Buch lesen: «The Family»
KAY BRELLEND
The Family
For my sons, with love
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
November 1919
‘Shut up making that racket, fer Gawd’s sake, you’re not a kid any more.’
Robert Wild glowered at his younger brother, who was cuffing tears and snot from his face, then snapped defiant eyes to a couple hovering close by. They were frowning in censure rather than sympathy as Stephen carried on sobbing his heart out. The bigger boy stared back belligerently until the woman gripped her companion’s elbow, urging him to hurry on.
Yanking at his brother’s arm, Robert steered him into the grimy corridor of the Duke of Edinburgh pub. From beyond the closed door of the saloon bar they could hear their kith and kin, voices raised in revelry; it served only to increase Stephen’s misery.
‘They ain’t bothered she’s dead, are they?’ he hiccupped. ‘Just us, ain’t it, who’s real upset?’
‘’Course they’re bothered,’ Robert muttered. ‘Only it won’t be till they’ve sobered up that they’ll remember it.’ From his superior height he cast a look at the top of his brother’s wiry dark curls, glistening with droplets from the November night air. ‘Want a drink?’ he asked in an attempt to cheer Stephen up. ‘I mean a proper drink, not another sup of shandy.’
Stephen shook his head then let his chin drop towards his chest. He stuffed his icy fingers into his pockets to warm them.
‘I’m gettin’ one,’ Robert stated confidently. The door to the saloon bar was within arm’s reach, but he stayed where he was. Much as he would have liked to enter and buy himself an ale, he wasn’t old enough to be served; besides, he had no money. It would have been easy enough to cadge one off somebody, but right now he couldn’t stir up the cheek to do it. Hearing his name called, he raised a lethargic hand in greeting as two young women emerged from the twilight, huddled in their coats. Alice and Bethany Keiver were their cousins, and their friends.
‘Had enough in there with that rowdy lot?’ Alice asked gently, putting an arm about Stevie’s slumped shoulders. She offered no more words of sympathy; she and her sisters had given the boys enough support earlier that day. Having only recently lost people they loved to the Great War, the Keivers knew that pity, however well meant, should have its limits. But Alice’s voice throbbed with emotion when she suggested, ‘Why don’t you both come up the station with us and see Sophy off?’ She cocked her head, waiting for an answer. ‘We’re going to fetch little Luce and let her come with us. It’s way past her bedtime.’ She grinned, thinking how excited her seven-year-old sister would be about going out with the grown-ups so late at night. ‘Come on,’ Alice urged, ‘Sophy’s catching her train in about half an hour.’
Sophy, the eldest of the Keiver girls, was in service in Essex. She’d travelled down yesterday, but her employer was not prepared to give her more than a day’s leave to see her Aunt Fran laid to rest, so she had promised to return within hours of the funeral.
‘Yeah, it’ll give you both something to do. Take your minds off things. We can get some chips on the way back,’ Bethany encouraged. ‘You hungry, Stevie?’ she asked brightly.
He shook his head, snorting back a sob.
‘We’re all right,’ Robert said gruffly. ‘Goin’ off home soon in any case.’ This was a lie. Neither he nor Stevie wanted to return to the dank, depressing room in Campbell Road where they lived. Better to loiter on the corner of Fonthill Road, breathing in air so cold it glassed their throats, than return to a place where their mum’s whispering presence seemed to melt into every shadow.
‘Best be off then,’ Alice murmured and the two sisters walked on arm in arm in the direction of Campbell Road, heads down against the drifting mist.
Stephen raised his bloodshot eyes to Robert’s face. ‘What we gonna do now Mum’s gone?’ he croaked.
‘Same as we did before,’ Robert returned. ‘No, that ain’t right,’ he corrected himself with a bleak smile. ‘I’ll be doin’ the same as before, but you won’t.’ His tone grew bitterly ironic. ‘Come Monday morning, you’ll be out o’ school and knockin’ yer guts out down the market, same as me. I was thirteen when I started work, so it ain’t gonna kill you, doin’ the same. We’re going to need every penny we can get to pay the rent and get fed now Mum’s not around, so you’ve gotta do your bit.’
‘But I ain’t thirteen,’ Stevie whimpered.
‘Soon will be. You’re close enough.’
At this, Stevie’s fragile composure crumbled and he started sobbing again, head hanging between his hunched shoulders.
