by Annie Groves
‘Came over and did the job when I was out,’ Pam said. ‘Kind of him to do it, all things considered …’
‘He is kind,’ Matilda said. ‘He’s grown into a fine young man.’
Pam nodded and turned her head to shield the sudden glisten in her eyes.
After a short silence Matilda asked, ‘Did you get married again, Pam?’ She had noticed the younger woman absently twisting a gold band on her finger.
‘Yeah … married Stan in 1939, not long before the war started. He was a good man. Joined up straight away … got injured badly.’ Pam’s brief account of her second marriage tailed off and she blinked. ‘Didn’t have much luck with husbands one way or another.’ She picked up her sherry and took a swallow.
‘Survive his injuries?’ Matilda enquired, although she’d guessed that he hadn’t.
Pam shook her head. ‘Buried him in 1944. He was in a wheelchair for a while … we didn’t have any kids …’ Her voice faded. ‘How about you, Matilda?’ she asked. ‘I know you lost Jack in the Great War.’
‘Yeah … lost my Jack, God rest him,’ Matilda said gruffly. ‘Lost Reg too in 1943. You wouldn’t have known him but I was with Reg Donovan for over fifteen years although we never made it official.’
‘Is Christopher married? Does he have any children?’ Pam suddenly blurted out the thought that had been rotating in her mind for many weeks. The idea of being a granny, even from afar, had coated her insides with warm pleasure.
Matilda smiled. ‘Not got a wife or kids yet, but he’s got a lovely girlfriend called Grace and I reckon it’s getting serious.’
‘Good,’ Pam murmured, smiling at her sherry. She swallowed the small amount left in her glass and drew a five-pound note from her pocket. ‘Would you pass this on to him, please?’
‘’Course … if you don’t want to give it to him yerself.’
Matilda could tell that Pam was angling to leave, but she had a few more questions she’d like answers to before she let her escape. ‘Did you stick around in London after you and Stevie split up?’
Pam glanced up to find Matilda’s gimlet eyes on her. ‘Stayed with my parents for a while. They moved off to Cambridge and I went as well for a year and helped out in their draper’s shop. But it didn’t work out so as soon as I could I got myself a job and moved back to London. I worked in a hotel on the Strand as a chambermaid. Pay wasn’t up to much but I got board and lodgings.’
‘How’s yer mum and dad keeping?’
‘Dad died a couple of years ago. Mum’s got a bungalow in Cambridge. Don’t see her very often.’
‘They must’ve been pleased to see you settle down for a second time.’
‘Nothing I did pleased them after what happened …’ Pam pursed her thin lips. ‘Another sherry?’ she asked quickly, standing up.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Matilda answered, upending her glass.
Pam took the empty schooners and went to the bar.
‘Not having one yerself?’ Matilda asked when Pam returned and put down just one small sherry.
‘Got quite a journey to make, better get going.’ Pam buttoned her coat. ‘Gets dark so early this time of year.’
‘Yeah,’ Matilda said. ‘Well, you take care of yerself, won’t you.’
Pamela looked at the five-pound note. She put a couple of fingers on it and pushed it across the table close to Matilda’s glass. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d pass that on.’
‘You can give it to Chris yerself, you know. He’s just down Whadcoat Street, where I live, doing the demolition on the houses up one end.’
Pam’s startled eyes darted to Matilda. A moment later she gave a quick shake of the head. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d pass it on,’ she repeated before turning to head out of the pub.
Pamela stopped at the top of Whadcoat Street and gazed into the distance. No men were visible now, just parked vans. She realised her son must have gone inside one of the properties to work.
Much as she longed to see Christopher, and talk to him, she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t just that her unexpected appearance was sure to embarrass him in front of his colleagues: she felt completely drained following her talk with Matilda. Yet Matilda had been true to her word and had avoided bringing up the reason for the bitter split between her and Stephen all those years ago. Pam knew she’d need to replenish her courage before directly approaching her son.
