club, love,’ he said, guessing what it was she was trying, and couldn’t bring herself, to say. He winced with pain when, unintentionally, he moved against his carefully arranged pillows.
Aware of his agonizing discomfort, she knew she should leave him in order that he could get some rest, but her relief that they were at last talking openly to each other was so vast, she couldn’t bring herself to make the move.
Jack’s eyes held hers, gold-flecked and intense. He didn’t understand why she felt so strongly about the club but, as she did do, he was coming to a hard decision, one of the hardest he had ever made. ‘Listen love,’ he said, his hand still holding hers, ‘How about if I hand over the club to Mavis and get myself a straight job? Will you move back home? Will you agree to our making a fresh start?’
Even white as a sheet from the after-effects of his operation, he still possessed more masculinity and charisma than any other man she’d ever met. They didn’t have babies – would never have babies – but now that Judith had come into her life this was, perhaps, something she would one day be able to come to terms with. ‘Yes,’ she said, knowing that what he was offering was enough; that it was more than enough. From out of the corner of her eye she saw that the Ward Sister was heading their way and knew that her extra-concessionary visiting-time was coming to an end. ‘Can you see out of the window, Jack?’ she asked with sudden urgency. ‘Can you see the little dark-haired girl playing marbles?’ And ignoring the approaching swish of starched blue uniform, she began to tell him about Judith.
Later on in the day, when Danny came to visit him, Jack was still thinking over everything she had told him. ‘Do you know anything about this kiddie Christina’s taken up with?’ he asked, battling agonizing discomfort and still finding speech an enormous effort.
Danny, looking like something out of a horror comic with his red hair sticking up at odd angles and his bruised and swollen face sporting a horrendous patchwork of stitches, stared at him blankly out of the only eye he could open. ‘Blimey, Jack! We’ve got more to worry about at the moment than your missus an’ any kid she might be lookin’ after! Mavis is in a right state an’ ain’t even allowed visitors, ’cept fer Ted and the vicar. Accordin’ to Ted she doesn’t remember us findin’ her at the club or us gettin’ ’er to ’ospital, an’ she don’t know yet about your run-in with Archie.’
Jack’s mouth, already tight with pain, tightened even further. He might have nearly lost his life taking on Archie Duke with his bare fists, but it was an action he didn’t regret. The only thing he did regret was that Archie’s ginger-haired henchman had, by pulling a knife on him, put an end to the matter before he had put Archie out of commission not only temporarily, but for good.
‘Ted says that despite the state of ’er face, Mavis’s main worry is that if the rozzers ’ave bin called in, the club will lose its licence,’ Danny added, his voice thick with worry.
Jack grunted. The problem of the police and The 21’s drinking licence was one he’d been giving a lot of thought to, for it would certainly be lost if Mavis laid charges for Grievous Bodily Harm against Archie and his thugs and, likewise, if Archie and his thugs laid similar charges against himself and Danny. Not that it was likely Archie would do so. Tangling with the law, for any reason, was not in Archie’s best interests.
As if reading his mind, Danny said, ‘I ’ad an uncomfortable ’alf ’our with the rozzers earlier today, but I don’t fink they’re goin’ to take fings any further, Jack. They’ve already questioned Archie and ’e ain’t talkin’.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, considerin’ the condition you left Archie in, it’d be a miracle if ’e could talk even if ’e wanted to!’
Jack gave a passable imitation of a smile, grateful for the news. It certainly simplified things for him where his own pending statement to the police was concerned. With an effort, knowing Danny wouldn’t be allowed to stay for much longer, he said, ‘What about Monday night’s pirate fight with Big Jumbo, Danny? Will you and Leon be able to cope?’
This time it was Danny’s turn to grunt. The day he couldn’t manage a pirate fight was the day he’d give up on life. ‘Course we can,’ he said, hoping his head would have stopped hurting by then. ‘The only narking thing is, we still don’t know who Big Jumbo’s opponent is. The way these fights are fixed leaves a lot to be desired, Jack.’
Jack made a noise of agreement. He was flagging fast and knew it. What he needed was sleep. Lots of sleep. ‘And without Zac, this particular fight is going to be pretty pointless,’ he said, making no effort to hide the bitter disappointment he felt. Zac, and Zac alone, had been the reason the fight had been arranged. With Big Jumbo taking his place, there was no money to be made. Only money to be lost. Nor was that all. The professional fixer who arranged it had obviously been bombed out of his brain when he arranged the date for, as Leon had pointed out when they were first told of it, ‘A lot of punters won’t turn up, Jack. Not on the night before the coronation. Their wives will be wanting to spend the night up town, staking themselves a good place for a view of the procession.’
