by Anna King
Amy gazed at her sister helplessly. In Becky’s shoes she would probably feel the same. Nodding, she mumbled, ‘I’ll be home about eight. Bye, Becky.’
‘Bye, love.’
Before the door closed, Becky heard Maude’s shrewish voice rising, and that of the muse trying to pacify the irate woman. Idly, Becky wondered what had set Maude off this time. When first Dr Barker and then the nurses had come to tend for Becky, Maude had been beside herself with jealousy at the attention her cousin was receiving. She had tried in vain to coax Dr Barker into her room, but the wily old doctor was steering clear of Maude. The nurses, however, seemed to think they had no authority to ignore the cantankerous woman; and Maude had quickly sensed their confusion and played on it shamefully. Becky glanced at the bell on the bedside table, then decided against summoning the nurse. She didn’t really want anything, she just wanted to annoy Maude.
She also wanted something to take her mind off Jimmy, but it was no good. Every waking moment she thought of him, and when asleep, she dreamt about him. He was in her blood, like an illness. But illnesses could be cured – there was no cure against love. Her eyes welled up with hot tears, and she made no effort to stop them. She was bound to feel weepy, she’d been very ill. And once again Jimmy had come to her rescue.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and froze as they stopped outside her door. For what seemed an age, the person on the other side of the door made no sound or attempt to enter the room. Then the footsteps moved on, and Rebecca expelled a long, loud breath of relief. She hadn’t seen Phil since she’d become ill, and in light of what he had done, she didn’t want to. Every day he would stand outside her door, trying to summon up the courage to talk to her, and each time she would hold her breath until he went away. Her mouth tightened in grim determination. She must get better soon, she must. With Phil out of work, and only Amy’s small wage to rely on, they would soon be in desperate straits.
No doubt Richard would still expect his rent money. As it was, the repugnant man was full of himself at the news of Phil losing his job. To his further delight, Phil had gone crawling to him for his old job back. Angrily Rebecca beat her fists against the eiderdown in frustration. Not only was her brother weak, cowardly, addicted to gambling and a thief, he was also bloody stupid. Surely he must have known Richard would be crowing over Phil’s dismissal, and just waiting for the chance to get his revenge. Not only had Phil swallowed his pride, he had also gone to the factory to ask for his old job back, instead of waiting to see Richard alone. Richard had not only denied Phil a job, he had done so publicly, making certain all those in the factory – the same men Phil had once had charge over – had been witness to their former manager’s shameful humiliation.
If Phil had lost his job for any other reason, Rebecca could have found it in her heart to feel sorry for him, but by his deceitful actions, he had killed the last shred of respect she had for him. Her eyelids drooping once more, Rebecca tried to think of a way to ease their financial worries, but she felt so tired.
Across the hall, Maude’s voice continued to reverberate through the house. Her lips tight, Rebecca reached out for her bell.
*
In his room, Phil paced the floor like a caged animal. All he had in his pockets were a few pennies, and with each day that passed, his debt to Big George was accumulating interest. A deep shudder of shame ripped through his body as he recalled, for the umpteenth time, the memory of himself going cap in hand to Richard, and that smug bastard taking no time in bringing Phil to his knees. He could have just said no. But that wasn’t enough for Richard. Instead, he had thrown open his office door and bellowed his business all over the factory floor. Another shudder tore through Phil’s body, the awful memory making him cringe with embarrassment.
By God! He’d get Richard back for the way he had treated him. His fat cousin might be laughing now, but one day Phil would wipe that smug look off of the red, fleshy face.
Feeling suddenly drained, Phil slumped onto the edge of his bed, knowing his silent protestations and threats were as empty as his pockets. Groaning, he dropped his face into his hands. Unless a miracle happened, he was in deep trouble, and miracles didn’t come along that often – even at Christmas.
