she croaked. ‘So don’t you say no more. Yer father always asks what we talked about after you’ve gone. Don’t go putting me in a position where I’m to lie to cover up.’ She scrubbed her hands nervously on her pinafore.
Winifred hadn’t spoken to her other daughter for five years. She’d spotted her on a couple of occasions in the distance but had managed to hurry in the opposite direction, avoiding any awkwardness. Now Winnie wondered if she would recognise Kathy’s twin if she walked past her in the street.
‘I know she’d like to see you, Mum,’ Kathy continued determinedly. ‘I think it might get her back on track.’
‘Ain’t nothing gonna put that one back on track,’ Winnie hissed, finger quivering close to Kathy’s nose. ‘She’s too far gone … has been fer years …’
‘How d’you know that if you’ve not spoken to her?’ Kathy asked, keen to keep the dialogue going. ‘If you just see her for half an hour and have a talk, I’m sure it’d help her.’
‘Won’t help me, though, will it, when yer father finds out and goes bonkers? Didn’t help Tom, did it, when the little cow went off with Bill Black and all hell broke loose?’ Winnie’s voice had risen hysterically and she’d grown so rigid she teetered on her tiptoes.
Kathy let her hand drop back to the table when Winnie dodged away from her comforting fingers.
‘Don’t just write Jennifer off, Mum … please. She’s our flesh and blood.’
It was as though Kathy’s appeal went unheard. Winnie had turned her back on her but muffled sniffling was audible. Kathy sighed, knowing she was defeated for now. Her mother’s fears about Eddie’s reaction were valid. If her father discovered that she was in touch with her disgraced twin, Kathy suspected she, too, would be banished from darkening his doorstep. She sipped lukewarm tea, wondering why she persevered with trying to preserve her family ties when it all seemed so hopeless. But some sense of duty and affection sent her regularly to visit her parents, and to check on Jennifer. Kathy genuinely cared about them all – Tom especially – despite the fact that at times she felt they were all driving her mad.
‘Sorry, Mum … shouldn’t have gone on about it like that.’ Slowly, Kathy pushed herself upright to put an arm about her mother’s shaking shoulders.
Winnie elbowed herself free. ‘I’ll fetch us some biscuits and put the kettle on again.’ She had her pinafore up, dabbing her eyes. Behind it she attempted to sound jolly. ‘Got some custard creams and a few bourbons, if yer father’s left us a few in the barrel, that is … greedy pig …’ Winnie hurried away into the kitchen and automatically thrust the kettle under the squeaking tap. But her mind was lively with distressing memories as she added fresh tea leaves to those stewing in the pot.
When barely fifteen years old, Kathy’s twin had begun acting like a little tart, showing them up something rotten. She had been slyly seeing Bill Black despite him being ten years older than she was, and her father’s business partner. The dreadful affair had resulted in her running off to live with Bill in Lambeth, stealing all her father’s savings to take with her. The resultant feud between Bill and Eddie had had devastating consequences for them all. But it was the fact that Tom had got drawn into it that saddened Winifred the most. She was sure that the episode had sent her son off the rails …
‘It’s all right, Mum, don’t bother making another cuppa for me … I’m off out.’
‘You’re not going already?’ Winnie spun about, her lined features crumpling in disappointment. ‘You’ve only just got here, Kathy,’ she said plaintively. ‘Can’t you catch a later bus back to the East End?’
‘I’m not going home, Mum,’ Kathy reassured quickly, hoping her mother didn’t think she’d go off in a huff because they’d almost quarrelled. ‘I thought I’d take a walk up the road and see if I can find Tom. I haven’t spoken to him for a while. He was out last time I came over.’
‘Oh … if you want to then.’ Winnie would sooner keep her daughter’s company, but at least Kathy wasn’t yet heading home. ‘If you do catch up with him, give him a talking to, will you, dear? He might listen to you,’ Winnie added optimistically. ‘Tell him his tea’s ready. It might bring him home, if his belly’s grumbling.’
Kathy buttoned her coat as she walked around the corner, then plunged her chilly hands into her pockets. It was late April – Easter had come and gone – yet the weather was still cold. In the mornings, when off to do her rounds, she’d stand at the bus stop, stamping her frozen feet to try to warm them. At least when she’d had her bike she’d not noticed the chill: the exertion of pedalling had soon got her circulation going …
Kathy glanced up on hearing someone hail her. She raised a hand to Cissy Dickens, swinging a shopping bag, no doubt on her way home with a few groceries. The woman had stopped expectantly on the opposite pavement but Kathy kept on walking, knowing it was gossip she was after.
Her mother was right to suspect the inquisitiveness of her neighbours. Local women with their heads together had been a common sight when Kathy had been living at home. They’d had plenty of grist for the mill from her family. The noise of fights and arguments had issued forth with depressing regularity from the Finch household. But then Cissy often let fly with pots and pans and choice names when her old man stumbled in drunk Sunday dinnertimes.
Her father tippled only infrequently and usually at home. Winnie’s sour explanation had been that her husband was too mean to add to the brewery’s profit, and besides, he had no friends to go to the pub with. Considering the amount of local families who’d been impoverished by alcohol, Kathy reckoned her mother should give thanks for small mercies on that score.
Kathy carried on into Paddington Street, heading in the direction of Campbell Road. There’d been no sign yet of Tom and she expected to find him, as her mother had predicted, in the Bunk, as it was commonly known. It was also known – with good reason – as the worst street in north London, due to its reputation for housing all manner of rogues and vagabonds needing a cheap place to doss.
Not all of the Bunk’s residents were passing through, though; some had lived in the street for a number of years. Kathy knew many of them were good souls who had very little but willingly went short to help others. In the distance she could see just such a person. She immediately broke into a jog, waving, because she’d not seen Matilda Keiver in a long while and it looked as though the woman was about to disappear indoors and deny her the chance of a chat.
‘Hello, Mrs Keiver, how are you doing?’ Kathy called breathlessly, coming to a halt by some iron railings fronting a tenement house.
The road in which her parents lived was hardly posh but it was a definite step up on the neighbourhood in which Kathy now found herself. Campbell Road was wide, stretching away into the distance in one direction as far as the eye could see. Looking the other way, Kathy could see a bus crossing the junction with Seven Sisters Road. The tall houses flanking the street were much of a muchness whichever side of Paddington Street they occupied. The majority received little maintenance from their landlords, although the rent collectors called round regularly. Some properties no longer had front doors, just gaping openings hinting at the decay within. Poor wretches desperate to keep warm in winter used anything to hand as firewood, including the fixtures and fittings. Years ago, Kathy had visited Mrs Keiver’s daughter Lucy at home in this very house and therefore
