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