*
Jimmy was seated at the bureau going over the day’s takings. As usual at this time of year, the number of bets had increased considerably. There were numerous people who never placed a bet throughout the year, then, come Christmas, they felt in a festive mood, and parted with sixpence, or a shilling in the hope they would win and give their families a Christmas to remember. Then there were those who scrapped together every penny they had to place a small wager, hoping and praying their chosen horse would enable them to provide a turkey for their Christmas dinner, or even just enough to buy their children a small present. Jimmy always recognised these kind of bets from his normal punters, and always, without fail, experienced a twinge of guilt when the horse in question lost, knowing that the children of the family would wake up to empty stockings on Christmas morning, and stale bread and cold dripping for their Christmas dinner. Then he would remind himself that nobody forced these people to part with money they could ill afford, and he was fairer than most of the bookies around the East End. Jimmy had never used bully boy tactics in collecting his money, simply because he had decided at the start not to let anyone run up a tab. All bets placed had to be paid up front. If the punter couldn’t afford to bet, then Jimmy refused to take it. Putting his pen down, Jimmy leant back against the leather chair, his face a study of concentration.
Despite Bessie’s assurances that the boy was his, Jimmy still wasn’t sure. He certainly hadn’t seen any resemblance to himself, but as Bessie had pointed out, people rarely noticed their own characteristics in others. What if the boy was his? More to the point, did he want to be a father?
Since the night when Amy had left the boy alone with Bessie, the two of them had become the best of friends. Yet try as he might, Jimmy couldn’t get the boy to open up to him. The child seemed quite at ease in Jimmy’s presence, but he never attempted to talk unless Jimmy spoke first. When the child did address him, he called Jimmy either sir or mister, even though Bessie had told the boy Jimmy was his father. But James was only eight years old, and probably confused or too shy to bring up the matter in Jimmy’s presence. A part of Jimmy wanted Bessie to be wrong, because if he was the boy’s father, then he would have Heather to contend with until the boy grew to adulthood; and that was a good ten years in the future. Yet another part of Jimmy yearned to acknowledge the child as his.
Now that he was no longer fearful of them, James had become quite amenable. In fact, Jimmy wouldn’t have recognised him from the shrieking, terrified boy who had lashed out at him and Bessie at every opportunity. Now he felt safer and more at ease, the child was showing his true nature. He was good-tempered and easy-going, forever asking questions of Bessie. But the most asked question was, ‘When is my mummy coming to get me?’ Maybe the boy was more relaxed now because he knew it was Christmas Eve tomorrow, and his mother had said she would come for him at Christmas.
A sudden thought struck Jimmy. What if Heather didn’t come back? What if she had met some other mug with plenty of money, like that poor fool Sean Finnegan, whom Amy had told him about; would she still come back for her child, or would she simply vanish again? If so, the child would be devastated. Whatever other faults Heather had, she obviously had engendered a strong sense of love in the child for her. Yet didn’t all children love their mothers, regardless of the way they were treated? Jimmy thought back to his own mother and gave a derisive grunt. She was a drunken bitch who beat him whenever she got the chance. He had never known what it was like to be cuddled until Bessie had taken him under her wing. Not that Bessie was one for being over demonstrative, but she had shown him love, and given him peace of mind and security. But that didn’t alter the fact that Jimmy had loved his mother. As cruel and unfeeling towards him as she had been, Jimmy remembered trying t
o get some affection from the slatternly woman who had borne him, and receiving only abuse instead. Still, he had persevered, until that day, on the run from the police, he had left home and gone straight into Bessie’s comforting arms.
An unfamiliar sensation stole over Jimmy, and with a start, he realised that tears were pricking his eyes. Angry with himself, he jumped from the chair and poured himself a drink. Bleeding hell! What was up with him? Imagine him, Jimmy Jackson, getting all sentimental over a mother that hadn’t given a damn about him. Knocking back the drink in one go, Jimmy twirled the empty glass around in his fingers, his eyes sombre. He had just given himself the answer to his own question. No matter how cruelly his own mother had treated him, Jimmy had still craved her attention. Maybe James was the same, because any woman who could callously dump her child on strangers, just to get money, was no kind of mother in his eyes.
