KAY BRELLEND

The Street

Dedication

For Mum, to finish what you started

For Dad, to keep a promise

For Nan, Granddad, Great Nan, Great Granddad, remembering you with love and pride

For everybody who ever spent time in Campbell Road, later Whadcoat Street, a.k.a. ‘The Bunk’

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Getting Older: 1913

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Getting Work: 1914–1917

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Getting Out: 1917–1918

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue - Summer 1922

Pictures of The Street

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Author’s Note

Copyright

About the Publisher

Getting Older 1913

Chapter One

‘Shut that brat up or I will . . . fer good.’

‘You don’t mean that, Mum. Little ’un’s hungry. I’ve been waiting up for you to come home so’s you can feed her. Why do you say horrible things?’ The small girl’s expression was a mixture of contempt and sorrow as she challenged the woman swaying on her feet. In fact she knew very well why her mother turned mean and brutal: it was due to the amount of Irish whiskey she had tipped down her throat in the hours since she’d left this squalid hovel that was their home.

Tilly Keiver narrowed her glassy gaze on her daughter. ‘You got too much o’ what the cat licks its arse with, my gel.’ The words were slurred but menacing. Unsteadily she shoved herself away from the doorjamb. ‘If I weren’t dog tired you’d feel the back o’ me hand and no mistake about it.’ She raised a fist raised to emphasise it was no idle threat. Slowly she let the hand fall so it might aid the other in grappling with the buttons on her coat. Irritably she shrugged the garment off and left it where it fell on rag-covered floor-boards. Small, careful steps took Tilly on a meandering path towards the iron bedstead. It was the dominant piece of furniture in a room cluttered with odd, dilapidated pieces.

Alice Keiver watched her mother, listening to her swearing beneath her breath as she bumped into a stick-back chair and sent it over. Then her ample hip met the wardrobe. If Tilly felt the hefty contact there was no sign: the volume of cursing remained the same. She was soon within striking distance and Alice shrank back into the armchair. She’d been huddled within its scratchy old embrace for two long hours whilst awaiting her mother’s return. Her thin arms tightened about the fretful infant wriggling against her lap. To soothe the hungry baby and quieten her mewling she again stuck the tip of her little finger between tiny lips. Little Lucy pounced on the fruitless comfort and sucked insistently.

Alice knew that once her mother had reached the bed and sunk onto the edge she was unlikely to rouse herself to retaliate, whatever she heard in the way of complaints. Soon that moment arrived.

‘You’re not tired, you’re drunk as usual.’ Despite Alice’s frail figure her accusation was strong and she lithely sprang to her feet, clutching the precious bundle of her baby sister protectively against her ribs as she paced this way and that.

‘Get yerself in the back, ’fore I use this on yer,’ her mother slurred, showing her a wobbling fist. But Tilly’s chin was already drooping towards her bosom.

Alice made a tentative move forward, and then tottered quickly back as her mother snapped up her head but, as she had correctly assumed, Tilly made no move to rise from the bed once she’d settled into the comfort of its sagging edge.

‘You’re a bleeding nuisance, you are. Worse’n all the rest put together. Now git! Let me get meself to bed. Cor, I’m all in.’

Tilly Keiver was a big-boned woman with a florid face topped by reddish-blonde hair. Usually she kept her beautifully thick mane under control: plaited and coiled in a neat bun either side of her head. But a night of roistering with her cronies in the Duke pub, and a painful stumble on the way home, had resulted in her crowning glory resembling a fiery bird’s nest. She yanked out two pins from one side of her head and a thick plait uncoiled sinuously onto a shoulder. She left it at that. The other side was forgotten.

After a few quiet minutes Alice thought her mother had dozed off where she slouched. But before she could act, Tilly managed again to rouse herself and, having folded forward, her callused fingers began pulling at her footwear.

Tilly’s new boots had been got, against fierce competition, just that afternoon from Billy the Totter. Carefully she tried to unlace them but the fancy double bow she’d fashioned when sober got the better of her. In a frenzy of impatience she used toe against heel to squash down the leather and prise them off. The last one freed was tossed from her foot against the wall in a fit of temper. Even in her inebriated state Tilly regretted rough-handling her prized possession. Her frustration resulted in coarse cursing that continued as she fumbled with her heavy skirt. She managed to work it to her ankles and shake it away. Done with undressing, she swung her feet up onto the mattress and momentarily lay quiet and still; the only sound from that side of the room was the settling bedsprings.

