by Anna King
‘Yeah, yer can trust me, Guv’nor. I won’t let yer down.’ I wouldn’t bleeding well dare. The middle-aged man looked at the retreating back of his employer. He’d worked for Jimmy Jackson for nearly six years now, and as governors went, Jimmy was one of the good ones. You played fair by him, and he’d play fair by you. The man seated himself behind the recently vacated desk and rubbed his hands happily. He would be here for only a few hours at most, but at least it was better than being out on the streets freezing his balls off while keeping an eye out for the law. Tomorrow he’d be back out on the streets as a runner, but for a short while he had been put in an important position and he was determined to savour every minute of it.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, the man called Wilf pulled his shabby jacket together, assumed an expression of importance, and waited for the approaching runner to bring in the takings.
*
A loud wail brought Bessie out of her deep slumber. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, then, with an alertness of mind that would put many a younger woman to shame, she leapt out of bed and headed down the landing.
The boy was huddled up in the middle of the bed holding his stomach, and as Bessie entered, her nostrils picked up the strong smell of vomit pervading the small room.
At first the boy had imagined it was Amy, his little face dropping in fear at the sight of the elderly woman standing in the doorway. Immediately his howls increased. Amy! I want Amy. I don’t want you, go away. Amy! Amy!’
Fully awake now, Bessie’s eyes screwed up against the deafening wails. ‘Yeah, an’ yer ain’t the only one, either, mate,’ she snapped irritably. For the past two weeks she’d coaxed, pleaded, bribed and cajoled this child to get him to at least be civil to her, but it seemed all her efforts had been in vain. Not the best tempered person, Bessie, her nerves stretched almost to breaking point, was about to let out a yell that would have frightened the devil himself, when she looked more closely at the child, saw the genuine fear etched on his tear-stained face and relented. It wasn’t the poor sod’s fault he had a bitch for a mother, but by God, she couldn’t take much more of this malarkey. For days now, her hands had been itching to give the boy a good clout round the ears, but somehow she hadn’t been able to do it.
Leaving the door wide open, she called over the banister, ‘Amy! Amy! Where are yer, girl?’
The house remained silent. Bessie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. Amy wouldn’t just go off for no reason. She wasn’t the type of person to leave someone in the lurch without any explanation. It just wasn’t in the girl’s nature. Worried now, Bessie went back to her room, and, turning up the gas lamp, she saw the hastily scrawled note propped up against the base of the lamp.
Dear Bessie,
Sorry I’ve had to go out, but my sister is ill. Jimmy said he’d be back ages ago, and I can’t wait any longer to see how Becky is. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If James wakes up before I get back, tell him I won’t be long, Love, Amy.
Groaning, Bessie slumped down on her bed. Peering at the bedside clock, she saw it was nearly six o’clock. The trouble was she had no idea how long ago the note had been written. Amy might be back any minute, or she might have just left. If that was the case, then she, Bessie, would have to contend with the child herself. As another cry floated down the landing, Bessie’s chin jutted out firmly. She’d never let anyone get the better of her in all her life, and she wasn’t about to let that alter, at least not by a snotty eight-year-old child. Pulling on her dressing gown, she marched back to the small room and, without any preamble, said briskly, ‘Well now, lad. It seems Amy’s had ter go out fer a while, and Gawd knows where Jimmy’s gone off to, so it’s just the two of us. And believe me, mate, I ain’t that thrilled at the idea neither.’ The child had stopped crying, whether out of sullenness or because he knew it would do him no good Bessie wasn’t sure, nor did she care. At least he’d stopped that infernal racket. Bustling into the room, she turned up the lamp and looked closer at the boy, trying, as she had been since the day he’d arrived, to see if she could spot any resemblance to her Jimmy. But apart from the dark hair, she could see no characteristics that would prove he was indeed Jimmy’s son. What he was though was a child in distress, and he had to be cleaned up and sorted out for the evening until Amy returned.
Stating the obvious she remarked, ‘You’ve been sick then?’ Dumbly the child nodded, his face bent over his bunched-up knees. ‘Yeah, well, that was a stupid question, wasn’t it? Hang on, an’ I’ll get some clean sheets.’ Within minutes she was back. Without a word she scooped the child off the bed and deposited him none too gently on the floor.