The doorbell chimed downstairs, then childish laughter brought Jimmy’s eyes towards the door, his features softening at the delightful sound. He could hear Bessie’s strident tone and Amy’s happy banter, then his stomach lurched as he heard the boy, his voice high with excitement, ask, ‘Can I show Jimmy my new shoes?’
A sudden silence greeted this unexpected request, then Bessie and Amy began talking at once, both anxious to appear normal, for fear the boy might sense their feelings and change his mind.
Swiftly, Jimmy resumed his seat at the bureau, and had just picked up his pen when there was a knock at the door. Clearing his throat he called out, ‘Come in.’
James came bounding into the room, his innocent face lit up with uncontrolled excitement. ‘Hello, Mister. I’ve been to the shops with Amy. We went on a tram, and all the shops were so pretty. They had loads of coloured lights in the windows, and lots of Christmas trees with silver and red tinsels and bright balls hanging from the branches… Ooh, you should have seen them, Mister. Sure and it was the prettiest thing I’ve seen in me life, so it was.’
Laying down his pen, Jimmy looked first at Amy’s smiling face, then dropped his gaze to the boy. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed your trip, James, but you must have seen the same kind of shops in Ireland at Christmas, or are the London shops better than the Irish ones?’
Jimmy’s voice was warm, as was his smile, then his expression changed as the boy dropped his head and muttered, ‘I don’t know, Mister. We lived in the country, and… and my mummy said it was boring and there was nothing to do. She… I mean, my mummy doesn’t like Christmas very much. Uncle Sean did promise to take me shopping to Dublin one Christmas, he said it was a wondrous sight to behold…’ James’s face lit up at the memory of the man he had loved so dearly, then his eyes clouded over. ‘Mummy said it was too far to travel, but she used to go there with Uncle Sean, sometimes for a long time. Bridie looked after me when they weren’t at home. But… but, Uncle Sean promised me he would take me this year, and he would have too… but he died, and so I never got to see Dublin a’tall.’
Gazing down at the bent head, Jimmy felt an overwhelming surge of pity for the child, coupled with a feeling of outrage towards Heather. So, she hadn’t changed. Still putting herself first, as she always had and always would. Jimmy saw Amy move towards the boy and held a hand up to stop her. Nodding towards the door, he motioned for her to leave, and Amy, her pretty face troubled, did as she was bid.
James heard the door close and turned towards the sound, but before he could make any protest, or call out for Amy, Jimmy said jovially, ‘Well, now, let’s have a look at these new shoes of yours, young man. Then you can tell me more about the shops, ’cos I’ll tell you a secret…’ He leant nearer the child. ‘To be honest, it’s a long time since I went to the shops at Christmas, I’m always too busy. But if they’re as wonderful as you say they are, then maybe I’ll go and have a look for myself. Here, sit yourself down and show me your new shoes.’
James obediently scrambled onto the settee, holding his new footwear out for inspection, his lips smiling shyly as he waited for Jimmy’s approval.
Making a great show of admiring James’s new acquisition, Jimmy crouched down, and, looking up at the child, said, ‘Well, they’re a smashing pair of shoes and no mistake. Amy must have taken you to a lot of shops before you picked out the best pair.’
‘Oh, no, Mister. I picked out the first pair I saw,’ James protested vigorously, a sudden spark of fear entering his eyes. ‘I didn’t waste time, honest I didn’t. I wouldn’t be a bother to Amy, sir.’
Again Jimmy felt his stomach lurch. Apparently Heather didn’t much like taking her son shopping either. He was beginning to wonder if there was anything his former lover liked to do with her son.
‘Here, move over, James. I’m getting cramp in my legs in this position.’
James shuffled his bottom along the settee, his eyes darting to the door, hoping Amy wouldn’t be long. Apprehensive at being alone with Jimmy for too long, the boy began to tap his fingers on the arm of the settee.
