The Family

‘No need to be so bloody sarky,’ she shouted and angrily lunged towards him as though she might lash out. She froze as the bakery door opened and Mr Travis came out.

‘Hello, Robert,’ her boss blurted in surprise before swallowing audibly. ‘I’ve not seen you in a while.’ Mr Travis jangled the keys in his hand and blinked over his shoulder at them. ‘But I … er … I’ve been expecting to see you, of course,’ he said in a quiet, nervous tone that was so unusual Faye stared at him. The Mr Travis she knew was an arrogant, confident individual. She’d heard him snap at customers who asked for credit. He didn’t give way even when they were just a penny short of what they needed and promised to pop it in tomorrow. They had to suffer the shame of having bread or cakes unwrapped and returned to the rack. Now he’d come over all meek and mild, fiddling with the key in his hand and looking from one to the other of them. ‘Do you want to come in or … will you come back tomorrow?’ He cleared his throat.

‘I’m not here to see you,’ Robert told him.

‘Oh … I see …’ The relief in Mr Travis’s voice was accentuated by his gasping chortle. He gave Faye a long look. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Faye,’ he said before striding away.

‘You working in the baker’s?’

Faye nodded. ‘He thinks you’re your brother – he called you Robert.’

‘It’s you thinks I’m my brother. Do you want a lift home?’ He was already by his car and his half-smile told her he anticipated a rebuff even before he’d raised his eyes to see her shake her head. ‘Suit yourself.’ A moment later the car was on its way up the street.

‘Any work going hereabouts, Til?’

Tilly halted in her march to the shop and swung about to find Jimmy lounging against a railing. She suspected he’d been loitering out of sight, waiting for her to pass by before emerging from the hallway of the house where he lived. It was a hot August afternoon and he was wearing a vest belted into his trousers. She remembered he’d liked to display his biceps when younger; now the muscles looked withered and the skin covering them crêpey. The sight of the cobra twisting on his left arm caused a stabbing tension in her guts. The faded tattoo aroused memories she’d believed she’d buried long ago with her sister.

‘Why? What’s it to you?’ Matilda scoffed. ‘You going to change the habit of a lifetime and get off yer arse for an honest day’s pay?’ She strode on without a backward glance. Ten minutes later she came back down the street with her twist of tea and bottle of milk to find he was in the same place, waiting for her.

‘Don’t need to be honest work, luv.’ He resumed their conversation as though there’d been no break in it. ‘That’s why I’m asking you fer a tip-off. You always did know about ducking ’n’ diving, Til, I’ll give you that. Don’t want no crap wages, mind.’

‘Don’t know of nuthin’,’ Tilly barked and carried on walking, her teeth clamped so tightly in an effort to bite back on saying anything else that her jaw ached.

‘Was right sorry to hear about Jack,’ Jimmy called out. ‘One o’ life’s good ’uns was your Jack.’

Tilly flung herself around, her face boiling with rage. ‘Don’t you dare mention him,’ she blasted out. ‘You ain’t fit to even speak his name.’ With that she let fly with the bottle of milk.

Jimmy ducked and it whistled past to shatter against the wall of the house. He’d intended to rile her, but hadn’t expected such a violent reaction, and it stole the smirk from his face. With a shrug he turned and disappeared inside.

In the months that had passed since Jimmy had moved back into the street, though there had been many occasions when she was sorely tempted, Tilly had resisted the urge to set about her erstwhile brother-in-law. Her daughters had pleaded with her not to cause a rumpus, but it was someone else whose advice had persuaded her to leave well alone.

Reg Donovan was a pikey, a term she used to his face, as did others. A tinker by trade, Reg had lived for a number of years in Queensland Road with his parents and had gone more or less unnoticed by Matilda. But a chance encounter outside Beattie’s, when Reg was mending her neighbour’s pots, had brought them together. Tilly – with a broken pan and a nose for a discount – had sauntered over to slip hers in on Beattie’s deal and had got chatting to him. That had been many months ago and Tilly had known straight away that Reg had taken a liking to her. After that, he often found excuses to come into The Bunk and loiter about near her place. A couple of times she’d found herself looking out of the window for him. She was well aware that she was acting like a soppy schoolgirl with a crush, yet, for the first time in many years, she’d felt light-hearted.

After her beloved Jack had perished in the Great War, Tilly had been certain no other man would ever stir her interest or affection. But the passing of the years had rubbed the rough edges off her grief and something about Reg’s Irish charm appealed to her. Besides, Tilly was a realist and had scraped by in The Bunk on her own for long enough. It was sensible for two people to pull together rather than try to battle on against the odds solo. Lucy, her youngest child, had been the last to leave home. She’d gone to work in service with Sophy, her eldest, near Southend. Her daughters all had their own lives now. The eldest three were married. When Reg had popped the question to her a few weeks ago, she’d said yes straight away. As soon as they’d put by the cash to pay for the service – and a little knees-up at the Duke afterwards, of course – they’d do the deed. But neither of them were in any rush.