One thing was for sure. He wasn’t going to get a good view of the coronation procession. Not unless a television was wheeled into the ward. He closed his eyes, wondering when he’d be given some more painkillers, wondering how Mavis was getting on; remembering again the scene from his bedside window as Christina had walked out of the hospital and across to where Judith was playing and Judith, seeing her, had run shining-eye
d and open-armed towards her.
‘I can’t face the coronation,’ Kate said bleakly to Leon as they walked a footpath close to Greenland Dock. ‘I don’t want to be amongst people all cheering and having the time of their lives. Not when I can’t stop thinking about Matthew. Not when we still don’t know if Matthew is alive or . . . or . . .’
She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t say the word ‘dead’, and nor did Leon want her to. His arm was around her shoulder and he clasped it tightly. As a waterman, he was well aware of how very many bodies were fished from the Thames in any one year. It had been seventy last year: most of them suicidal jumpers from Tower Bridge. If a waterman, or anyone else working on the river, fished one of them up, the going reward was seven shillings and sixpence. At the prospect of someone being paid seven shillings and sixpence for fishing up Matthew’s body, Leon’s chest constricted so tightly he had to fight for breath.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Kate looked up at him sharply, fresh fear in her eyes.
‘Nothing,’ he lied, knowing he had to keep his worst fears to himself, that no good at all could come of his burdening her with them. With immense effort he forced himself to think, instead, of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. It would be a truly historic occasion, the kind of occasion that, no matter what the circumstances, Daisy and Luke, Jilly and Johnny, shouldn’t be allowed to miss. ‘Carrie and Rose will be going up town Monday night to save themselves places on the pavement in the Mall, won’t they?’ he asked, mindful that, as the long-arranged pirate fight was to take place on Monday evening, Danny wasn’t likely to be accompanying them. ‘How about suggesting to Daisy that she goes with them and that she takes the youngsters with her? The coronation is something they ought to see, and the adventure of sleeping out in the Mall will take their minds off Matthew for a bit.’ His dark face, already gouged with lines of weariness and deep anxiety, took on an even more troubled expression. ‘And Daisy, especially, needs something to take her mind off Matthew for a while. She’s been trying to hide it, but she’s spending most of her time crying.’
Kate remained silent. Daisy was making herself ill by worrying over Matthew, and he was certainly one of the reasons her eyes were so persistently red-rimmed from crying – but he wasn’t the only reason. Though Leon wasn’t aware that Daisy and Billy’s relationship had become romantic, she was aware of it and she knew, too, that something had gone wrong with it. Where Daisy’s tears for Matthew left off and her tears over Billy started, Kate didn’t know. She was sure, though, that left to itself, the problem would sort itself out.
They were so close to the vast dock they were almost deafened by the noise of whistles and hooters as barges, tugs and ships vied for position at quays and loading bays. As crane drivers slung pallets and bales across the sky from ships’ holds to barges, and dockers and stevedores went about their work shouting and swearing, Kate wondered how many times she and Leon had been down the Greenland together, showing Matthew’s photograph to all and sundry, asking the same questions time and time again. ‘Have you seen this boy? If you do see him, will you contact the River Police?’
Unlike on previous visits, the docks and dock-side now sported a garish array of Union Jacks and coronation bunting. Yesterday Jilly came home from school clutching a celebratory coronation mug she had been given. Harriet Robson was, she knew, baking sausage rolls and tarts on a mammoth scale, ready to feed all the neighbours who would be squeezing in to number two to watch the coronation on television. Elisha Deakin had already festooned the exterior of The Swan with giant-size flags, and the interior with red, white and blue paper streamers. The whole world, it seemed, was gearing itself up to enjoy the biggest visual spectacle of its life. But she and Leon weren’t. Unless Matthew returned home safe and sound, she was sure she and Leon would never again joyfully celebrate anything.
Overcome by a despair impossible to control, she looked away from the gaily fluttering flags and pressed her face against Leon’s shoulder, beginning, once again, to weep.
‘Mum and Dad have gone down to Greenland Dock,’ Luke said to Deborah Harvey as she stepped imperiously into the house.
Deborah was unsurprised. Leon Emmerson was always searching some part of the river area for Matthew, and Kate often accompanied him. The anxiety she shared with the Emmersons had, as the days turned into weeks and there was still no news of Matthew, resulted in a grudging bond being formed between herself and them. As she said to Genevre that morning, ‘Whatever the man’s skin colour, there’s no denying that Matthew’s stepfather is as worried about him as the rest of us. The police, for reasons best known only to themselves, seem to have ceased looking for Matthew. If anyone is going to find him, I think it will be Leon Emmerson.’