She stood a while longer, hunched into her coat, hoping perhaps he might come out and go to his van, just so she’d get a glimpse of him before she set off home. Somebody did emerge from a house but she knew it wasn’t Christopher. The fellow was too short and too plump – nothing like her tall, handsome son. Pamela glanced back the way she’d just come; she knew if she loitered too long she might find Matilda bearing down on her on her way home from the Duke and she’d said all she wanted to say today to Christopher’s great-aunt. With a final yearning stare, she turned to walk briskly on towards her transport home.
‘Cold enough for you, Mrs K?’
‘Taters, ain’t it, Ted. Chris in there, is he?’ Matilda shuffled on the pavement to keep warm.
‘Upstairs, he is. Want him?’
‘Tell him to come along ’n’ see me when he’s got a mo, will you?’
Ted nodded and ambled back inside carrying a shovel on his shoulder.
‘Yer aunt’s lookin’ for you.’
Chris wiped dust from his eyes to blink at Ted.
‘She said can you go ’n’ see her.’
‘Have to be when I finish later. Ain’t urgent, is it?’
‘Didn’t seem like it,’ Ted said.
Chris remembered he’d meant to call in and see his aunt when he was halfway home to Crouch End. He’d worked late, as he’d promised his uncle he would, until the generator had packed up and the light had gone. It was seven-thirty when he turned around and returned to Whadcoat Street to bang on his aunt’s door.
The sash above his head was shoved up. ‘Took yer time, didn’t you? Thought you’d gawn off home and forgotten about me.’ The sash banged home again.
‘Sorry it’s late,’ Chris said with a smile. ‘Trying to get things back on schedule up there.’
‘Thought perhaps Ted had forgotten to give you me message.’ Matilda stuck the kettle on the hob. ‘Not had yer tea yet, then?’ She ran a look over his mucky overalls.
Chris shook his head and sat down close to the little stove. It was surprisingly cosy in the room once the door was shut and the many scrappy draught excluders were wedged in place.
‘Get stuck into them biscuits then, you must be starving.’ Matilda knew she was playing for time. It was unlike her not to come straight out and say what was on her mind. But she didn’t want to seem to be prying. Christopher and his mum seemed to be making headway without any help or interference from anybody else.
Chris took two digestives. ‘Hope me dad’s got a nice hotpot on the go … me belly thinks me throat’s been cut.’
‘Don’t know how lucky you are, having a dad like that.’
‘Yeah … I know …’ Chris took a bite out of a digestive.
‘Saw yer mum today.’
The biscuit hovered in front of Chris’s mouth then was dropped to his lap. ‘Who d’you see?’ he asked in a squeak that betrayed he thought his ears had deceived him.
‘Pam came over and had a drink with me in the Duke.’
Chris gawped at his aunt. ‘Did she come over to tell you I’m making a nuisance of meself?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Did she say to stop going there?’
‘No … nuthin’ like that. She came over to give me this and ask me to pass it on.’ Matilda took the five-pound note off the mantelshelf and placed it down on the table close to Chris’s mug of tea. ‘Wanted you to be paid for the job you done her.’ She smiled at him. ‘Fixed her on a gate, didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t want no pay for it. Wrote her a note and told her I didn’t want nuthin’.’
‘You don’t want to be paid, and she says s
he don’t want no charity, so you’re gonna have to sort that one out between yourselves. But I reckon that’s not the only reason Pam came over to see me. She wanted to find out a little bit about you. Just like you’ve been wanting to find out a little bit about her.’
Chris lifted his eyes to his aunt, a spark of optimism in their depths. ‘She wasn’t angry? She didn’t tell you to tell me to stay away from her?’
‘No, she didn’t.’
Chris took the banknote. ‘I’ll buy her some flowers with it.’ He glanced bashfully at his aunt.
‘She’s had a rough time of it, you know, Chris. Lost her second husband not long after they was married.’
‘Yeah … I know …’
‘Who told you? Pam said you’ve not spoken more’n a couple of words ’cos the shock of seeing you was too much for her at first.’