Alice moved quietly closer to help her mother cover herself. But Tilly’s flopping hand had finally located what it sought. After a few attempts she managed to swing the solitary blanket high enough to drift about her body.

‘Don’t go to sleep yet, Mum. Lucy needs feeding,’ Alice pleaded in a whisper. ‘And there’s no milk left. There was only a drop that’d gone sour and Dad put it in his tea before he went off to work.’ She gently shook her mother by the arm to rouse her.

Alice knew her mother was conscious but choosing to ignore her pleas, so now she must wait. In a very short while Tilly would sink so deeply into sleep that she’d hear and feel nothing. Alice gently placed little Lucy on the bed a safe distance from her mother’s twitching, and started to tidy the room. She must loiter until she heard her mother snore.

She picked up Tilly’s best coat from the floor, shook it, and draped it across the end of the bed. The small-back stick chair had been made even more rickety by rough treatment; nevertheless Alice moved it to neatly join the three still pushed under the table. The precious boots were collected and placed together out of sight beneath the bed. A rumbling sound drew her back, on tiptoe, to her mother.

‘Mum?’ she tested quietly. There was no response. Even when baby Lucy let out a wail Tilly stirred only to suck in another ragged breath. Alice tested her mother’s consciousness again, this time with more volume to her voice. Tilly snored on.

Quickly Alice’s nimble fingers unbuttoned her mother’s blouse. Deftly she positioned the baby close to a plump breast to nurse. Alice froze stock still, her fingers covering the baby’s mouth to stifle her whimpers. One of her mother’s hands had fluttered up as though she might swipe them both away, but after a moment, hovering, it fell back to the mattress.

Little Lucy’s face had become crumpled and crimson as though she sensed imminent comfort slipping away. But Alice was sure now that her mother was sufficiently stupefied. With furtive care she guided the baby close then snatched away her fingers, allowing the baby to latch on and feed.

Slowly Alice sank to her knees by the bed, feeling quite weak and exhausted. She guessed it must be past midnight. She began to gently move straggly hair away from her mother’s bloated face and when done with that she ran loving fingers over the fleece covering her little sister’s bony head. The gentle hum created by her mother’s rumbling breathing and her sister’s enthusiastic suckling made her drowsy and her lids fell a few times. She forced herself back to wakefulness before her forehead touched the mattress. Feeling chilled, she crept to the end of the bed and put on her mother’s coat. It pooled on the floor about her and she used the material to cushion her bony behind as she sat on the rough boards and looked about for something to do whilst she waited for her sister to finish her feed.

Drawing one of the boots from under the bed, she slowly turned it to inspect its fine quality. The laces had been tightened into small, hard knots by her mother’s clumsiness. Patiently she picked at them until they loosened. Smiling at the bows she had tied, she began to pull the leather at the heels until the ridges started to disappear. Satisfied with her handiwork, she slipped it onto her skinny foot and extended her leg to admire the boot, waggling it this way and that to inspect it from different angles. One day she’d buy herself such things . . . better things, she promised herself.

They were good boots. Quality. Billy the Totter had said he’d got them from a woman over Tufnell Park way. Alice knew a lot of women hereabouts charred for posh ladies over there in the better district of North London. But he’d said that they weren’t even that lady’s property. She’d got them off her sister who lived in Mayfair in one of the houses with pillars out front and servants out back. Alice reverently smoothed the soft leather with her fingertips.

Barely were the boots neatly back in position beneath the bed when she suddenly shot up to a crouching position. A loud thud from the floor below had curtailed her yawning and startled her into wakefulness. Her eyes darted to the bed but nobody was stirring.

The tenement house in which they had rooms was never peaceful. Day or night people came and went and constant noise was only a minor inconvenience to an existence in what was known as Campbell Bunk. In the rooms below lived her aunt Fran and her husband Jimmy. Alice had been partially aware of the ebb and flow of an argument issuing from those rooms the whole time she had waited for her mother to come home. But now it seemed the ruckus was about to turn nasty.