Tilly had ceased raging about what damages she’d like to inflict on Jimmy after recognising wisdom in her fiancé’s blunt advice on the matter: ‘If ye let on he can rile ye like that, then he’ll stick around for ever. He’s pulling strings ’n’ yer dancing for him, Tilly.’ So Tilly had been careful not to let Jimmy know that his presence in Campbell Road bothered her, although at times it almost killed her to hold her tongue when she sauntered past his doorway. Now she was kicking herself for having let him see that her indifference to him was just a sham.

Jimmy peeped round the brickwork and watched Matilda through narrowed vision until she’d disappeared. Then he turned his attention to his stepdaughter, who was on her way down the road towards him. His eyes immediately fell to the bag in Faye’s hand.

‘Brought yer dad a few nice bits for his tea?’ The question sounded casual enough, but there was an undertone of menace that demanded the right answer.

‘I’ve told you, I’m not filching stuff any more.’ Faye tried to pass, but Jimmy blocked her way.

‘Well, aren’t you Miss Prim ’n’ Proper,’ he sneered. ‘You’ll learn when you live round here that’s how we go on. Nobody gives yer nuthin’, so you take wot yer need.’

‘If you want to think so, think so. My dad taught me thieving’s wrong and …’

Jimmy pinched her chin in a playful grip that tightened painfully. ‘But yer dad ain’t here now, is he?’ he purred. ‘He’s pushin’ up daisies, thinkin’ himself lucky ’n’ all, and it’s fallen to me to do his job for him.’

Faye ripped her face free from his fingers. ‘Thinking himself lucky?’ she echoed, appalled by his callousness. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say about a man … a gentleman,’ she added damningly, ‘who perished on the Somme. Where were you hiding when it was all going on over there?’ she hissed. Faye knew that Jimmy hadn’t gone to fight. Somehow or other he’d managed to escape doing his duty, and that didn’t surprise her. In the time she’d known him, he’d never shown himself to be anything other than selfish and cowardly. Her beloved dad, and all the other honourable men who’d shipped out to fight the Hun, had paid the ultimate price for their bravery. The likes of Jimmy Wild would never rob her of her cherished memories of her heroic father, no matter what spiteful stuff he might come out with.

Jimmy stared at her for so long that Faye thought he was about to give her an answer, but suddenly his sly eyes veered away and he croaked one of his laughs. They were as false as everything else about him and Faye shook her head contemptuously and made to push past.

Jimmy gripped her elbow and yanked her back. ‘I’m looking out for you ’cos I’m yer stepdad, and don’t you forget it. So tomorrer make sure you fetch me in something …’

‘I’m looking out for myself,’ she interrupted him. ‘So I’m not losing me job thieving. As for the others … getting yourself work might help you look out for them.’ Faye realised he wasn’t listening any more but squinting over her shoulder. She turned her head and saw what had caught his eye. His son, Stephen, had emerged from a house close to the bottom of the road. Faye had seen him coming out of the property before. Usually he walked up and entered a couple of other places as well. She’d assumed he was collecting his brother’s rents.

The two brothers were similar in height and in their dark good looks. She could understand why, seeing him at a distance, her mother had mistaken Robert for his brother on the day they moved into The Bunk. Unfortunately for Faye, the embarrassment of confusing the two of them still had the power to make her blush. She’d thought Robert Wild a newly married man with a roving eye. Now she knew that the pretty dark-haired young woman who’d been sitting beside him in his car, and whom she’d taken for his wife, was one of Matilda Keiver’s daughters, and a cousin of his.

Since that day Faye had seen Alice go into Matilda’s house on several occasions; sometimes she had a little girl with her who looked about five years old. Faye supposed the fair-haired man who occasionally accompanied them was her husband. She’d not wanted to question Jimmy over his dead wife’s relatives, but she’d got snippets of information from her mother. Slowly Edie was coming to know the local families and their gossip. Her mother had warned her to avoid the Keivers because they were out to cause trouble. Faye reckoned that if anything the family were keen to avoid them. Anyway, she’d needed no such telling. She’d no desire to get to know anyone. As soon as she could, she’d be leaving.

FOUR

‘How you doing, son?’

Jimmy’s voice startled Faye from her reflection. Quickly she made to go inside, but Jimmy casually placed a hand on both railings, keeping her where she was.

