The Street (9 page)

Alice nodded and hared up the stairs, garbled out to Sophy what her mother had told her then ran down again and out into the wintry air.

She gasped out to her cousins where she was going and made no objection when the two boys started running behind her as she went on her errand to fetch Lou Perkins.

As they passed the gamblers’ corner Alice called to the boys behind. ‘Go ‘n’ tell yer dad it’s urgent and he’s got to go home straight away or me mum’s after him.’ Stevie and Bobbie seemed for a moment as though they would do so. They hesitated; then having stopped and considered, they speeded up and caught up with Alice again. They both knew that telling their dad something like that was likely to get them a good cuff in front of everyone, then more later in private.

Alice banged on the door of number ninety-two. ‘Is Mrs Perkins at home?’ she panted out at the old man who’d opened the door. He removed the pipe clenched in his yellow teeth to croak, ‘No, she ain’t.’ He made as though to shut the door.

‘Baby’s being born down the other end. D’you know where she is?’

The old man opened the door a little wider. ‘Poor little mite,’ he grunted in his tobacco-roughened voice. ‘Might find her at the Duke or the Pooles Park.’ Having aired his sympathy, and his opinion on Lou’s whereabouts, he closed the door without any further ado.

Eventually Alice ran Lou to ground at the Pooles Park Tavern. She was merry but not drunk. Not the sort of drunk state that Alice had seen her mum in, anyhow. She came with them and puffed behind the trotting youngsters, gasping at intervals, ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, slow up; me legs ain’t as young as your’n, y’know.’

As they turned the corner Alice saw her dad pacing back and forth outside on the pavement. As soon as he glimpsed them he strode to meet them. Something in his demeanour seemed to give Lou her second wind and she speeded up. A grim head flick and a muttered, ‘First floor, second door,’ from her dad and the woman disappeared in to the sombre interior.

‘That’s what happens sometimes,’ Tilly said quietly to Sophy. She had taken her daughter into a corner of the room because Sophy had started to sob uncontrollably. The atmosphere in the confined space was heavy with the reek of sweat and blood. By the bed Lou Perkins was cleaning up Fran, who was lying quite still now, her greyish countenance turned away to the wall. Lou dipped the rag into tepid water that had long ago turned crimson and again wiped Fran’s encrusted thighs.

Tilly knew her sister was lucky to be alive. The baby girl had been breech and stillborn after struggling for almost two hours to get its tiny body free of its mother’s hips.

Sophy’s wide-eyed stare was fixed on her dead cousin. The baby girl had been wrapped in a pillowcase and placed at the foot of the bed. ‘Why’d she have to die?’ Sophy gurgled. ‘Ain’t fair.’ She swiped a hand over her runny nose.

‘Sometimes it’s more’n fair,’ Tilly contradicted her harshly. ‘Sometimes it’s a blessing. When it’s your time you should wish yourself so lucky.’

‘Don’t want to interrupt, but ain’t it about time you took yourself off home to see yer wife?’

It was softly spoken sarcasm but had the required effect of making the couple immediately scramble apart. A moment before they’d been locked together, the woman with her back to the wall and her arms and legs encircling her partner. Jimmy Wild glanced over his shoulder, cursing under his breath. He’d recognised his brother-in-law’s voice straight away. Nellie Tucker jerked together the edges of her coat and tightly belted it over her rucked-up dress. It was late afternoon and dusk had already descended, bringing with it a clinging icy mist that had shrouded the furtive pair from prying eyes, or so they’d hoped. But Jack had spotted them . . . eventually.

It was over five hours since Fran had given birth to her dead daughter. Since that time Jack had been out searching for Jimmy to tell him the awful news. Having looked for him in all his usual haunts he’d been about to give up when, quite by accident, he’d finally run him to ground. Cold and hungry, and hunched into his coat, Jack had idly glanced into an alleyway he’d been passing on his way back to Campbell Road and caught a glimpse of what looked to be a courting couple bumping against the wall. After a moment or two of observation he’d realised his search for his bastard of a brother-in-law was at an end. So carried away had Jimmy been that he’d not even heard Jack call out to him the first time.

