Coronation Day

‘Lots didn’t,’ Grace said sadly.

‘Yeah …’

‘Well, better go up and say hello …’

Chris watched her start up the stairs.

‘First door on the left,’ he called as she gingerly put a hand on the wobbly banister.

‘Just saying to Shirley we had a reunion on a miserable old day all them weeks ago when the king died, but if she comes over here on Coronation Day it’ll be a right good knees-up. Won’t be in the doldrums then, will we, Shirl?’

‘I’ll say that for you, Aunt Til, you do know how to have a bit of a shindig in the street.’ Chris chuckled.

‘We’ll have to get started on plans for a street party. It’ll probably be the last one we have, too, now the demolition’s well under way.’ Matilda grimaced her regret at having to acknowledge that fact.

When Whadcoat Street replaced Campbell Road, and Biggerstaff Road took over as the name for Paddington Street, a death knell had sounded for the notorious Bunk. Oddly, Matilda – and many others too – still mourned its passing and were prepared to hang on in what was left of the street till the bitter end. Of course, Matilda realised the decaying terraces couldn’t remain – the majority were beyond repair – yet still she felt a wrench at knowing the living stage, where a multitude of precious memories had been played out, was in terminal decline.

‘We’ve got till next June to get everything ready for the big day and don’t you lot go knocking down the houses this end till I say you can,’ she jokingly scolded her nephew.

‘No chance of that, Aunt Til; guvnor reckons there’s a few years’ worth of work here and he wants us to end up with the lot.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Tilly nodded, satisfied. ‘We’ll make it the best party yet … go out on a bang, as it were,’ she said emphatically. ‘We could get some fireworks, and have a big bonfire … ask all the old crowd over for a final Bunk get-together.’ She gleefully rubbed together her palms. ‘Some of ’em, like the Whitton gels and the Lovats, ain’t moved that far away and a lot turn up on Bonfire Night every year. ’Course all my lot’ll be coming over. The little ’uns will love it. Not that some of ’em are so little any more. You couldn’t move down here last November 5th: busier’n Piccadilly Circus, it were.’

‘Well, of course, if we don’t have a do going on down our street in Tottenham, I expect we might manage to come over for it.’ Shirley had sent a startled look her daughter’s way while listening to Matilda’s enthusiastic plans. The idea of mingling socially with slum dwellers, past or present, horrified her.

Grace knew her mother would sooner stay indoors on her own on Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation Day than be caught making merry with people from The Bunk. Yet, personally, she would be glad of an invitation to a street party in Whadcoat Street. Matilda was a wonderfully natural character, in Grace’s estimation. She imagined the Keiver family had great, uninhibited fun when they got together.

‘Ain’t you gotta be off, Chris?’ Matilda gently ribbed her nephew in the break in the conversation. She’d noticed he was having difficulty keeping his eyes off Shirley’s daughter, unsurprisingly considering how pretty Grace was. Although she was in her early twenties Matilda reckoned the girl could have passed for a teenager because she was so small and slim. She ran an eye over her stylish coat and leather court shoes, admiring the elegant way Grace was turned out. Shirley, on the other hand, looked as though she was trying to recapture her youth: her coat barely reached her knobbly knees and her make-up looked too thick in Matilda’s opinion. Her lips twitched in a private smile as she turned her attention to her nephew.

‘Chris is meeting his pals soon ’n’ going to Harringay dogs,’ she announced.

‘Plenty of time yet,’ Christopher said and settled back in his chair. ‘Do you remember Ted Potts?’ he asked Grace.

Grace gladly put down her cup of tea. It had a slight tang to it as though the milk in it was on the turn. ‘Yeah … I think I do. Quite short, wasn’t he, when we were at school?’

‘Yeah, that’s him; he still is a shortarse. He was here this afternoon. You only just missed him. How about Vic Wilson? Do you remember him?’

‘He was a rotten bully,’ Grace stated, narrowing her eyes.

‘Not any more.’ Christopher choked a laugh. ‘He’s married to Deirdre Thorn and she’s got him right under her thumb.’

‘Oh … I remember her! She was in my class at school.’

‘His wife only keeps tabs on him ’cos he’s been playing around,’ Matilda interjected. ‘Can’t blame the gel for doing that.’

‘How about Bill Bright?’

‘Remember Billy.’ Grace nodded. ‘My friend Maureen liked him.’

‘He got engaged a few months ago to Bet Sweetman.’

‘Sounds like you two have got some catching up to do another time,’ Shirley said with an arch look at Matilda. She gathered up her coat and handbag. ‘Anyway, time we got off, Grace. You ready?’ She shrugged into her coat.

‘Thanks for the tea, Mrs Keiver.’ Grace got to her feet, pulled her gloves from her coat pocket, and put them on. ‘It’d be nice to come over for your street party next year. Thanks for the invitation.’ Grace knew her mother had shot her a quelling glance but she ignored her.

‘You’re very welcome, Grace, and if I need some help with me plans I reckon I can count on you as another pair of hands.’ Matilda gave her a beam.

‘Of course,’ Grace said. ‘I make good sandwiches, you know.’

‘Well, got to get that bus,’ Shirley interrupted in a strained voice.

‘Want a lift back to Tottenham? I’ve only got the works van but you’re welcome to a ride. It’s only got one passenger seat in the front but you can squash together and I’ll dust it off first.’

‘No … it’s alright; thanks all the same … don’t want to put you out …’ Grace murmured.

‘No trouble … I’m going that way in any case.’

‘Yeah, why not, Grace,’ Shirley butted in. ‘Save us the bus fare and I don’t fancy hanging about waiting at the stop in this weather. Freeze to death out there, we will.’

‘Right, that’s settled then,’ Chris said and went to drop a farewell kiss on his aunt’s freckled brow.

Moments after pulling up at the kerb in front of their house Christopher had courteously jumped from the van to help them out as the passenger door wasn’t easy to handle: it slid stiffly along rather than opening outwards.

‘Have you got time to come in for a cup of tea, Christopher?’

‘I’m drowning in tea, thanks all the same, Mrs Coleman.’

Shirley’s eyes veered between her daughter and Christopher, noting they were standing close together.

‘Well … I’m going in,’ Shirley said with a significant look. ‘And I could do with a hand getting tea ready.’

‘D’you fancy coming out with me sometime next week? Say Thursday about seven?’ asked Christopher as soon as she was gone.

‘That was quick!’ Grace exclaimed, suppressing a smile. ‘No small talk first?’

‘We’ve done all that this afternoon,’ he returned. ‘No point in wasting time as far as I’m concerned.’ He tilted his head to look into her honey-coloured eyes. ‘So I don’t bother with small talk, and you don’t play hard to get … deal?’

‘Alright … but I can’t be home late as I start work early and have to catch the tube at seven-thirty.’

Christopher caught her chin to kiss her but she held him off with a fist planted hard against his coat. ‘We’ve not even been out yet,’ she squeaked in indignation.

‘Yeah … but I saved your life … and you still owe me …’

She giggled at the mock gravity in his voice, liking the way one of his fingers manoeuvred easily to stroke her cheek. ‘So you remember, do you? Thought you’d forgotten about teaching me to swim.’

‘It’s all coming back to me,’ he said softly and removing her controlling hand from his chest, he kissed her gently on the lips before strolling away.

CHAPTER FIVE