Coronation Day - Kay Brellend

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Aunt Til.’

      Christopher had spoken so huskily, so gratefully, that Tilly dipped her head to conceal the tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll be getting off then,’ she croaked, putting her empty cup down on the draining board.

      ‘Want a lift back?’

      ‘If you’ve got time it’d save me poor old legs,’ Matilda answered with a smile.

      ‘Don’t reckon your old legs are as bad as you make out,’ he ribbed her, glad to lighten the atmosphere.

      ‘You try falling out a bleedin’ first-floor winder and see how you feel,’ she came back indignantly, but with a rueful chuckle.

      When he was younger, Christopher had had a macabre fascination with knowing all the details about Matilda’s narrow escape from death. It had never been kept a secret from him that his paternal grandfather had been the black sheep of the family and had tried to murder Matilda. There had been no point trying to cover up the scandal as many people knew it first-hand. The younger generation had had gruesome details passed down to them about the night Jimmy had a fight with a gangster and was mortally wounded. Rather than wait, and let nature take its course, Jimmy had committed suicide by falling from a window and dragging Matilda out with him. Jimmy had died that night, although his legend lived on. He was still spoken about by some locals with a mixture of dread and awe. At school, Christopher had enjoyed his mates being envious of him because of his notorious ancestor. But those juvenile feelings had passed; now he felt an acute sense of loss at never having known even one of his grandparents.

      ‘Did Mr and Mrs Plummer ever try to keep in touch with me? I suppose even if they had me dad wouldn’t have allowed it.’

      Matilda slowly walked to the front door. She turned to Christopher before opening it. ‘They were ashamed, Chris. Not of you – of their daughter and what had gone on. They were strait-laced people … not like us. Staying respectable and not being gossiped about could’ve been more important to ’em than seeing their grandson.’ She sighed. ‘That’s just my opinion. Could be there were other reasons they kept quiet. If you get to speak to yer mum she’ll tell you about them, I expect.’

      As Chris helped Matilda out of his van in Whadcoat Street he spied Kieran Murphy pushing a pram over the threshold of his house. The man raised a hand to them but didn’t stop to talk; he immediately disappeared inside.

      ‘Ain’t seen much of Noreen lately; I reckon he’s got her under lock ’n’ key.’ Matilda scowled.

      ‘Not done no more babysitting?’

      ‘He don’t want her workin’. Thought Noreen had told Kieran she’d got a little job cleanin’ but seems she went behind his back and he hit the rafters over it. He’s made her promise to give it up and stay home with the kids. Know she ain’t lyin’ over his temper ’cos I’ve heard them going at it hammer ’n’ tongs on a few occasions.’ Matilda gave a sorrowful shake of her head. ‘Pride’s all well ’n’ good when you can afford it. But that man can’t.’

      ‘Could tell he had the ’ump about you minding Kathleen the day I took her home. Asked me for work that day too.’

      ‘Rob wouldn’t wear it, would he?’

      Chris barked a laugh. ‘I didn’t even bother asking him ’cos I didn’t want me ears chewed off.’

      Matilda gave her nephew a wave and proceeded towards her house. She knew Kieran was angry with her as well as his wife because he’d found out she’d put Noreen in touch with the client in Tufnell Park. Pigheaded men didn’t intimidate Matilda; if Kieran Murphy had an axe to grind he could come right out and say what was on his mind. And she’d tell him his fortune in return.

      But for now Matilda had more important people’s troubles weighing on her mind. A short while ago Stevie had gone storming off with a face like thunder but, like Noreen’s husband, he’d eventually realise not to ride roughshod over loved ones ’cos sometimes a battle led to all-out war.

      CHAPTER SIX

      ‘There’s been an accident. You’d better get back up there fast.’

      Smithie’s general store was still trading on Whadcoat Street and Christopher had been inside buying cigarettes when Vic Wilson burst in to garble out his terrifying message.

      ‘Accident?’ Christopher parroted, staring at him, but he’d already moved towards the shop’s exit. A knot of bystanders could be seen congregated outside the house they were working on close to the junction with Lennox Road.

      ‘Yer dad’s fallen off that bleedin’ old ladder …’

      Even before Vic mentioned his father, an instinctive dread had started churning Christopher’s guts. He sprinted as fast as he could towards the scene with Vic puffing in his wake.

      The first thing Christopher saw was the wooden ladder – the one nobody was supposed to be using at heights because a lot of top rungs were worn – lying in bits on the ground. Stephen was curled up close by, moaning, with Bill crouching over him looking petrified.

      Christopher fell to his knees beside them. ‘What you done?’ He bellowed at his dad, gripping his arm. He shot a stare at Billy. ‘Anyone called for an ambulance?’

      ‘Ted’s gone to telephone for help …’ Bill burbled.

      ‘What’s he done? Where’s he hurt? Where you hurt?’ he demanded, leaning over his father in an effort to make him open his eyes, but they remained squeezed shut. Christopher could hear laboured breathing interspersed with chilling whimpers of pain.

      ‘Come off that old ladder, he did,’ Bill spluttered in shock. He raked shaking fingers through his hair. ‘We was all inside working and he kept on about it was time to get started on the roof even though you’d said we’d gotta wait till we had a decent ladder ’fore tackling it.’ He turned to Vic who was prowling in a circle, sucking desperately on a cigarette. ‘We told him ’n’ all, didn’t we, Vic?’ Vic nodded a vigorous response. ‘Took no notice of us. He must’ve gone up to start on that fucking gutter without even asking anybody to foot it for him …’ Billy tailed off, with a despairing shake of his head.

      Christopher touched his father’s scalp and felt hot stickiness on his fingertips. Having gently moved aside some of his hair he exposed blood pooling beneath his skull. An anguished groan tore at his throat. ‘I told him not to go right up it! Told him not to!’ he raged in a suffocated voice. He jumped to his feet and paced to and fro. ‘Vic, go and see what the fuck Ted’s up to. Where’s the ambulance? Go and see what he’s up to …’

      The sound of a distant bell calmed him slightly and he dropped back to his knees to soothe his father who’d started to cough and shake.

      ‘S’alright … listen … ambulance is coming …’ he whispered, grasping his father’s icy hand and giving it a tight squeeze. ‘You cold?’ Whipping off his jacket he gently put it round Stephen’s huddled form. The other two men immediately struggled out of their coats and offered them up.

      ‘Can I help at all? Shall I fetch a blanket to cover him? Do you need cloths or water?’ Kieran Murphy had just dashed across the road to offer assistance, having spotted the commotion in the street from his window. His wife appeared in the doorway of their house, holding Rosie in her arms while Kathleen clung to her legs, thumb in mouth.

      Vic threw him a dirty look and muttered beneath his breath, but Chris glanced over a shoulder and gave an appreciative nod. ‘His hands feel frozen. Blanket might keep him a bit warmer … thanks,’ he croaked.

      Kieran disappeared back inside the property and returned with a large blanket in a matter of minutes. He helped Chris spread it out and tuck it around Stephen before quietly retreating to stand with Noreen. Ted came racing back round the corner and stood gasping and holding the stitch in his side. ‘Didn’t know whether to stop at the chemist and get some stuff like bandages and

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