Aunt Fran and Uncle Jimmy were always at it and, judging by the increased din, their disagreement was about to take its usual turn and become violent. Even knowing it, Alice again jumped in her skin at the unmistakeable clatter of a missile striking a wall. Screamed abuse from her aunt immediately followed. Alice shot across the splintery floorboards on her bony knees to stare unblinking at her mother’s sagging face. But Tilly remained oblivious to her warring relatives, and her soft snores continued unabated.

The noise below had worsened and Alice was relieved to see that little Lucy had finished feeding and was also sleeping quite soundly, undisturbed by her aunt and uncle fighting close by. Alice remembered that she’d witnessed her aunt Fran pull a knife from a drawer in the table and rush at her uncle Jimmy. She remembered too that her dad had had his hand cut when he took it off her.

Nervously Alice shifted the baby aside, keen now to get herself and little Lucy to bed. She pulled her mother’s gaping bodice together and painstakingly refastened the buttons. Then the stiff, worn blanket was properly pulled over her so it might be of some small benefit against the cold March night. Alice opened out her mother’s coat to act as an extra blanket and spread that on top. Finally she did as her mother had told her over an hour ago and went into the back room.

‘Is Mum home? Heard something like a row goin’ on.’

‘Yeah, she’s back.’

‘Been boozin’, I s’pose, has she?’ the sleepy voice enquired from the murky shadows.

Alice looked towards the double mattress she shared with her sisters. It was the elder who had spoken. Sophy was almost a year and a half older than her. Bethany was just over three years younger. The sleeping infant in her arms was almost seven months old.

‘’Ere . . . make room,’ Alice grumbled and gave Sophy a nudge so she would shift over.

The elder girl squeaked indignantly. ‘Oi, get yer elbow out me face, will you.’ She, in turn, gave Bethany a little shove and the girl rolled over, still asleep, with a thumb trapped in her mouth.

‘What’s all the row about, anyhow?’

‘It’s Aunt Fran and Uncle Jimmy. They’re at it again.’

‘S’pose he’s been up the corner gambling and she’s found out . . .’

‘S’pose,’ Alice agreed and, having undressed to her under-garments, got beneath the covers. She immediately huddled close to Sophy for warmth and pulled one of the old ragged coats that served as makeshift blankets up to her chin. Carefully she drew baby Lucy into the protective nest of her arms.

‘Is Dad back?’

‘No,’ Alice replied. ‘He won’t be back for a long time yet.’

Their father had found himself a few days’ work at the market and would help overnight setting up the stalls for the following day. If he was lucky, he might stay on and take half-profits for helping old Mr Cooke sell his fruit and vegetables. Of course, if trade looked to be slow and pickings were hard, their dad would be sent home before ten o’clock with very little in his pocket for his night’s work.

‘Dad’ll go mad at her if she’s spent his bacca money on booze.’

‘I know,’ Alice whispered into the dark.

‘How old do you think we’ll be before we get out of this dump? Really old, I suppose. Might even be sixteen. Four-eyes Foster was sixteen before she got enough saved up to get a room in Playford.’

Alice laughed soundlessly. She knew bespectacled Annie Foster, of course. For as long as Alice could remember Annie had lived just a few doors away in Campbell Road. On Annie’s sixteenth birthday she’d finally dodged her step-father’s fists by running away from home. ‘That’s just round the corner!’ she derisively pointed out whilst frowning at the shadows on the ceiling. In her estimation, scarpering to Playford Road was hardly escaping. ‘When I go I’m going a real long way . . . a real long way. I’m makin’ a move when I’m thirteen. You can come too if you like.’

Sophy raised herself on an elbow and peered through the gloom at Alice. ‘Run away?’ she scoffed. ‘When you’re thirteen? You only just turned twelve last week and you’ve got no money.’

‘I’ve saved a few bob from me doorsteps, and I know old Miss Murphy wants me to do her brasses reg’lar. Done ’em once before and she said they’d never rubbed up so good.’