‘You stay put while I make the bed, then I’ll run yer a warm bath, it’ll help ease yer tummy. What’s made yer sick, then? It can’t be anything yer’ve eaten, ’cos yer ain’t eaten anything, an’—’
‘I had some fish and chips with Amy… the pretty girl. She bought them for me, but I was sick afterwards… And I was scared I’d get told off, but Amy was kind, and said it wasn’t my fault, and… and that she shouldn’t have made me eat greasy food after I hadn’t eaten in such a long time.’
Bessie continued making the bed, her face, hidden from the child, a mask of astonishment. This was the first time she’d ever heard him talk properly. She wasn’t aware she was holding her breath until the child resumed talking, then she let out a large puff of air; but still she kept quiet, fearful of setting the boy off again if she spoke. The room remained silent except for Bessie’s movements.
It was as she was putting the thick eiderdown back on the bed that the boy muttered, ‘Are you going to tell me off, lady? Sure, and I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear I didn’t.’
Turning to face him, Bessie replied briskly, ‘Well, of course yer didn’t get sick on purpose. Nobody gets sick on purpose, it’s bloody ’orrible, being sick.’ The boy’s nightshirt was covered in vomit and he was shivering with a mixture of apprehension and cold. Rolling up her sleeves, she advanced on the pathetic-looking bundle. As always when she came near him, the child flinched. But this time Bessie wasn’t standing for any nonsense. Scooping him up in her arms, she carried him to the bathroom. While the hot water was running, Bessie swiftly divested the boy of his soiled garment and wrapped him in a large towel.
‘Right then, lad. We’ll ’ave ter wait a few minutes fer the bath to fill, but it won’t take much water fer a little ’un like you.’ Wrapped up in the enormous bath towel, the child looked lost and vulnerable, and despite her bad mood, Bessie’s kind heart went out to him. Kneeling in front of him she chuckled, ‘Gawd! Yer remind me of the time when that Jimmy of mine stuffed his greedy little face so much, he was throwing up all night, silly little sod. Now that was his own fault.’ She leant back on her heels, a smile touching her lips as her mind went back down the years to when Jimmy was the same age as the young boy eyeing her so warily. ‘He must’ve been about yer age at the time. I remember it like it was yesterday. Thought he was gonna die, he did. Like I said, he was about seven or eight, an’ I ’ad ter go and help out a neighbour who’d taken ill. Anyway, while I was out, Jimmy decided ter go down the market ter see if there was any odd jobs wanting doing. Yeah! I remember it all now. It was just about this time of year an’ all, maybe a bit nearer Christmas. Anyhow, the markets was extra busy an’ Jimmy was able ter get a few jobs running errands and ’elping out on the stalls. Worked nearly all day he did, poor little sod, but he earned a few bob. And what does he do? Instead of coming straight ’ome with the money, he decides ter treat me ter some pie an’ mash, with a few jellied eels thrown into the bargain. Well, that was all well and good, I mean, some little boys would’ve spent all the money on themselves. But not my Jimmy. Always ’ad a kind ’art, did my Jimmy; still has, though he don’t show it very often. Well, the upshot of it was that when he finally gets home I’ve gone out looking fer ’im, worried outta me mind I was that something had happened ter ’im. And all the time ’e was sitting at ’ome stuffing his face with
pies and mash and jellied eels. Then, when I didn’t come back, he only went an’ ate most of mine an’ all. So I arrives back ’ome, nearly in tears ’cos I thought I’d lost him fer good, an’ there he was, large as life, a big grin on his dirty little face and ’e said ter me, “I got yer a treat fer yer tea, Bessie, look!” Then he pointed ter what was left of me supper. He was so proud of ’imself that I didn’t ’ave the ’art ter scold him. Ter tell the truth, lad, I was that pleased ter see his cheeky, grubby face, I could’ve kissed him. But I ain’t one fer all that kissing and cuddling lark… Oops! Here’s me gabbing away, an’ nearly forgetting about the bath. Hang on while I pour some cold into it. Yer don’t wanna be scalded on top of being sick, now do yer?’
The boy gave a tremulous smile. ‘No, that wouldn’t be very good, a’tall.’