‘Bawlin’ ain’t gonna help,’ Robert said quietly. He’d learned young to control his tears. His lash-happy father had taught him that all crying got you was something else to howl about.
The saloon door suddenly swung outward and Robert dodged nimbly aside to avoid a blow from its iron handle.
‘Wondered where the pair of you had got to. What you doing out here all on yer own?’ Tilly Keiver asked in her whiskey-grizzled voice. ‘Come back inside. It’s bleedin’ freezin’ by this doorway.’ She tilted her head to examine her youngest nephew’s blotchy face. ‘Come on, Stevie, mate,’ she encouraged him, putting a red-raw hand on one of his shoulders. Through the rough fabric of his coat she gave his thin frame a squeeze. ‘Yer mum’s watchin’ over you, y’know. She wouldn’t want you so upset on her account.’ Tilly’s voice had thickened with emotion and she blinked as heat blurred her eyes. She’d been very close to her sister and had been distraught when the Spanish flu had finally overcome her. Fran had put up a fight for almost a month, but it had come as no surprise when she’d grown too weak to battle on. In a way it had been a blessing to see her suffering at an end.
Putting her lips close to Robert’s ear, she whispered conspiratorially, ‘Let’s get the two of yers a little summat to warm the cockles, shall we?’
Robert recoiled slightly as her alcoholic breath wafted across his face. But he smiled. He could do with a bevy, all right. Despite being a good height and well built for his fourteen years, the publicans around the Islington area knew him and his family well; they knew how old he was and would only serve him on the sly now and again when they were feeling friendly. When he could afford it, Robert frequented hostelries further afield.
‘Get yerselves sat down by the window, outta sight.’ Tilly pointed to a bench and the two brothers slid obediently on to its smooth shiny surface and watched their aunt disappear into the thick atmosphere. The pub was packed with mourners, yet few had bothered to turn to acknowledge them this time. The wake had been going on for hours and most people were too far gone to remember the poor orphan lads they’d consoled at the cemetery that afternoon, then later when they’d all first filed soberly into the saloon bar. Robert had known what was behind their crooning voices and sad smiles as he received hugs and handshakes from one and all.
Poor sods, they’d all been thinking, they’re orphans, even if they are almost grown and one of them already out earning. Stevie’s going to be a burden on Rob if he don’t toughen up. What a family! Their old man was a wrong ’un and did them all a turn by going missing during the war. But now Fran Wild’s kids have got no mum, no money, and no nothing … except one another.
As they’d offered up their pity, and their silent prayers that such bad luck might pass their own kids by, Robert had stared into their eyes, and known exactly what was going through their minds. He’d made himself a promise: by the time he was twenty, they’d be looking at him in a different light. And if there was an afterlife, and his mum was watching over him and Stevie, for the first time in her miserable existence she’d be feeling happy and proud. He’d make sure of that.
ONE
Early June 1927
‘Gawd help us! Thought you was dead. Everybody thinks yer dead, y’know.’
‘Well … I ain’t …’ Teeth tightened against his lips, the sallow-faced fellow gestured that further explanation wasn’t going to be forthcoming and yanked his arm free of the woman’s restraint. He’d been on the point of buying a baked potato from a trader when she’d accosted him. Now he grabbed his thrupenny bit back from the merchant and dropped the hot tater on to the tray. Eyes darting to and fro, he retreated from the stall then turned to barge a path through the crowd thronging Dartford marketplace.
‘’Course you’d know yer wife got sick ’n’ died, God rest her soul. Spanish flu, it was.’ The woman doggedly pursued him, dodging past limbs in an attempt to catch up. ‘But then the two of yers had been livin’ apart for some while, hadn’t you?’ she shouted in his wake, puffing along with her shopping bag of vegetables banging against a stout leg. She angled her head to read his reaction. Her expression betrayed a mixture of fascination and horror as it clung to his back. In common with a lot of people, she’d been secretly pleased to assume that this nasty individual’s disappearance had been due to him pushing up daisies.
‘Nice to see you, Lou.’ The remark was delivered over a shoulder in a scathing tone. ‘But I’ve gotta be off.’ He continued barging his way through the crowd, uncaring of the pained grunts of those he elbowed aside.