‘How much she give you?’ Sophy was most interested to know. Any chance of earning regular money from a good paying customer was news best kept to oneself. Sophy shifted closer, peering down into Alice’s face.

Alice pulled the coat up higher to her sharp little chin. She turned over, settling her head into her hand, regretting that she’d been unwisely boastful. ‘Go to sleep,’ she hissed over a raised shoulder. ‘We’ll never get up for school if we don’t get some shut-eye.’

‘Go on! How much did old Murphy give you to do her brasses?’

‘Ain’t saying, so don’t ask.’ Alice curved her small, thin body about her sleeping baby sister and determinedly closed her eyes.

‘I’ll come with you, if you like, when you go,’ Sophy promised quietly. ‘I’m older’n you and I know a lot more than you do.’

‘About what?’ Alice asked dubiously.

‘About everything,’ Sophy boasted. ‘I know about workin’ in good houses, which you don’t ’cos you’re not old enough to go. Mum’s took me loads of times to Highgate when she were working for Mrs Forbes and her daughter.’ Sophy paused, unsure whether to let on a secret of her own. ‘I got meself a nice few handkerchiefs out of Tufnell. Sold ’em for a good price, too.’

Alice immediately turned her head to stare through the gloom at her sister. ‘You don’t want to let Mum hear you say that. She won’t half have yer hide if she knows you’ve been pinching off her clients.’

‘What she don’t know don’t hurt. ’Sides, it were ages ago now.’ Sophy was quiet for a moment. ‘Don’t you let on, right, ’cos I still got a little put by and she’ll want it. And she won’t stop till she finds it, neither.’

‘’Course I won’t say,’ Alice snorted. Should their mother find out any of them had a few bob saved she’d turn the place upside down looking for it. Alice had known her dad, who was a painter and decorator by trade, hide a half a crown in a tin of paint in the hope it would be safe from his wife till he got home. Alice squirrelled further into the bed but there was no warm spot lower down on the freezing mattress. Quickly she drew her knees back to her chest. ‘Well, what else d’you know?’ she asked after a few minutes of trying to get off to sleep.

‘Lots of things,’ Sophy insisted. ‘Know about boys too.’

‘Well, you can keep that to yourself,’ Alice said with genuine lack of interest.

‘You’ll change yer mind soon enough,’ Sophy chuckled. ‘Once you start using the jam rags you’ll know what I mean.’

‘Oh, shut up, will you,’ Alice groaned, disgusted. She knew what her sister meant and she had no wish to ever get involved with all that messy stuff every month. It made her feel quite queasy to think about it.

‘I reckon Tommy Greenfield is soft on me. He keeps watching me all the time. His sister said she reckons he likes me too.’

‘He got Maisie Brookes into trouble,’ Alice hissed. She turned slowly to widen her eyes expressively. ‘You want to watch yourself. Mum’ll kill you if she finds out you’ve been knockin’ around with him.’

‘Ain’t been knockin’ about with him,’ Sophy muttered defensively. ‘Just said he’d been looking at me, that’s all.’ Sophy lay her head back down for a second. Then she leaned close to Alice to add, ‘Anyhow, everyone knows that Maisie’s a slag. Weren’t the first time she’d dropped her drawers.’

Alice grunted noncommittally in response and closed her eyes. A moment later they flicked open and she groaned.

‘What now?’ Sophy asked.

‘She’s wet,’ Alice said. She felt for the rag that served as Lucy’s nappy and her fingers encountered the warm, soggy cloth.

‘Hope that’s all it is,’ Sophy garbled in real alarm.

Alice climbed out of bed and, shivering in her underwear, quickly unwrapped the wet cloth whilst trying to keep little Lucy’s damp bottom protected from the frosty air with a coat. She searched by touch in the gloom and finally located a fresh rag at the foot of the bed. Carefully she wiped the baby dry with it then she turned it, shaped it, and skilfully secured it about Lucy’s fragile pelvis.

Speedily she jumped back into bed and moved Lucy between herself and Sophy. ‘Quick, keep her warm or she’ll wake up and start yelling. Then we’ll know it. We’ll not have a wink of shut-eye.’

Sophy grunted and made room. ‘’Spose we’ll all stink of piss again tomorrer.’ It was her final comment before she fell asleep.