‘One of her neighbours came up and started talking to me when I was working on her gate. I didn’t ask no questions, the old girl just told me.’
‘Does Stevie know you’ve been over there?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Nobody knew about me going over, only Grace.’
Matilda sipped her tea. ‘You’ll have to tell him, Chris. I know you probably don’t want to upset the apple cart now things are settling down, but it’s only fair you tell your dad that you’ve met your mum.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Him and Pearl are getting stuck into their new business so now might be the right time, while he’s occupied elsewhere.’
‘Don’t know how to go about it.’
‘Come straight out and tell him, son. Honesty’s the best policy, so they say.’
Chris dwelled on his aunt’s advice as he slowly drove home, smiling, enveloped in a sense of thrilling anticipation, the like of which he’d not experienced since he was a boy waiting for Christmas.
He wasn’t expecting a wonderful relationship to spring up between himself and his mother; a comfortable atmosphere between them would suffice for now. And it would content him to have a little bit of knowledge about his other relatives, especially his grandparents.
The next time Chris arrived in Bexleyheath he hoped his mum would be at home. He took a deep breath, rat-tatted politely, then waited.
He loosened his collar from his bobbing throat when he heard footsteps approaching. Quickly he shoved a hand across his hair to neaten it.
‘Got you these to say thanks for the money,’ he burst out. ‘But I didn’t want no pay so I hope you’ll take them and not think I’m bothering you.’ He thrust the huge bouquet towards Pamela. It had been the best bunch of flowers he could find in Bexleyheath High Street.
‘You should have kept the cash, not spent it on me; you paid out for the gate after all,’ Pam blurted after a shocked silence in which she’d blanched then flushed in mounting pleasure.
The scent of oriental lilies wafted on the air; her son had bought hothouse blooms that must have cost most of the five pounds she’d left for him with Matilda. Nobody had ever bought her such beautiful flowers. Neither of her husbands had been romantic or demonstrative men; but then she’d not been married long to either of them … certainly not to Christopher’s father.
She opened the door to its full extent so she could take hold of the arrangement without squashing it.
‘Will you come in for a cup of tea, Christopher?’ Her eyes rose to meet his.
‘No … not today … perhaps another time.’ Chris felt pleased that she’d used his name. ‘I’m in trouble with me boss for missing work recently and don’t want to lose me job. So better get going. Just wanted to say thanks for the money, but I didn’t want nothing. Just wanted to do you a good turn.’
‘Well, you must get off then, of course,’ Pam said with maternal concern, almost shooing him away. ‘Don’t get the sack because of me. Thank you very much for these.’ Pamela’s smile was strengthening as she became more relaxed. ‘They’re a beautiful selection …’
Chris took a step away, chest expanding in satisfaction. He wanted to stop and talk to her, but had decided on the way over to take things slowly. It wasn’t just the valid excuse of not getting into trouble with Rob over missing shifts. He knew it would be best not to overwhelm his mother with his presence after they’d spent such a long time apart. ‘I’ll come back another time … if that’s alright … ?’
Pam nodded and dragged her eyes from her son as she withdrew into her hallway. ‘Off you go then …’ she said softly, a moment before closing the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘You be careful if you’re going out there. You can’t see a hand in front of yer face.’
‘Didn’t need this holding the job up …’ Chris had just opened the front door to peer along the garden path, while covering his nose and mouth with his fingers to prevent the freezing air abrading his throat and lungs. He squinted but couldn’t make out the shape of his van parked at the kerb, so solid was the sulphurous atmosphere. On the holly bush close to the house droplets of icy water sparkled incongruously like pretty crystals.
‘Never mind the job, son,’ Stevie said, peering over his shoulder. ‘Ain’t worth risking travelling on the roads even short distances in this sort of pea-souper.’ Stevie couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such dense, choking fog. ‘I’m hoping Pearl’s got the sense to stop home today. Bloomin’ nuisance it is, just as we get to December and put our special teas on the menu. But then again nobody’s gonna be out and about in this so no customers as such …’ Stevie stood looking morose, mentally calculating his losses.
