‘I saw Vic this evening,’ Stevie announced. ‘He was just off to the shop to get something for his tea. Unusual for him to do a bit of shopping.’
‘Deirdre’s playing a blinder there, I’ll give her that,’ Chris said with a chuckle. ‘She’ll probably have him burping the baby and changing it after every feed.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Pearl stated flatly. ‘She’ll need to put her feet up for a while after it’s born. My husband used to change our Calvin’s nappy.’
Pearl was the same age as Stevie, forty-five. She’d separated from her husband almost twenty years ago, after producing one son. But neither she nor her husband had ever bothered to put divorce proceedings in place. Pearl knew that if Stevie were to propose she’d get the ball rolling the following day. She’d loved him for years and very much wanted to be his wife.
Her son had lived with her until he was eighteen, although he’d seen his father whenever he wanted to as the marriage had floundered without rancour on either side. But Calvin had his own life now, and was a regular in the army, so Pearl only saw him a couple of times a year.
‘You told me he never done nappies willingly,’ Stevie protested, frowning at Pearl.
Talk of husbands helping out with their newborn children always made Stevie feel uneasy. He was uncomfortably aware he could have done more to support Pamela when their son had been born, and then things might have turned out differently. When she’d moaned about Christopher’s constant crying he’d told her to pull herself together and get on with it. When she’d complained her nerves were playing up, and she couldn’t think straight, he’d told her to get off her backside and be a wife and mother, because she was getting fat and lazy.
He’d never seen his father lift a finger to help his mother, whether it was caring for kids or household chores. In fact, Stevie had never seen his father work willingly at anything at all. Jimmy Wild would always skive and sponge if he could.
At the age of twenty-one Stevie had selfishly assumed babies were women’s work, and Pamela should naturally be able to cope with hers. But if he’d ever guessed how she’d go about coping with their fretful son, he’d have nursed Christopher to sleep every night rather than risk him being harmed.
For twenty-four years Christopher had been the most precious thing in his life and, although Stevie knew it was time for them to go their separate ways, nobody could take his son’s place in the centre of his heart.
Soon they’d not only be working but living apart, and it was the right thing for both of them, Stevie accepted that. Yet still he felt a pang of possessiveness at the thought of somebody else being more important to Christopher than he was.
‘My husband might not have liked doing nappies.’ Pearl suddenly took up the cudgels again. ‘But he did it all the same. And that’s what a woman wants: a bit of support now ’n’ again without too much of a song ’n’ dance going with it.’
‘Sounds like you wished you’d stayed with him,’ Stevie muttered petulantly.
‘Nah … couldn’t have done that. Couldn’t stand that smell no longer.’
Chris and Grace stared at her before exchanging a glance of suppressed amusement.
‘He was a taxidermist,’ Pearl explained. ‘Bleedin’ stinky stuffed animals in every room in our house, there was. Five years of it and I’d had enough!’ She wafted a hand in front of her nose.
‘I think it’s a good thing for men to lend a hand with children,’ Grace spluttered, to stop herself hooting with laughter. ‘It’s handy for you both to know about rearing babies just in case one of you gets poorly at some time,’ she gasped out. ‘Anyway, if you pull together it makes life easier all round …’
‘Bear that in mind, son,’ Stevie said with mock warning, wagging a finger at Chris. But he glanced fondly at Grace, hoping that she was his future daughter-in-law. She wasn’t just pretty, and nicely spoken, but wise and kind too.
‘Anyhow, I’ve got a problem with me sink out the back, come and take a look.’ Stevie pushed back his chair. ‘The tap’s playing up. Let the girls finish their cups of tea,’ he added, as Chris beckoned Grace to accompany him and explore the caff’s interior.
Stevie gripped a stiff tap set over an old butler sink in a small storeroom. It wouldn’t budge, so he tried the other one next to it but had no luck there either.
‘Need to get a pair of Stilson’s on them taps,’ Chris said, taking over trying to force the brass crossheads to turn.
‘Rob’s on the warpath,’ Stevie said without preamble. He’d wanted to get his son on his own to tell him the bad news. ‘He came round this evening, looking for you, just after you went out. Seems you’ve been taking time off without him knowing and the job’s fallen behind again.’
Chris shot a glance at his father. There was no point in denying it. ‘Who told him I’ve been taking time off?’
‘Don’t need to be told, do he? He’s got eyes in his head. He went round Whadcoat Street one afternoon to pop in on Matilda then meet the council wallah and do a valuation. Vic said you’d just that minute gone off up the shop, or something equally daft, trying to cover for you. Rob ain’t stupid, son, neither’s the council wallah, and if you want to keep your job as foreman for Wild Brothers, you need to bear that very much in mind. Rob pays you a good, regular wage and you’re gonna need that if you’re thinking of settling down.’