Testing the water with her elbow, Bessie whipped the towel from the skinny body and lowered him into the warm water. Lathering up a bar of Pears soap, Bessie began washing the silent boy. ‘’Ave a splash about, if yer want, lad. I know my Jimmy used ter love a splash around, when I could get the little devil into a bath, that was. Mind yer, back then, we didn’t ’ave a posh bath like this one. I kept an old tin bath out in the back yard, and ’ad ter fill it up by boiling the water on an old stove. Took me hours sometimes, it did, ’cos I didn’t ’ave many pans to boil the water in. But yer should ’ave seen the state of the water once Jimmy ’ad got out. Black it used ter be. Looked like he’d been down the coal mines for a week.’ A softness stole over Bessie’s wrinkled face as she remembered back to those days. They had been hard and, at times, even desperate. But she and Jimmy had pulled together, and stayed together.
Realising she was becoming maudlin, Bessie jerked her head back, saying crisply, ‘Right then, you’re all washed. D’yer wanna get out and back ter bed?’
The elfin face peeped up at her. ‘What happened to the man called Jimmy… I mean, when he was sick, like me?’
Bessie threw back her head. ‘Oh, that. Gawd! I’d forgotten about that tale. Well! Like I said, he’d stuffed so much grub down his throat that an hour later he was chucking up and screaming. Gawd! What a night that was. Coming out both ends it was. I ’ad me hands full that night, I can tell yer. In more ways than one!’
At the look of bewilderment mirrored on the child’s face, Bessie grinned. ‘Take no notice of me, lad. I’d explain it ter yer, but I don’t think yer’d wanna know… Upsadaisy.’ Scooping him out of the bath, Bessie wrapped the boy in a clean towel and carried him back to his room. Taking a flannel nightshirt – one of six that Jimmy had sent her to buy – out of the top drawer of the tallboy, Bessie soon had the child dressed for bed and tucked up warmly under the covers.
Picking up the soiled bedding, Bessie stood up and, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hung over the tallboy, let out a startled shriek. ‘Bleeding hell, mate. No wonder you’re so scared of me, I nearly gave meself an ’art attack seeing meself in that mirror. I look like a bleedin’ witch.’
A sound came from the bed that sounded like a stifled sob, and Bessie shook her head in defeat. And she had thought they’d been getting on so well too. Saddened, she turned to leave the room when the noise became louder. Bessie’s face dropped in astonishment as she realised the child was actually laughing. Her spirits rising, she placed one hand on a scrawny hip and demanded jocularly, ‘An’ what’s tickling you, me laddo?’
Chuckling louder, the boy peered over the covers and smiled, the first smile Bessie had seen on the elfin face. Heartened by the boy’s merriment she added, ‘Are yer laughing at me, yer little scallywag?’
A pair of green eyes sparkled up at her. ‘You’re funny, lady. You make me laugh. And… and I’m not scared of you any more. I’m sorry I was rude to you before.’
Like Amy, Bessie noted the trace of an Irish brogue, and, like Amy, Bessie wondered where the boy could have picked it up. Certainly not from around these parts. Then her heart almost turned a somersault, and with two quick strides she was at the boy’s side. ‘Do that again, lad?’
Still smiling, the boy asked, ‘Do what, lady… I mean, Bessie,’ he added shyly. And there it was. That cheeky smile. The dimples that pitted his cheeks, but most of all the way he raised his eyebrows in childish devilment.
Her heart hammering against her ribcage, Bessie sat down on the side of the bed. ‘That cheeky look you just gave me, yer little rascal.’
‘What, like this, d’ye mean?’ Again the grin was back in place, along with the rising of the sparse eyebrows. And Bessie was thrown back into the past with a force that almost knocked the wind out of her. For there, grinning up at her, was her Jimmy at the same age. The same impish grin and gestures of the eyebrows and shoulders were Jimmy’s characteristics to a tee. Except for the green eyes, she was looking at a replica of her Jimmy. With a stifled cry, she grabbed the startled boy into her arms, hugging him fiercely.
Not expecting such a show of affection from the old woman, who up until a very short time ago had always been careful to keep her distance, James’s initial reaction was to pull away. But until Amy had appeared on the scene, the child had been starved of any sign of true affection since Sean Finnegan’s untimely death. A feeling of warmth and security crept through his small frame, then he was hugging Bessie back, his small arms wrapped tightly around her neck.
And that was how Jimmy found them when he arrived home.