‘No need to be sarky, mate,’ Jimmy said easily. ‘Ain’t as if Fran’s never had a kid before. She knows what to do. I’d just get in the way.’ He gave a conspiratorial chuckle. ‘Last time, with Stevie, I got told ter stay outside and didn’t do nuthin’ but go up and down the stairs.’

‘So this time you thought you’d go up ‘n’ down with that old bag instead, did yer?’

‘’Ere . . . you . . .’ Nellie started to protest at the insult. She surged forward but was shoved stumbling back against brickwork by Jimmy.

‘If I was you,’ Jack told her with silky menace, ‘I’d get meself off home sharpish, just in case I copped a stray one.’

‘That don’t sound like you, Jack.’ Jimmy sneered a laugh. ‘I know you ain’t got the balls to clump a woman even when the bitch deserves it.’

‘Whereas you have, eh?’ Jack said quietly. ‘Nellie know that?’ He jerked his head at the sullen-faced tart. ‘She know how much you like using yer fists on a woman ‘n’ telling her she deserves it so you can be the big man?’

‘What you so riled up about?’ Jimmy snarled. He came closer, belligerently thrusting out his chin. ‘I don’t see what my missus droppin’ her nipper is to do with you anyhow.’

‘You don’t see nuthin’ at all, do yer, Jim?’ Jack said. ‘You’re too busy poncin’ about ter notice anything what goes on.’ He controlled his temper with difficulty as a vision of Fran’s deathly pale face crept into his mind. Then came the memory of Lou Perkins carrying a bowlful of rocking red water down the stairs to empty it in the privy in the yard. He focused his gaze back on Jimmy. ‘While you been pokin’ this old brass,’ he said bitterly, ‘your wife’s been having a real bad time . . . I mean
real
bad. She’s torn ter bits and lost a lot of blood. Your daughter’s stillborn.’

‘Stillborn?’ Jimmy looked confused then he stalked closer to Jack with a grim frown. ‘She’s killed our kid?’ He sounded peeved and disbelieving.

‘You nearly lost your wife, you fuckin’ bastard!’ Jack raged. ‘The baby was round the wrong way and if it hadn’t been for Lou Perkins knowing what to do, you’d be putting two in the ground, not one.’ Jack saw that finally he’d shocked his brother-in-law. ‘You’d best see Lou alright for what she did for you today. Woman’s been a diamond and stayed and helped Tilly clean up yer place.’

Jimmy tickled at his chin with nervous fingers and darted a look at Nellie. She seemed dazed by what she’d just heard.

‘First you’d best get home and see Fran,’ Jack prompted Jimmy. ‘She’s still in a dreadful bad state. She’s been askin’ after you. She needs some comfort and you’d bleedin’ well better give it to her.’

Jimmy pushed roughly past Jack and had managed a couple of steps before Jack, following silently, spun him around by the shoulder, and landed one on his chin. It was a short jab; just enough to make Jimmy stagger and understand that there’d be more to come.

‘Just fer starters,’ Jack promised. ‘We’ll finish it another time.’

Jimmy put a hand to his cut lip and gave Jack a vicious smile. ‘Yeah . . . we
will
finish it another time ‘n’ all, mate.’ He strode away without sending a look or word Nellie’s way.

‘I didn’t know it was her time, honest; he never said nothing to me,’ Nellie started to whine.

‘’Cos it would’ve made a difference, eh?’ Jack sneered. ‘Bet the fucker ain’t paid you neither, has he?’ He smiled with sour amusement then turned on his heel and headed for home.

‘See you this Saturday night?’ Bill Prewett called up to Tilly but continued his hop down the stairs.

‘Nah . . . we’re giving it a bit of rest for a while yet.’ Tilly had leaned over the banister to tell her neighbour that there would be no weekend parties going on at the Keivers’ for the foreseeable future.

‘Oh . . . yeah . . . right. See what you mean. How is Fran?’ Bill Prewett stopped and rested his weight against the rickety stairs. ‘Not seen nothing of her. Take it she’s still laid up?’

‘She’s doin’ alright, considering,’ Tilly replied whilst absently swinging the kettle she held in one hand. She’d been about to fill it from the tap on the landing. ‘Doctor’s been in a couple of times and given her some jollop for the infection. Wanted to take her into the ’ospital for a rest and so on, but she won’t have it.’

