Women on the Home Front (114 page)

‘What you doing up 'n' about this time o' night?' he asked, a smile in his tone.

‘Could ask you the same thing.' Matilda chuckled, sounding merry.

‘Been round the Duke?' Chris had caught a whiff of intoxication about his aunt.

‘Nah … been over old Beattie's. Her son fetched her over a bottle of port for her birthday so I offered to help her polish it off. We've been making plans for our Coronation Day party.' She waved a bit of paper at him. ‘See, between us we've writ out a list of grub. Spellin' might not be up ter much …' She grabbed her nephew's elbow. ‘Gonna help me up the stairs, son? Me old legs are playing up something chronic tonight, can't hardly stand up 'cos of me arthritis.'

‘Don't suppose the port's helped much there either,' Chris muttered wryly. He assisted her over the threshold and the two of them went stumbling up the stairs in a journey that took twice as long as it should have. He was glad of the darkness concealing his damaged face from his aunt because he didn't feel up to another round of questions.

‘What was that?' He spun about as they reached the landing.

‘What was what?' Matilda echoed on a yawn.

‘Sounded like an explosion.' Chris hesitated for a moment, frowning, then raced down the stairs and into the street. Instinctively he gazed back the way he'd come, towards the Murphys' house, and saw an ominous orange glow. He took one step in the direction of the fire – before sprinting as fast as he could towards it.

‘What is it?' Matilda had wobbled back down the stairs to yell at Chris from her doorway, but he was already too far away to hear her.

As he got closer Chris could see that the fire wasn't at the Murphys' place, as he'd dreaded it might be, but further along the street, in one of the empty houses Wild Brothers had been working on.

Flooded with intense relief he diverted to Smithie's shop and pounded on the door while bawling up at Peter Smith to phone for the brigade. He heard the sash being shoved up and, angling back his head, saw Smithie's frowning face appear.

The shopkeeper didn't need any more telling; he'd seen the flames licking through a glassless window diagonally opposite. ‘I'll call for help,' he immediately shouted down, before disappearing.

Chris hurtled on down the street. He thanked heaven the Murphys were safe, but he knew this could be a disaster for Wild Brothers if all the firm's future work was destroyed. And he had no doubt who had tried to finish them off: O'Connor was behind it. The pikey had come here tonight to take revenge and, despite knowing the seriousness of the situation, Chris still praised the lord that the vicious bastard had turned his spite on him instead of Kieran. The thought of two little girls trapped behind a wall of flames …

Chris slowed to a walk as he neared the inferno, blinking in astonishment to clear his vision, because smoke was stinging his eyes and he couldn't believe his mate, Vic, was really waving frantically to him from the first-floor window of the burning house.

‘What are you doin', you fuckin' maniac?' Chris roared at him, snapping out of his trance. ‘Get out of there now!' He raced to the railings fronting the house and stared up, horrified, at Vic.

‘Can't … can't … tried … can't … too late …' Vic was babbling in terror. ‘Stairs are alight and Sandra won't try and go down 'em.' He turned to glance over a shoulder. ‘Silly cow won't go down, 'case she gets burned … shall I leave her here, Chris? Shall I?'

‘Fuck's sake, jump then,' Chris thundered. He opened his arms and braced his legs, grounding himself. ‘Chuck her out first. You got to jump, you stupid bastard. I'll try 'n' break yer falls a bit. Jump!'

Chris was obliquely aware that people were emerging from houses and rushing towards him with offers of help. He glanced back up the road and saw his aunt hobbling closer, frenziedly waving. He knew she was signalling at him not to do anything daft. He spun on the spot looking for an able-bodied man to help; but most of the people who still lived in the street were elderly, like his aunt. Even Peter Smith looked to be in his late fifties. Chris spotted Kieran coming out of his house at a run while trying to jump into his trousers.

Vic's head had disappeared; a moment later he'd dragged Sandra into view, shoving her forward while trying to lift her over the sash so she could escape. She was hysterical with fear, shaking her head and beating at him with her fists.

‘What you doing up there anyhow, you bleedin' nutter?' Chris had bellowed that out needlessly; he could easily guess what Vic had been doing camped out with a woman in a slum. His adulterous colleague had reckoned on being safe from disturbance or detection. Chris realised he now knew the identities of the tramps who'd been squatting overnight on site.