Chapter Two

‘Where’s the money?’

An apprehensive look slipped between Alice and Sophy. They each picked up a slab of bread from the plate on the table and started to chew. Bethany slipped down from her chair, murmuring about needing the privy.

‘I said, where’s me bacca money?’ their father suddenly roared. He shook the empty tin in his hand and glared at his wife. With an almighty crash he slammed the tin onto the mantelshelf.

Tilly Keiver settled baby Lucy more firmly on her jutting hip. ‘What bleedin’ money? Weren’t no money in the tin. You had it out Monday. I saw you.’ She swivelled her hips from side to side, rocking the baby, even though little Lucy seemed unconcerned by her father’s fury.

Jack Keiver approached his wife. He was a well-built man in his early thirties. His features were regular and the only blemish on his handsome face was a small, odd-shaped area of freckled skin that ran along his jaw. Presently the birth-mark was stretched by the grim thrust of his chin. ‘You lyin’ cow. I wouldn’t take money out when you was around to see where it was hid. You think I don’t know you by now?’ He stared angrily at the empty tin as though he might get his three shillings back if he wished hard enough for it. ‘You’ve had it, ain’t yer?’ Suddenly enlightenment erased the weariness from his rugged features. ‘You was out boozing again last night, wasn’t you?’

‘Ain’t been nowhere,’ Tilly snapped back. She turned to squarely face her husband, her figure stiff with belligerence. She’d fought with him before and would do so again if necessary. ‘I’ve been stuck in this dump, ain’t I,’ she lied without a flicker of guilt altering her wide blue gaze. Her eyes darted to her two eldest daughters, settled fiercely on Alice. Both girls kept their heads bowed and sipped at their lukewarm tea.

‘I’m warning yer, gel, don’t drag them into it.’ Jack’s lips were rimmed white with wrath. ‘Soon as me back’s turned you’re thievin’ and off out.’ He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and paced to and fro. ‘Well, if you think I’m working nights again for old man Cooke for a pittance so’s you can tip me takings down yer neck . . .’

‘If you get yourself some proper work you won’t need to be Cookie’s sidekick for a measly few bob.’ Tilly blocked his path and shoved her face up to his. ‘I told you that Mr Keane wants one of his houses in Playford painted out.’

‘And I told you that I’ll not knuckle under for him . . . or you.

‘You selfish git. You sit around moaning you ain’t got no work then don’t want a good job when I find it for you.’

‘I can get me own.’

‘Yeah, I noticed. You’re fuckin’ useless, you are.’

‘You keep a civil tongue in front of the kids.’ Jack Keiver’s dark brown eyes narrowed coldly on his wife.

The warning had been issued in a voice that Alice strained to hear yet it made a shiver slip down her spine. She looked at her father from beneath her lashes, watching him swing away and pick up his coat and hat. He’d been in barely fifteen minutes and he was not intending to stay. A sorrowful sob was stifled in her chest. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms about him, tell him she had a little bit put by and he was welcome to it to spend on whatever he liked. But she sat still and simply watched as he opened the door.

‘I’m off out.’ He looked back at his sullen-faced wife. ‘I know you’ve been boozing, Tilly,’ he said dully. ‘You reek of it.’

‘Yeah, well maybe I wouldn’t need it if I had a man bringin’ in proper wages and helping out now ‘n’ again.’ That was muttered at the door Jack had banged shut behind him. Tilly shook back her tangled fiery hair and spat out a curse to hurry him on his way. Then she turned about with her chin up to face her daughters.

‘Come on . . . what you two waiting for? Christmas? You should’ve been out from under me feet by now. Get off to school and quick about it.’ Tilly deposited Lucy on the bed, and started gathering up the crockery on the table. It needed rinsing under the tap on the landing so they could use it at dinnertime. She shoved the little pile of plates and cups towards Alice. ‘Here, get this done ’fore you disappear. I’ve got to nip downstairs and see your aunt Fran about some work I’ve found her.’