‘Yer youngest lad’s getting wed soon. Yer oldest boy’s done all right fer himself.’ Lou Perkins had given up the chase and stood wheezing and wondering how on earth she’d recognised him. It was close to ten years since she’d seen him, but he looked twenty years older and, from the crater in one of his cheeks, appeared to have been in the wars. But for having noticed the snake tattoo on one of his naked forearms, and thinking it looked familiar, she might not have bothered to peer again at his grizzled face. ‘Got houses, ’n’ a car too, he has …’ Her voice tailed off as he vanished into the throng. She shook her head in mute amazement. She’d only made the trip to Dartford to give her sister a hand. The poor cow had knocked out five nippers in seven years and was due to drop the sixth at any moment. Lou was a dab hand at helping babies into the world. In fact, she recalled trying to help that fellow’s wife give birth to her third child. It had been a tragedy when the little girl had finally been delivered stillborn after a long labour. She continued staring although he was lost to view. Had she been able to pursue him she’d have seen the fellow dodge down an alley and come to a stop, a decidedly foxy smile crinkling features that moments before had been resentfully set. Knowing him the way she did, she’d have realised that it was learning about Robert’s flash lifestyle, rather than Stephen’s forthcoming wedding that had brought about the transformation.
Lou started to trudge back through the market place. She’d come out for a breather and to do a bit of shopping for the kids’ teas. Now she wished she was heading back to Islington straight away instead of in a fortnight’s time. She reckoned when she did return the tale she’d got to tell would keep her in drinks in the Pooles Park Tavern for a couple of months at least. Jimmy Wild might look like death warmed up, but he was definitely very much alive! What a turn-up!
Ten days later
‘Coming back inside?’
‘Just finish this and I will.’ Robert Wild drew deeply on his cigarette. He turned to face his brother, head tilted back as a smoke ring escaped his lips to drift towards the sky. ‘Happy?’
‘Yeah, course … me wedding night, ain’t it?’ Stevie grinned. ‘Ain’t a man alive who wouldn’t be happy, knowing he’s got that to look forward to.’
‘Yeah …’ Robert’s smile was rather wry; they both knew the wedding night had come early. Robert hoped the kid wouldn’t too. That’d give every gossiping old biddy a field day in around six months’ time. He loosened his collar to let air to his damp throat. It was mid-June and despite the lateness of the hour the sultry heat felt as unbearable as it had at noon. The twilight had not properly descended and above their heads stars sparkled faintly in a sky still blue.
Robert extended the packet of Players that had been idly cradled in a fist. His brother withdrew one, stuck it between his lips and struck a match.
‘Got to thank you for all this …’ Stevie started gruffly, staring at the glowing ash between his fingers. ‘Me ’n’ Pam know we owe you a lot.’ He shuffled and stuck his free hand in the pocket of his tailored jacket, ruining the lines of his smart bridegroom’s outfit. ‘She’s sent me out to look for you and bring you back inside. She wants me to do a speech in there saying thanks and so on in front of everyone.’ A backwards flick of his head indicated the Duke of Edinburgh pub, where his wedding reception had been underway for some time in a private room with trestle tables groaning under platters of delicious food and a free bar until ten o’clock.
There was more grub on display this evening than Stevie reckoned he’d put away over his twenty years. But then being hungry had been part and parcel of his and Robert’s childhood, so at first he’d reasoned that he might not be qualified to judge whether it was a proper feast. He’d listened to his wife’s parents – who claimed to be of good stock although they were so tight-fisted you’d think they didn’t have a pot to piss in – gawping awestruck at the spread as though plucking up the courage to dive in. Stephen had smiled to himself and in a deliberately loud voice encouraged them to fill their boots.
Robert had paid for everything, right down to the bride and bridesmaid’s dresses and the flowers. His in-laws might think they were a class above, but they’d never found the manners to offer a contribution to the cost of marrying off their daughter. Considering her condition, if they’d put off until her old man prised open his wallet they’d have been celebrating a christening before the wedding. Not, of course, that the old miser knew that his little princess was up the spout.
‘Come back inside or she’ll be nagging me for the rest of the night …’
‘No need for any of that,’ Robert cut him off. He ground the stub of his cigarette underfoot. ‘You already thanked me enough, and I told you – you don’t owe me. It’s your wedding present.’ He smiled. ‘Saved me a job traipsing round in Gamages looking for a vase.’ He strolled towards the pub entrance and raised his voice to be heard over the cacophony from within. ‘Still time for a few bevvies before chucking-out time.’