Bill Prewett nodded his head sagely then shook it. ‘You wouldn’t get me in there willing neither. No workhouse, no ’ospital. At my age you gotta avoid both of ’em like the plague ’cos you don’t never come out again ’cept in a pine box.’ He frowned up at Tilly. ‘Lucky she was, your sister . . . very lucky.’ With that he continued to hobble on out into the cold, damp street.

Tilly rested the kettle in the stained sink and turned on the tap. She looked about at the dilapidation, her eyes darting from one sombre locked door to another. Usually she didn’t study the depressing environment, it was just there. Now it sent a soft sigh blowing through her lips. Hurriedly she turned off the tap as the kettle overflowed. She went back into the room and put it onto the hob to boil for tea. Bobbie and Stevie were sitting at the table with Bethany. They were all looking at her expectantly. Her nephews had practically moved in with her since Fran had lost the baby several weeks ago now. Fran was still fighting infection and too weak to get up for more than a few hours a day.

When Tilly’s nephews weren’t at school they pottered about between the two households. Bobbie slept in his own room downstairs as the Keivers’ sleeping areas were already cramped. Stevie had refused to leave at night. Tilly had gruffly said he could stay if he could find himself a space. She knew the poor little blighter would sooner kip on old coats on the floor than go home and get bashed by his father for having wet the mattress again. And he’d wet himself almost every night since his mum got ill. In fact once he’d done more than that. Annoyed as Tilly had been, she’d bitten her tongue when he started to grizzle, and cleaned him up for school.

She pushed cups of weak tea in front of the boys and Beth and cut hunks of bread to go with it. A scraping of jam on top made it a bit more of a palatable breakfast for them. ‘Hurry up and get it down yers,’ Tilly ordered briskly. ‘Time’s marchin’ on.’ She scooped Lucy up off the floor where she’d been toddling and dragging a shoe along by its laces. She plonked her in the middle of the bed and gave her a finger of bread and jam to chew on, hoping to keep her occupied while she got the kids off to school.

Soon Tilly’s thoughts were again turning to her sister. She wished Fran
would
go into the hospital for a while; at least she’d get a bit of decent grub and a rest. She was looking pale and scrawny and Jimmy never made life easy for her. It set Tilly’s teeth to scraping when she thought how popular and outgoing Fran once had been. As teenagers they’d gone together to dances and Fran, being blonde and pretty, had always attracted the lads. But she’d fallen for Jimmy Wild, despite a couple of his past fancies warning her he was a bully who’d steal her last farthing. Then she’d got herself in the family way and was trapped with him. He’d be different with her, Fran had boasted. He was going to get them a nice place down Highgate way and get himself a good job to pay for it. Within a very short while Fran had learned the hard way how false was his smile and how empty his promises. Then over years she’d discovered, painfully, what she’d get . . . or the boys would get . . . if ever she complained about Jimmy’s lies and womanising. Tilly knew that the sadistic git wasn’t above controlling Fran by punishing Bobbie and Stevie.

Now that Fran was laid up and bringing nothing in Jimmy had been forced to take regular work. Tilly knew he resented having to do that. One day last week he’d knocked off work early and had come stomping up the stairs looking for Fran in Tilly’s place. He’d been moaning for his dinner then, uninvited, he’d slouched into a chair at Tilly’s table, sucking on a dog end and brooding on the racing pages in the newspaper. Every so often he’d flung at Fran – who was gulping down her tea as quick as she could – a surly look and told her that the sooner she bucked up and got herself back out earning the sooner he’d be able to find decent work and be his own guvnor instead of some tosser’s sidekick. Tilly hadn’t known whether to shout him down or burst out laughing at that one. If a decent job kicked him up the arse he’d swear he hadn’t felt it.

Tilly jerked her thoughts to the present. ‘Come on, you lot. Should’ve been gawn to school by now.’

‘Shall we wait for Alice?’ Beth asked as she got to her feet and pulled on her coat. Bobbie and Stevie got down from the table too.