‘Shall I leave her, Chris? Shall I?' Vic whimpered.

‘Anybody got a ladder?' Chris whipped around to shout that out to the gathering crowd. ‘Anybody got a high-reach ladder?' He had one himself on his van parked along the road, but the ladder was padlocked down on the top. The key to the padlock was at home in his overalls' pocket. By the time he'd wrenched the ladder free it might be too late …

‘I've got one,' Peter Smith cried out.

‘I'll help you get it.' Kieran Murphy was doing up his belt. ‘Quick, let's bring it.' He set off at a run in the direction of Smithie's shop, the older man puffing in his wake.

‘I'm gonna jump … ain't waiting …' Vic tottered about by the open window. He'd just watched, mesmerised, as flames curled around the banisters on the landing. Sandra screamed as he got a leg over the sill and tried to hold onto him. He shook her off and pushed away from the stone ledge, landing on Chris and two other fellows who'd linked arms trying to buffer his fall while at the same time twisting sideways to avoid serious harm. Vic rolled on the ground, groaning and clutching at a shin, while his saviours tried to get their wind back.

‘Where the fuck's she gone?' Chris gasped, when he'd breath enough to do so. He was blinking up through a screen of acrid smoke at the open sash. There was no sign now of Sandra's shaggy dark head poking out; she'd disappeared.

‘Stupid cow … I told her you'd catch her …' Vic moaned from his prostrate position.

Chris pointed a threatening finger at him and drew back a fist as though tempted to whack him. But his attention jerked to Smithie and Kieran, who were jogging back with a ladder.

‘Sandra, get to the window!' Chris shouted, trying to shake off his aunt who was hanging on his arm telling him to wait for the brigade. But there was no sound of a fire engine approaching yet.

The ladder was whacked against the wall in preparation for someone to brave the danger and drag Sandra out. Chris exchanged a bleak look with Kieran. They were the only two youngish men present, apart from Vic who was still rolling about in pain, and no use whatsoever.

‘I'll go,' Kieran said.

‘You fuckin' won't.' Chris shoved him away from the ladder. ‘You've got a family.' With a thudding heart and a deep breath he started up the ladder, aware of the heat and smoke increasing as he approached the open window. Despite his lungs feeling as though they were being squeezed in a vice, he fell over the sill and squinted into a fog. He saw Sandra cowering against the wall clutching a bottle of gin, peeping at him through a tumble of tangled curls.

He stumbled towards her and yanked her arm, tugging her towards the window on her backside because she wouldn't get up. Suddenly she sprang into life and started clawing at his face, and because he felt breathless and panicky, he punched her as lightly as he could. As she sagged he hoisted her onto a shoulder then struggled to get himself through the opening and onto the ladder without dropping her or coughing his guts up. The roar of an approaching inferno focused his thoughts. He was fumbling his way down the first rung when he heard the fire engine's bell. Having taken a wobbly peek over his shoulder he was aware too that Kieran was coming towards him, arms outstretched to offer assistance. His head was swimming and his nostrils felt on fire so he breathed through his mouth although it increased his coughing. He'd descended a few more rungs before he lost consciousness and crashed down on top of Kieran, sending them all tumbling in a jumble of limbs to the ground.

‘Where's Grace?'

‘She's outside,' Stevie croaked. ‘She's been waiting outside all night.'

‘Want her …' Chris murmured and moved his tongue about his arid mouth.

‘How you feeling?' Stevie asked while patting his son's hand, lying on the coverlet. ‘Give me a fright, you did. Brave you were doing that. Why d'you do it?' Stevie choked out, squeezing shut his eyes. ‘Could've got killed … you stupid sod.'

‘Get Grace for me, Dad …'

Stevie nodded and rose stiffly from his bedside chair. He went out into the hospital corridor.

‘Chris's woken up,' he announced with a wavering smile for the family who were keen to know how the hero was doing, and to hear the doctor's verdict this morning after yesterday's dreadful incident.

The initial diagnosis had been that Chris's lungs had been badly affected by inhaling smoke from the fire.