‘Stay ’n’ say hello to him, you rude li’l cow,’ he breathed close to her face.

Jimmy had hailed Stephen on previous occasions but had been ignored. He hadn’t exchanged a word with his youngest son since the evening of the wedding reception, several months ago. ‘Business booming?’ Jimmy remarked in a jolly tone once he’d gained Stephen’s attention. He could guess why his son was staring and tightened his grip on the railings in case his stepdaughter tried again to get past him.

Stephen slowed down and stuck his hands in his pockets. Robert constantly warned him to ignore Jimmy if he tried to cosy up to him when he was in Campbell Road. Stephen hated his father yet, illogically, a worming curiosity was urging him to walk over and find out a few things. He longed to know what Jimmy had been doing, and where he’d been in the missing years.

Despite painful memories of the beatings his father had dealt out, Stevie had retained a spark of optimism that there might be some reason to be proud of the man who’d sired him. Back when he was a lot younger, he’d convinced himself that Jimmy Wild, like the unknown warrior and the men who’d lived in the neighbourhood, such as his uncle Jack Keiver and Geoff Lovat, had perished nobly on foreign soil for king and country. Later, when no official notification ever arrived about Jimmy Wild being missing, presumed dead, Stevie’s hopes had taken a different turn. His father might have returned, dreadfully wounded and suffering from amnesia. He had heard of fellows – seen them, too – who’d been shell-shocked, or had their minds destroyed by the terrible things they’d witnessed in the trenches. Then he’d wondered whether he might have been one of those unlucky civilians caught up in the London bombings, which had left many corpses too horribly mutilated for identification. Obstinately Stephen had clung to the fantasy that something other than callous self-interest might have prevented his father coming back home.

Now he inwardly mocked himself for having wallowed in such sentimental guff. Yet he remained where he was; the old man was standing with his stepdaughter, and she had a face that’d draw any bloke in for a closer look. A couple of times he’d seen her walking down the road, but she’d crossed over and ignored him. He’d learned from Robert that their father had taken on a stepfamily when he’d got involved with Edie Greaves. He knew one of Edie’s kids was a girl aged about eighteen, called Faye. An odd note in his brother’s voice when he’d mentioned her had alerted Stephen to the fact that Rob had an interest there. But he’d not questioned him over it. Robert could be aggravatingly uncommunicative when it came to personal matters, especially where women or money were concerned.

Curiosity was creeping over Faye too, so she ceased straining against the cruel grip Jimmy had placed on her arm. She’d only previously seen Stephen Wild at a distance. Now, as he slowly approached, she noticed that his hair was styled short, probably to tame its curls, and had a coarse appearance. Neither was the colour as dark brown as Robert’s sleek, straight mane. Stephen also looked to be a few inches shorter in height than his brother, although they shared a similar spare build. His eyes appeared lighter, too; more the colour of caramel than chocolate, and he had a slightly softer set to his lips. On the couple of occasions Faye had been with Robert she’d noticed the slant to his mouth that made him look constantly on the verge of being sarcastic. Possibly, when he’d been in his twenties, their father might have resembled his handsome sons. Now Jimmy was a bloated, grizzled wreck of a man; only a few dark threads in his lank grey hair hinted at his lost youth.

‘Still here then?’ Stephen greeted his father sourly as he approached and stopped close to the kerb. He cocked his head, looking them up and down.

‘’Course we’re still here. We ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ was Jimmy’s blunt reply. ‘Next time I leave The Bunk, it’ll be in a pine box.’

‘They all right with that?’ Stephen nodded at Faye as his eyes swept over her, a crooked smile on his lips. Now he was close to her, he could see it wasn’t only her face that was lovely; she had a sweet figure on her too. ‘Don’t know of any nice young lady who’d be grateful to be dragged here to live permanently.’

‘Faye’s a good gel; she’ll do as her dad tells her.’ Jimmy slung a possessive arm about her narrow shoulders.

Faye shrugged him off immediately in a way that taught Stephen a lot about their relationship, and her obedience.

‘Yeah … can see she’s devoted to her new dad,’ he scoffed, watching her slender back as she disappeared, unhindered by Jimmy, into the house.

‘Don’t matter about her,’ Jimmy said, lip curling. ‘It’s me boys – me own boys, that is – who I care about.’

Stephen hooted an acid laugh. ‘Yeah, we noticed how much you cared about us when we was growin’ up.’ He started on his way, but halted on hearing his father’s next comment.

‘Always thought it’d be you, y’know, who’d make summat of himself.’ Jimmy smiled, having regained Stephen’s attention. ‘You was always the brightest of the two of yers.’

‘How d’you work that out? Weren’t me wot done any good at school; Rob did.’