Tilly frowned. She’d been so occupied thinking about Fran that she’d not realised that the two older girls hadn’t come out of the back room yet. Alice should have been about ready to go off to school and Sophy ought to have already left for work.

‘You lot get going,’ Tilly told them. In the next breath she yelled out, ‘Al . . . Sophy . . . D’you know what time it is? Get yourselves up and out!’

Having bellowed her wake-up call she whipped Lucy into her arms and followed the younger kids down the stairs. She stopped by Fran’s door. She guessed Jimmy would’ve gone to work by now. If he hadn’t she’d be turning around and going back up the stairs again.

Jack had told her how he’d found Jimmy with Nellie Tucker on the day Fran nearly died in childbirth. Tilly had so far managed to hold her tongue because the last thing she wanted to do at the moment, while Fran was so low, was further upset her sister. When Fran was in good health she found it hard to stand up to the bullying bastard she’d married. Now she was weak and no match for him at all.

Tilly had been making an effort to avoid coming face to face with Jimmy because she knew that a confrontation over it all was brewing and she’d end up telling him his fortune. Tilly found Fran’s door unlocked and her sister seated at the kitchen table, her elbows on wood and her head dropped in her hands.

‘Feeling rough again this morning?’ Tilly asked with gruff concern. ‘Need anything from the shop?’

‘Jimmy’s left.’ Fran’s voice sounded toneless.

‘Left?’ Tilly echoed. ‘What . . . for work?’

Fran shook her head, her loose fair hair swinging in strings about her pinched white features.

Tilly grabbed at one of Fran’s hands and moved it away from her face so she could properly see her expression.

‘He’s gone . . . said I’m useless ‘n’ a parasite ‘n’ he ain’t coming back.’

Tilly put Lucy on the bed then pulled out a chair and sat down. After a silent moment she said bluntly, ‘I ain’t gonna tell you it’s a shame, Fran.’ She drummed a few restless fingers on the table. ‘Ain’t gonna tell you it’s a surprise neither. Could see where this was heading straight off . . . soon as that work-shy layabout knew you wasn’t up to grafting and supporting him no more.’

‘He’s me husband,’ Fran cried and cuffed at her weeping nose.

‘He’s no good . . . never has been,’ Tilly retorted. She got up from the table and came round and put two squat, work-roughened hands on her sister’s shoulders. She squeezed fiercely to emphasise what she was about to say. ‘You was always too good for him. I thought you might bring him up, you know; thought he might change, hoped he might for your sake. I know you believed in him, ’cos you loved him and you thought he loved you and he’d do right by all those lies ‘n’ promises he’d given you. But he ain’t got it in him to change, Fran. He is what he is; it’s in his blood. And he’s got the bleedin’ cheek to tell you you’re a useless parasite!’

‘He wouldn’t even say where he’s gone. Don’t want me pestering him, he said. Just got his things together this morning and went.’ Fran raised her swimming eyes to Tilly. ‘I reckon he’s got a place ter go. He’s got a woman, alright.’

Tilly kept her thoughts to herself. Fran was already overwrought.

‘What am I going to tell the boys about their dad?’ ‘Tell ’em he’s gone and it’s safe to come home,’ was Tilly’s acerbic answer.

‘I know why he’s gone . . . I know alright,’ Fran said, pushing up from the table. ‘I know I’m his wife and I should let him, but I can’t though, Til. It hurts so bad when he comes near me. I just can’t let him ’cos the bleeding starts again and then he gets mad anyhow ’cos of the mess in the bed . . .’

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ Tilly enclosed her sister in an embrace. ‘Hope he catches the pox off that scummy bitch.’

‘He’s gone to Nellie Tucker, ain’t he?’

Tilly shrugged and tried to avoid Fran’s eyes. ‘Who cares where he’s gone? He’s left you alone and that’s a good thing. You’re not well enough to be doin’ it, Fran,’ Tilly said. ‘If you fell straight away, it’d kill you fer sure.’

‘You know he’s been knockin’ about with her again, don’t you?’ Fran ignored Tilly’s wise words. ‘He told me he’s been getting what he needs off a real woman . . . rubbed me nose in it, he did. Made me feel I was nuthin’.’