And she no longer thought it strange to sit in a kitchen, for as she had also said to Genevre, ‘The kitchens in Magnolia Square are remarkably roomy and, now it’s nearly June, the Emmersons’ kitchen is full of sunshine nearly all day long.’ It was also, she saw when she sat down in the comfortable rocking-chair she always appropriated, full of flowers. On the deal kitchen table was a glazed brown teapot stuffed with fragrant carnations, and on the window-sill was a milk-jug crammed with pale pink, indigo-eyed phlox.
‘You can give your mother a message for me, young man,’ she said, beginning to ease lilac-coloured net gloves off arthritically gnarled fingers. ‘Neither Genevre nor I relish the prospect of being in Kensington on Coronation Day. I don’t know what sort of activities will be taking place in the grounds of Kensington Palace, but there’s bound to be something, and it’s bound to be noisy: guardsmen marching up and down and beating drums or some other such foolery. As I don’t imagine for one minute that your parents will be in the mood to celebrate the Queen’s crowning, I thought it might be a good idea if Genevre and I spent the day here, with them.’
It wasn’t the real reason she wanted to spend Coronation Day in Magnolia Square, but it was the only one she felt prepared to give. The real reason was far too emotive for her to be able to put into words. Coronation Day was such a huge historical and symbolic landmark that it seemed impossible Matthew would not be home for it. If he were not . . . her crippled fingers tightened painfully together . . . if he were not, then she knew she would begin to lose all hope for his eventual safe return.
Luke shrugged, happily oblivious of Deborah Harvey’s highly charged nervous tension. He’d long since ceased having any antipathetic feelings about her, and if she and Matthew’s Aunt Genevre wanted to spend Coronation Day in Magnolia Square, it was all right by him.
With her message delivered, Deborah looked around the kitchen. It was a strange fact of life that, no matter how fraught her inner distress, she always experienced a comforting sense of ease whenever she was in Matthew’s home. Was it, perhaps, because there was always so much of interest going on and always something for her to comment on or criticize? Take the strange collection of tiny articles set on top of the washing machine and all, apparently, sprouting grass.
‘What are those strange little implements?’ she asked, glad there was something which would divert her thoughts, for a little while at least, away from the distressing mystery of Matthew’s whereabouts.
Luke sat down at the table and pulled the sketchpad he had been drawing on when she knocked at the door once again towards him. ‘They’re tiny saucepans belonging to Jilly’s toy stove,’ he said with a grin. ‘Johnny’s growing mustard and cress in them.’
Deborah felt a spurt of empathy. She, too, had grown mustard and cress as a child, though on a damp flannel, if her memory served her right. ‘And what are you doing?’ she asked in her brusque, no-nonsense way.
Luke, well accustomed to her manner and indifferent to it, slid his sketchpad around so that she could see what he was drawing. ‘It’s a building,’ he said, in case she couldn’t decipher it. ‘A skyscraper-type building, like they have in New York and Chicago. They can’t build them here,’ he added knowledgeably. ‘It’s a pity, isn’t it?’
‘Such a building would never stand up,’ she said, remembering all the hundreds and hundreds of building plans she had, as Deborah Harvey of the Harvey Construction Company, seen over the years. ‘Where are the wall supports? Come to that, young man, where are the walls?’
Luke grinned. Matthew’s great-aunt was a bad-tempered old bat, but she wasn’t boring – or stupid. ‘Skyscrapers are built on a very different principle to other buildings,’ he said. ‘That’s what makes them so fascinating.’ He pulled his chair away from the table and closer to hers, so that he could point out relevant parts of the drawing with the point of a pencil. ‘See here? This glass exterior surface is known as a curtain-wall, but it doesn’t support the building as old-fashioned walls of bricks and mortar do. The building is supported on the floors from within. It’s clever, isn’t it?’
It was clever, but it wasn’t the cleverness of the construction technique that was rendering her speechless, it was the fact that it was Luke Emmerson who was explaining it to her. Luke Emmerson, a boy she had always been led to believe was not very bright and who was always in trouble at school for being inattentive; a mixed-race south-east London boy who she would have expected to have had no ambition other, perhaps, than that of becoming a Thames waterman, like his father.
The thought brought back a memory she had tried to suppress, a memory of the Emmersons telling her that it was Matthew – Matthew who was heir to an international construction company – who was interested in the River. She sucked in air, fighting for breath. And Luke, Leon Emmerson’s son, was passionate about building!
Coronation Summer Page 26