Jimmy noticed the nervous reflex and felt a tingle of excitement at the base of his spine. He himself had the same habit of tapping his fingers on the nearest object whenever he was distracted. It used to drive Bessie mad when he was younger and they were living in the one room. He could still hear her yelling, ‘For Gawd’s sake, Jimmy, stop that blasted tapping.’ He would look up in surprise, not realising he was doing it, then a few minutes later, he would start tapping the nearest thing to hand. It was a habit he still had, and now he was seeing it in the boy. Of course, it was a common habit, nothing spectacular, but still… What he needed was to spend some time alone with the boy, and with this thought in mind he asked, ‘How would you like to see some real Christmas decorations?’
James’s eyes widened in childish amazement. ‘You mean, better than the ones I saw today?’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Much better than the ones you saw today. How about you and me taking a tram and going up West!’ At the look of puzzlement that crossed James’s face, Jimmy laughed. ‘This is the East End, and up West means the West End. I haven’t been up West at Christmas for a couple of years now, but I imagine it’s still as breathtaking as it always was at this time of year. What d’yer say, James? Would you like to come out with me for the afternoon? Just the two of us.’ When the boy continued to hesitate, Jimmy lowered his voice and asked simply, ‘Please, James. Will you let me take you out for a while? I think we should get to know each other… What d’yer say?’
The small fingers continued to tap the wood carving on the arm of the settee in agitation. Then, as if gathering courage, he asked, ‘Will this place be as grand as Sean said Dublin is at Christmas?’
Jimmy gave a relieved laugh. Bending nearer the boy’s face he mimicked, ‘Sure, and it’s a wondrous sight to behold, so it is.’
A loud peal of shrill laughter greeted the remark. ‘You sounded just like Uncle Sean, Mister.’
A spark of hope lit up Jimmy’s face. ‘You’ll come then? Just the two of us?’
James remained silent for a few moments, his forehead crumpled up in lines of thoughtfulness; then he nodded. ‘All right, Mister. Shall I go and tell Bessie and Amy we’re going out?’
Relieved beyond measure, Jimmy nodded. ‘You do that, James. I’ll get my hat and coat and follow you downstairs in a minute.’
Scrambling off the settee, the boy made for the door. Reaching up to the brass handle, he looked over his shoulder at Jimmy and asked innocently, ‘Are you really my dad, Mister?’
The question, so unexpected, caused Jimmy’s head to jolt back painfully. Swallowing hard, he looked into the green eyes that were gazing across at him, eyes that held a trace of fearful apprehension, and answered quietly, ‘Yes, I am.’
The boy’s gaze held Jimmy’s for what seemed an eternity, and during that time, the fear fell from his eyes. His young voice high with childish emotion, he cried, ‘All right. See you downstairs.’
Dumbly Jimmy nodded. He had been dreading this moment, now it seemed he needn’t have worried, for with the s
implistic nature of a child, his son had accepted the truth without question. Jimmy stood stock still for a few seconds until the sound of the boy’s shrill voice calling for Amy brought him roughly out of his momentary shocked state.
With a few short strides he was out on the landing, looking down on the small figure who was now halfway down the staircase excitedly attempting to negotiate the steep stairs as fast as his short legs would allow.
Leaning over the banister, Jimmy called out anxiously, ‘Slow down, son, I don’t want you breaking your neck.’
James looked upwards, his angelic face spreading into a wide grin. ‘Don’t worry, Mister, I’ll be all right.’
And he was. Jimmy stayed on the landing until the child was safely at the bottom of the stairs, then turned slowly and returned to the living room where he poured himself a large brandy. The glass was almost empty before Jimmy recalled himself calling the child son. It had been an unconscious slip of the tongue on his part, yet he had liked using the affectionate term. But for how long would he be able to indulge in his newfound happiness? His expression pensive, Jimmy wandered over to the fireplace and leant his arm on the mantelpiece, his gaze centred on the blazing fire in the hearth. Up until a few weeks ago he hadn’t even known he had a son, and even when Heather had dumped the child on him, he had secretly resented the intrusion into his ordered life. Yet within those few, heart-stopping moments his life, as he knew it, had changed for ever.