Chris nodded slowly, instinctively glancing Grace’s way. He accepted he’d got banged to rights. ‘I’ll have a word … apologise …’ he said gruffly.
‘Yeah, do that. I slipped in that you’ve been having a spot of woman trouble …’ Stevie indicated Grace over his shoulder. She and Pearl were still sitting at a table, chatting over a cup of tea. ‘I didn’t elaborate on any of it, ’cos that’s fer you to do, not me.’ He watched as his son kept his eyes down, loosening the cold tap enough for a few drips of water to plop into the stained sink. ‘All sorted out now? No more need to take time off?’ Again Stevie’s head jerked backwards at Grace.
‘Won’t be taking no more time off,’ Chris replied, giving a bicep-bulging, final twist to the tap, and sending brownish water spurting into the sink. He turned it off and dried his hands on his sleeves.
His father patted his shoulder before leading him away to show him a shiny new refrigerator.
Chris followed him slowly, feeling guilty on two counts. He’d annoyed his uncle by neglecting his duties as foreman of his building firm, and he’d misled his father by allowing him to believe that Grace was the woman who’d kept him away from work on recent occasions.
He thought of his mother, as he’d first seen her, down on her knees, kindly sweeping up somebody else’s path. He reflected on what he knew of her disappointing, depressing life, which nevertheless hadn’t knocked the stuffing out of her – he had done that when he’d introduced himself.
Chris knew that if he found out she wanted to see him, he’d take time off work and go to Bexleyheath again tomorrow …
‘You’ve made a prat of me, Chris, and I don’t like that.’ Rob took a swig from his mug of tea. He hadn’t offered one to his nephew this morning when he’d turned up in his office to apologise for letting the schedule slip on the Whadcoat Street job. ‘I asked you if you could cope with this contract without Stevie, and you said you could. Now, if you ain’t up to it I’ll get someone else in to run the show.’
‘Don’t need it … it’s all fine now.’
‘Not according to my man up the Council it ain’t. That’s why you’ve made a prat of me. I made a lot of noise about the pikeys being on my patch and he cleared ’em off. Now I’m getting sarcastic comments about perhaps he should get ’em back … and deduct it from my money. Weren’t just me turned up when you was absent: a council bloke paid a visit too.’
Chris swiped a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, Dad said. It’s all back to normal. I’ll work late … get it back on track.’
‘O’Connor’ll be laughing his bollocks off, if he finds out it’s going sour on us.’
‘I’ll work late … starting tonight,’ Chris repeated. He hesitated. ‘How about if I let Kieran Murphy have a few days?’
‘Up to you, mate,’ Rob answered. ‘But you’ll be paying him out of your own wages.’
‘Best be off to work.’ Chris looked at his watch, wanting to get away from his irate guvnor as soon as he could.
‘It’s not like you, Chris, to be missing shifts,’ Rob said. ‘What’s the problem?’
As Chris met his uncle’s eyes he realised he’d guessed more than his father had about the identity of the woman involved in keeping him from doing his job.
‘Told you to leave things alone, Chris, didn’t I?’ Rob shook his head. ‘Only one way this is going to end up, you know that, don’t you …’
‘I’ve gotta get going,’ Chris said and strode towards the door.
‘Yeah, you do that,’ Rob turned his back on his nephew.
‘You didn’t tell me that the guvnor had been round checking up on things with the council jobsworth when I wasn’t here.’
Vic dropped his newly lit cigarette and stamped on it. Chris had been a bit late turning up, so he’d thought he was having a morning off again, and there’d be plenty of time for a crafty fag before getting started. ‘I did tell you I’d been covering for you,’ he insisted, narked.
‘Yeah, but not that it were covering for me in a big way,’ Chris bawled.
‘I told them you’d just gone up the shop.’ Vic shrugged. ‘What’s wrong with that? They didn’t know no different.’
Chris gave him a sour look. ‘The guvnor would never buy that. We’re talking about Rob Wild, not Joe Muggins.’ He locked the van and strode into the shell of a house they were working on.
‘You in the shit over it?’ Vic had followed him. He knew if Chris got the sack he could be in line for the foreman’s job.
‘Gonna work late and get things back on track …’
‘When … when you gonna work late?’ Vic asked immediately.
‘Why, what’s it to you?’
‘Nuthin ’… just thought if there’s overtime going …’
‘There ain’t. I’ll bring it back on track on me own.’ He gave Vic a mocking glance. ‘But if you fancy turning up ’n’ giving a hand out of the goodness of yer heart, Vic …’
‘Sod that fer a game o’ soldiers,’ Vic muttered and stomped off.
‘Yeah … that’s what I thought,’ Chris drawled, dropping his tool bag on the floor.