The brightly lit pub seemed to rock on its foundations with the wedding guests’ roistering. They’d been at it for several hours and would probably continue for several more before the landlord called time. A piano was being bashed fit to shatter the keys and a female voice was warbling at full volume. Beyond the frosted glass, the heads of dancing couples waltzed by.
‘Ever think of Dad?’
Robert stopped dead and turned. Even though he’d been gone from their lives almost ten years now, the mention of Jimmy Wild had the power to tilt his guts. He came back towards Stevie so they could converse in a normal tone rather than holler at one another across the pavement.
‘Never give the shit a thought,’ he lied. ‘You?’
‘Dreamed of him last night,’ Stevie said hoarsely. He smiled diffidently. ‘Can’t put it out of me mind. We was all back in The Bunk. You, me, Mum, all of us. Number twenty-seven, it was. It was morning and we was getting ready for school and he’d given Mum a good hiding over something; then he started on me ’cos he checked the sheets and knew I’d wet the bed.’ He gave a self-conscious chuckle. ‘Then Aunt Til come barging in, Uncle Jack ’n’ all. Old Til started squaring up to Dad and he slunk off out, like he always did … like butter wouldn’t melt …’
For a moment there was a protracted quiet as both men recalled how often that scene had been played out in their early years. Robert slung an arm about Stevie’s shoulders. ‘That ain’t a dream, mate, that’s a nightmare. And it’ll be down to the amount of booze you knocked back on your stag night.’ With an attempt at drollery he added, ‘But you’re sober now. Sweet dreams from now on.’
‘Yeah …’ Stevie said, but he sounded unconvinced.
‘Look, I know your wedding day’s a time for reflecting. But there’s better things to think about than getting a hidin’ off that bastard ’cos you wet the bed when you was little.’ Robert patted his brother’s shoulder. ‘If you’ve got to reminisce, think about how happy Mum’d be to see you togged out in all yer duds and how she’d love to know her first grandchild’s on the way too.’
Stevie blinked in alarm. ‘Not so loud! It’s supposed to be a secret,’ he muttered, glancing about for eavesdroppers. ‘Pam’s still not told her folks. Bleedin’ good job she’s not yet got a belly on her.’
‘Now you done the right thing by her, they ain’t going to care either way.’ Robert took his brother’s lapels between his fingers and straightened them. He re-pinned his carnation with deliberate slowness to allow his brother to blink the glistening tears from his eyes. ‘Come on, you daft git, forget about the past. You got a future with Pam and a baby to think about now.’ He gripped Stevie’s shoulders in an encouraging way. ‘Your wife ain’t going to thank you for going soft on her tonight, you know,’ he lewdly mocked.
Stevie sniffed a laugh, still blinking rapidly. ‘I know you shouldn’t say it about your own, but … God, am I glad he’s six foot under.’
‘Everyone’s glad he’s gone,’ Robert said brusquely. ‘Now that’s enough about him; this is a day to enjoy and I ain’t talking about any of it no more.’
‘If you two don’t come back in, I’ll bring the party out here.’ Silhouetted in the aperture of the pub doorway was a young woman dressed in a white silk sheath that stopped short of her knees and displayed her shapely legs. She sashayed forward a few steps then hopped and removed first one then the other of her shoes and carried them with her. ‘Gawd, me dogs aren’t half barking. Old uncle Ned must’ve trod on me feet a dozen times when we was doing the Charleston.’ She slipped her arm through her husband’s. ‘What you two doing out here?’ She gave her brother-in-law a meaningful look, whilst massaging sore toes. ‘What’ve you been up to, Rob? Vicky’s been looking for you. I reckon she thinks you’ve gone off her.’ She paused, hoping for an answer but all she got was an indifferent shrug. ‘We saw the way Gloria was making a play for you earlier.’ Stevie’s new wife slanted her sly eyes up at her brother-in-law. ‘In case you don’t know the rules, Robert Wild, the best man’s supposed to get off with the bridesmaid, not the tart behind the bar.’
‘I’ve been enjoying a smoke,’ Robert explained smoothly and ignored the rest.
A subtle glance passed between the brothers.