Standing in the doorway, his face a picture of bemusement, Jimmy tried to take in the scene before him. Then Bessie, sensing his presence, turned, and with a catch in her voice said joyously, ‘Come and say hello to yer son, lad.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘I’ll have to go soon, Becky. Jimmy asked me to take James to the shops for a new pair of shoes. Nobody noticed he had a whacking big hole in one of his shoes until yesterday, when I took him over the park for some fresh air. Poor little mite! That woman left him without so much as a clean set of underwear. Bessie had to go and buy him some new clothes and nightshirts, and judge what size to get, ’cos she had to go out on her own to get them. He wouldn’t let her anywhere near him at first, but he’s much better with her now. The other night, there was only Bessie in the house to look after him, and they had to get on with it. You could say it was a sort of Baptism of Fire for them both, but James is still a bit wary of Jimmy. Bessie’s told him that Jimmy is his dad, but James clams up whenever the subject is mentioned. It must have been hell for the poor thing those first two weeks. But in a way, it was a blessing in disguise for us, because if James had taken to either Bessie or Jimmy, then Jimmy wouldn’t have come round to ask me for help, and you might have died.’
Becky shifted her body further up the bed, until she was sitting bolt upright, her mind only half digesting what Amy was saying. Lord, but she felt tired and washed out, like she’d been dragged through the mangle on wash day. As if her physical ailment wasn’t bad enough, she had also had to come to terms with what Phil had done, and that knowledge had hurt her much more than any illness could ever have done. She had always known Phil to be a weak man, both in character and in his gambling addiction, but to steal from her and Amy…! When she thought of the Friday nights Phil would arrive home with their fish and chip supper, then grandly hand over the housekeeping money with the air of the man of the house supporting his family, and all the time… She felt her eyelids begin to droop and shook her head vigorously to stay awake.
‘Becky! Are you feeling bad? Shall I call for the nurse?’
Instantly Becky was wide awake. ‘God! No. The bloody woman’s driving me to distraction. It’s always, “And how are we today?” Or, “Have we been to the toilet yet? Shall we have some more medicine?” Honestly, Amy, I’ll go mad if she stays here much longer. Thank God I’ve only got one nurse now. The other one was even worse. Her favourite was to wake me up so I could take a sleeping pill. Still, Dr Barker’s coming at ten. I’m going to ask him if I can go downstairs… Well! What I mean is, I am going downstairs, but it
would be better if he suggested it. He’s a lovely man, and I don’t want to fall out with him, but I can’t stay cooped up here in bed for another day.’ She looked up at Amy wistfully. ‘I wish I could come with you, love. It feels like I’ve been lying here for months instead of a few days, and at this time of the year as well. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and there’s no preparations been made. Then there’s the worry of this blooming party Richard’s determined to hold here. He was here this morning at eight, pretending to call in to see if I was any better; as if he cares about my well-being. The only reason he’s concerned is because he wants me up and about to organise the party. Well, he’s had that! If he’s so keen on having a knees-up, then he’ll have to organise it himself. Because between you and me, Amy, I wouldn’t do it even if I was feeling well enough…’ A bout of sneezing cut her conversation in mid-flow.
The spasm over, Becky lay back on the pillows. ‘Goodness! If a bout of sneezing can almost knock me out, then I think it’s safe to say there won’t be any Christmas festivities held here tomorrow night.’ Wiping her streaming eyes with another clean handkerchief, Becky added, ‘He’s up to something, Amy. He must be. In all the years we’ve lived here, he’s never once suggested we celebrate Christmas together, let alone hold a party. When I told him earlier that if he wanted a party, then he’d have to hold it at his place, he got all agitated, insisting we had it here. No! He’s up to something, you mark my words. Anyway, you’d better get going. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet James, but I don’t want to risk him catching my cold.’
At the door, Amy, keeping her head averted, said quietly, ‘Jimmy asked after you. He said he hopes you’re feeling better soon, and… and, maybe he can come and visit, when you’re up and around again…’
Becky shook her head sorrowfully. ‘There’s no point, love. I admit I did have hopes that…’ She lifted her shoulders dispiritedly, then managed a faint grin. ‘You know, like one of the stories you like to read so much. But that’s never going to happen now, not with that woman coming back and latching onto him… I know, I know…’ she said weakly, as Amy started to interrupt. ‘She’s not his wife, like she claimed to be, but she is the mother of his child, and nothing is ever going to change that fact. Neither is she ever going to go away, not while she can hold the child as a bargaining stick. And if Jimmy was in love with her once, who’s to say those feelings won’t come back. No! I’ve got to face facts. This Heather Mills is a beautiful woman, she can also take the boy away whenever it suits her; and she knows it. What chance do I have against those odds?’