‘Better hope the lads know to hold fire till it clears tomorrow.’ Chris gladly shut the door against the freezing damp that in just a few minutes had seemed to seep into his bones.
‘Better hope too Grace knows you’ll see her later in the week,’ Stevie said. ‘Don’t want to be doing that sort of journey at night time, do you.’
‘It might clear by this evening. Anyhow, Tottenham’s not that far,’ Chris said with a smile for his father’s motherly clucking.
‘If Shirley’s got any sense she won’t let her daughter out of the house till it lifts. Give you bronchitis easy as anything, you stay out too long breathing in that muck.’
Chris knew his father’s advice was sound. It was the worst fog he’d ever seen and he didn’t relish going to the end of the road again for a loaf of bread, let alone setting out for work. He’d been to the local shop early that morning for milk and tea and even with a scarf wound about his lower face as protection he’d felt his chest aching as his lungs made an effort to pump air. When he’d got back he’d been amused and astonished in equal part to discover his skin, above the scarf, had been flecked with black soot.
The following day Chris woke to see the same yellow haze beyond the windows of his bedroom. But he was determined not to lose another day’s work, and had managed to get messages to the others that he expected them to turn up no matter what this morning brought in the way of weather. So he set off early, at a crawl, towards Whadcoat Street, glad that a bus was immediately in front of him for most of the way so he could follow its taillights into Seven Sisters Road.
It took him close to an hour to do a journey that usually lasted a matter of minutes. When he got to the site, Ted and Billy were already there. It was their custom to travel to work together in Billy’s old jalopy as they lived close to one another. The car was parked at the kerb and there were four others parked behind in a street that was usually deserted.
‘What’s going on?’ Chris gestured at the strange vehicles.
Ted rubbed his gloved palms together and hunched his shoulders to his ears. He came close to Chris to squint at his face through the filthy mist. ‘Bleedin’ lark this is!’ He appeared torn between amusement and amazement. ‘You’ll never guess …’ He nodded in the direction Chris had moments ago pointed. ‘They’ve all followed us here, one behind the other, like sheep. They’d been using Billy’s lights to guide ’em. Now none of ’em knows where they are and Billy’
s been trying to tell ’em how to get back to Holloway Road where we must’ve got the convoy going.’
‘Got a torch?’ Billy had materialised beside them. ‘Bleedin’ battery’s gone in mine. I’ll have to lead ’em down to the bottom of the road. The two in the middle have already had a prang.’
Chris went to the van and pulled out a heavy rubber torch and immediately switched it on.
‘You two get started inside …’ Chris instructed. ‘I’ll walk in front of them and get them down to Seven Sisters, after that they’re on their own.’
‘Got some juice fer the generator? We ain’t gonna get much done in there today without a bit of light.’
Chris swore beneath his breath. He’d completely forgotten that the generator was out of fuel, and the can on the van was empty. He had meant to fill it yesterday but had stayed inside all day rather than venture out in the fetid air. He knew by the time he got to a filling station, and got back here, it would be dinnertime. In a way he was wishing he’d not bothered setting out this morning at all. Dejectedly, he realised that nothing much was going to get done.
‘Is Vic turning up?’ Billy asked.
‘Deirdre probably won’t let him out in this, in case he accidentally on purpose gets lost and she don’t see him fer a month,’ Ted quipped.
As though to prove him wrong Vic’s stooped figure loomed into view.
‘Bus driver took a wrong turning. Stupid sod was following a milk float ’n’ we ended up outside the dairy.’
‘Just get done what you can till I get back,’ Chris said and walked tentatively, hands outstretched to detect obstacles, towards the first vehicle parked behind Billy’s car. He swung the torch to and fro to ease his path but the beam seemed to bounce off a solid wall of smog.
He peered in the first car to see a man and woman with a child of about six huddled on the back seat, wearing school uniform.
‘We were taking her to school,’ the woman said in agitation. ‘Now all we want to do is get home again.’
Chris could tell from her nice accent that they were well out of their area. ‘Where you from?’