An hour earlier Stevie had stepped into the Duke’s corridor just in time to see his brother gliding downstairs shrugging on his jacket. Gloria had reappeared a moment or two later and taken up position behind the bar looking flushed and secretly pleased. Robert had made sure he’d timed it right: the drinking by that time was well under way and the pair of them wouldn’t have been absent long enough to arouse any suspicions. Stevie knew if he hadn’t happened to nip out for a smoke and a breath of air, he’d have been none the wiser either. Robert didn’t boast about his conquests, or anything else he had.
Gloria was a looker with a magnificent bust that magnetised a man’s eyes from the moment he was over the Duke’s threshold. Stevie wouldn’t blame any bloke for taking off her what was offered on a plate, even if the chance had come up during his wedding reception and the girl with an ambition to become Robert’s sweetheart was Pam’s bridesmaid. Stevie knew his wife’s friend was kidding herself. So did Robert, although he seemed in no hurry to shatter Vicky’s illusions about hooking him. His brother wouldn’t restrict himself to just one woman. Pam could matchmake all she liked, but Robert would take or leave Vicky Watson, just as he had all the others who’d believed they could rein him in and get his ring on their finger.
At that moment Vicky flounced out on to the pavement. ‘So, where’ve you been?’ she demanded of Robert, fanning her sulky face with a hand.
‘I’ve been right here. Why d’you want to know?’
A sheepish smile was Vicky’s apology and she fixed her eyes on the cigarette packet rotating idly in his hands. ‘I wouldn’t mind a fag.’
Robert offered her the cigarettes and once she’d taken one and he’d lit it, he started towards the pub. Vicky quickly slipped her arm through his and the newly married couple followed, locked in an embrace that made them stumble and giggle. Stevie swung his new bride into his arms and carried her wriggling over the threshold.
‘That’s you two sorted out for later. That’s my boys.’ The growling voice erupted in a lascivious chuckle.
Robert glanced over his shoulder to see a couple, half shadowed by a high wall, watching them.
‘Piss off, mate. Private party.’ Robert had already ejected several gatecrashers from the reception. The chance of a free feed and unlimited booze was too hard to resist for most people who lived around Campbell Road and struggled to put a plate of chips on the table. Once news of the wedding had got around, half of The Bunk’s inhabitants had been angling for invitations to the reception.
‘That’s no way to speak to yer old dad, Bobbie.’
It was a moment before Robert pivoted about. Only a few people called him Bobbie now. Family, mostly.
‘Remember me?’
Now the ribaldry was gone, Robert realised the voice was the same even if the man in front of him looked to be a pale imitation of his former self.
The father he remembered had been a muscled fellow with a dark head of hair and a lean face. The man sauntering towards them looked to have shrivelled in height and ballooned in weight. He appeared, too, to be fair-headed but was, Robert realised, almost completely grey. But his eyes, dark and sharp, were the same, pinning him down, still no escape.
For a moment Robert felt rooted to the spot, trapped in his brother’s nightmare of last night. He licked his parched lips and shot a look at his brother. Stevie was gawping at him, slack-jawed, waiting for reassurance that it was just a phantom and everything was going to be all right.
‘Go back inside.’ It was a hoarse murmur as Robert disentangled his arm from Vicky’s clutch and gave the middle of her back a little push to hurry her on her way.
She tottered forward with a mew of indignation.
‘Go inside, Pam,’ Robert ordered his sister-in-law, his voice strengthening.
She looked mutinous, but Stevie dropped her quickly to her feet, where she landed in an ungainly hobble. He nodded vigorously at her to do as she’d been told. His obvious agitation prompted her to obey, albeit with a sullen expression.
‘What the fuck d’you want?’ Robert spat through his teeth as soon as the two young women had disappeared into the pub.
‘We thought you died in the war. We thought you was dead.’ Stevie’s words emerged in a strange, high-pitched whine.
‘Ain’t dead, son.’
It had been said in that gentle way Jimmy had that had always set Rob’s teeth on edge. His crooning voice had been as deceitful as everything else about him. Robert took a step forward to put himself between his father and his brother.
‘Just some real bad things was goin’ on at the time and I had to get away,’ Jimmy continued in his dreary drawl. ‘Best thing for everyone, you see, for me to disappear fer a while.’
‘Best thing now ’n’ all,’ Robert ejected through his teeth. ‘So get goin’ ’n’ don’t ever come back. There’s nothing here for you. D’you understand? Nothing.’