‘He seems … alright … normal …' Stevie croaked before gesturing he felt overcome. He sank down onto the chair next to Matilda's and propped his forehead in his palms. His aunt pressed his shoulder with a rough red hand and murmured comfortingly to him while trying to blink back her own tears.

Smithie had arrived late yesterday evening at Stevie's house to give him the devastating news that Chris had been hurt in an accident and had been taken to hospital. Stevie had immediately got in touch with his brother Rob, as he always did when he needed urgent help. Between them they'd decided it best to let Grace know straight away, in case things took a turn for the worse. Rob had gone to Tottenham to break the news and bring her to the hospital while Stevie had headed straight to his son's bedside.

‘Wants to see you, Grace.' Stevie looked up with a composed smile.

Grace had dozed for a while in the small hours in a hard-backed chair, but since dawn she'd been mostly on her feet, restlessly pacing, awaiting her turn to go and sit with Chris while he was sleeping. For a moment she stared at Stevie with thumping heart, her eyes glittering with tears of relief. Their recent bickering over money, and Hugh Wilkins, now all seemed to Grace like so much pathetic trivia. All she wanted was to know that Chris was on the mend and would be home soon. A moment later she was walking quickly through the swing doors towards the side ward.

‘That's the last time I let you out with your mates,' Grace said softly as she approached Chris's bed and sat down. She folded her quivering hands in her lap so he wouldn't see them and know how badly shaken she was.

Chris smiled weakly. ‘Didn't want to go down the dogs anyhow. I'd sooner have gone out with you.'

‘We don't go out much, do we, since we got engaged? Perhaps we should enjoy ourselves more and forget about saving for a big wedding.' Grace took his soot-blackened fingers between her trembling palms and raised them to her warm lips.

‘Thought you wanted to get married as soon as possible.'

‘Yeah, I do,' she sniffed, blinking rapidly. ‘But can't always have what we want, can we? All I want now is for you to get well enough to come home.'

‘What's up with me then?'

‘Doctor said your lungs got inflamed by breathing in smoke. You already had a bad chest, didn't you, so that didn't help. But you'll be alright …'

‘Yeah … strong as an ox, me … me aunt told me that, so I must be.'

‘You look good,' Grace said, gently touching a hand to his dirt-smudged face.

‘So do you,' he replied wolfishly and drew back the coverlet a bit. ‘Fancy getting in?'

Grace chuckled and leaned forward to peck his lips. ‘You definitely
are
feeling better.'

‘What happened to Vic?'

‘Broke his leg.'

‘That all?' Chris feigned disappointment.

‘Billy came by the hospital earlier to see how you're doing and told us Deirdre's already gone home to live with her mum and dad. So, I doubt Vic's going to get off lightly this time.'

‘What about Sandra?'

‘She escaped with a few cuts and bruises, and so did Kieran. I saw him earlier,' Grace added. ‘He was one of the first to come here to find out how you are. He told me that O'Connor has been arrested. One of his men turned him in.' Her eyebrows drew together in surprise. ‘Apparently they weren't all in on it. It was only O'Connor involved in setting the fire; his friends were disgusted by what he did because they knew it could spread and people still live in the street.' Grace shuddered. ‘Thank God the brigade got it out quickly.' She leaned close to caress her cheek against Chris's bristly jaw. ‘It was very brave of you to do what you did. Bit of a hero, aren't you?'

‘I'm glad that bastard got arrested,' Chris said. ‘I hope he gets a long stretch. In fact, hearing about it's cheered me up so much I reckon I'm well enough to go home. Where's me clothes?'

‘You've got to wait till the doctor says you can,' Grace said firmly. ‘No point going too soon then having to come back again.'

She relaxed back in the chair and gazed tenderly at him while her fingers stroked to and fro on the back of his hand.

‘I've been acting like a prat lately and want to say I'm sorry,' Chris mumbled gruffly.

Grace dropped to her knees by the bed and cuddled him through the blankets. ‘There's never been any need for you to be jealous, I swear.'

‘I know …' Chris stroked her crown of silky fair hair with his mucky fingers. ‘I'm just a bloody fool who doesn't deserve you.'