‘That ain’t nice, Bobbie.’ Jimmy sounded plaintive. ‘I come to wish me son all the best for his future happiness, ain’t I?’
‘How d’you know I was getting wed?’ Stevie had recovered a little from his shock. Although he was visibly shaking, he had a few questions ready. He grabbed the cigarettes from Rob and fumbled to get one lit then dragged deeply on it. ‘You been spyin’ on me? How d’you know anything about me now?’
‘Just ’cos I ain’t been around, don’t mean I ain’t been keepin’ a watchful eye on yers. You’re me flesh ’n’ blood.’
Robert threw back his head and roared out a vicious laugh. He took a menacing pace forward, stopping Jimmy from coming any closer to his brother. Their father had been edging forward one step at a time and Robert knew it was his intention to win them over with his wonky smile and weasel words. When they were kids it might have worked; just as a whipping with a belt had worked. But it was different now.
‘This ain’t the time fer none of yer lies,’ Robert enunciated through stretched lips. ‘If you care about Steve’s future happiness you’ll fuck off now and stay away from all of us.’ He jabbed a finger close to Jimmy’s chin. Now he was within striking distance he could see what the dusk had disguised. One side of his father’s face now had a slightly concave shape as though, at some time during the last decade, his cheekbone had been smashed. ‘So get going or there’s gonna be blood ’n’ guts all over the place.’ Robert leaned forward. ‘We ain’t scared of you now. You’re nothing to us and we ain’t interested in any of yer threats or promises …’
‘Bobbie … hang on … let’s hear where he’s been …’ Stephen had reverted to using his childhood name, something he hadn’t done in many years. Robert knew that hearing Jimmy use it had prompted him to do so and it enraged him. He swung about and glared at his brother.
‘You’re not wanted here.’ Robert sent that over a shoulder at his father as he gripped Stephen’s arm and shoved him towards the pub.
‘We goin’ in fer a drink, Jim? Could do with a drink, Jim.’ The woman who’d been lurking quietly by the kerb took a pace forward. Her short, skinny body had easily been overlooked in the shadowy gloom. But now she nervously approached. Edie Greaves had need of a drink and Jimmy had promised her he knew of a place where they could go this evening and get treated handsomely for free. In fact, he’d been promising her many good things would come their way once they got to Islington. In Edie’s eyes, the only benefit so far had been in managing to abscond and leave a pile of debts behind in Kent.
Robert turned back just in time to note the change in his father’s attitude. He recognised the look gripping Jimmy’s sagging face and it turned his guts. Jimmy sorely wanted to tell the woman to shut up or, as he’d frequently done with their mother, stop her complaints with his fist. But he couldn’t because he was putting on an act for them all. The prodigal father had come to give his blessing to his son’s marriage. Like fuck! Robert knew that if this miserable, cowardly excuse for a man had come to find them it was because he wanted something very badly. The crafty bastard had probably already made it his business to find out that Stephen had nothing to offer, so Robert knew it was him he was after. Somehow, Jimmy Wild had discovered he’d done all right for himself and had come back to Islington to see what was in it for him.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Matilda Keiver came bursting out of the pub trailing people in her wake. ‘Pam said there’s a feller being a nuisance. Want him shifted, Rob?’ The crowd behind her chortled and encouraged her playful belligerence. Everyone knew Tilly Keiver wasn’t frightened of a fight. If a bloke needed a slap, she was the one to give it to him. And he’d come off worst. Her nephews knew her reputation too, and would usually have laughed along with the others.
But they didn’t; and after a moment it penetrated Matilda’s booze-fuddled brain that something wasn’t right. She marched forward, whiskey glass in hand, squinting into the dusk to see who was causing a ruckus at her nephew’s big day. After their mum had died, and when they were just starting out fending for themselves as young teenagers, Tilly had done what she could to help Rob and Steve even though money was tight for her too as a war widow. She still treated Fran’s boys as an extension of her own family. Today she’d had the status of the groom’s mother, and the bride’s family were duly conscious of her role.
Tilly stopped and frowned at the man lounging against a wall a few feet away.
‘Hello, Tilly. Remember me?’
At the sound of his voice, she froze, open-mouthed, her whiskey hovering by her lips. A moment later the glass slipped from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the ground, spattering her shins and the hem of her best dress.