As Tilly sped down the stairs she thought about Jack. Regret was writhing in the pit of her stomach, making her irritable. She could have owned up and said she’d taken his money for her boots. He might not have minded that so much; it was his belief that she’d stolen it for whiskey that made him mad. Yesterday, when she’d got the boots off Billy the Totter, she’d meant to show Jack what a bargain she’d found. But he’d come in and gone out to work down the market without seeing her. She hadn’t intended to go to the Duke at all. She’d had no money for a start. Then a friend had called by and offered to stand her a drink. It’d been Kitty Drew’s treat for she’d been promoted to supervisor at the Star Brush factory. It was a celebration . . . a time for a bit of fun. Gawd knows there was little enough of that to be had round here!

Tilly loved Jack and she knew he loved her. She knew she did things she shouldn’t. She said things she shouldn’t. And as for that temper of hers . . . it was a bitter consolation reminding herself that he was far from perfect. If he’d taken on that job for Mr Keane it would have seen them straight for several weeks. He’d let his blooming pride get in the way of a bit of decent grub on the table.

With a savagery born of frustration Tilly hammered loudly on a door. She got no response to that so, after a moment or two, made to walk in unannounced. The door was locked. ‘You in, Fran?’ She rattled the handle. Still no one came to open it so she gave the panels another thump. ‘Fran? Jimmy? Anyone home?’

‘Saw him go out,’ a voice behind Tilly informed her.

Tilly turned to see Mr Prewett locking his door. He had the room in front of her sister Fran’s. Tucking his walking stick beneath his arm he began to limp down the stairs. He hopped down a step at a time with the aid of a rickety banister that seemed to hang in space. Over time the spindles had been prised free and used as firewood by tenants desperate to keep warm. ‘Surprised I was, I can tell you, to see either of ’em walkin’ after the bleeding commotion coming out of there last night.’ Having made his complaint, Mr Prewett hopped down another tread.

‘They was at it last night?’ Tilly demanded, frowning down at the top of his shiny head.

‘Thought the whole road must’ve known what went on, the row they was making.’ Bill Prewett settled himself firmly on one foot and looked up at her. ‘Banged on their door meself, I did. You gorn deaf or summat?’

‘I was out for a while . . .’ Tilly explained.

‘Oh . . . out, was yer?’

The knowing tone made Tilly itch to run down and slap his smug face for him. She knew that it was common knowledge around here that she liked a drink. So what? So did most people struggling to survive in this shit hole.

‘Anyoldhow,’ Bill went on quickly, having recognised the dangerous glint in Tilly’s eyes, ‘I saw Jimmy slope off around seven this morning. He looked alright, as far as I could tell, but that don’t mean nuthin’.’ With that he eased himself forward and carried on his slow descent of the stairs.

Tilly turned back to the locked door and renewed her efforts with both hands. Her concern for her younger sister’s welfare had put a fire in her belly. ‘Fran? Open the door if you’re in there.’ Her fists were raised to recommence the assault when her sister finally opened the door a crack. ‘Let me in, you silly cow.’

‘Only if you promise not to go mad and start shouting. Me head’s fit to explode as it is.’

Tilly gave an impatient sigh and shoved past Fran into a room as dingy and depressing as the one she’d just left on the floor above. She turned about and gave her sister’s appearance a thorough inspection. Her back teeth began to grind but she fought down her anger and simply continued to stare at the sorry sight before her. The light was poor but even so Tilly could see blood spatters on Fran’s blouse and her bruised and battered face. Calmly she asked, ‘What the fuck started him off this time?’

‘He’s a bastard.’

‘Yeah, I know that.’ Tilly waited, hoping to hear a better explanation for Jimmy’s savagery. None was forthcoming. ‘Look at the state of you, fer Gawd’s sake,’ she burst out. ‘Didn’t you try and belt him back?’

‘Just makes him worse.’ Fran grimaced in pain. ‘Besides, me arms hurt too much. Felt as though he’d twisted them out of their sockets. He had them right up behind me back.’ She tried to ease her shoulders but even small movements made her gasp. ‘I’ll get him one o’ these days,’ she vowed shakily. ‘I’ll creep up on him with a knife when he ain’t expecting it. You see if I don’t.’ Her bravado flagged and she slumped against the wall. ‘We’re finished this time, in any case.’

‘You said that last time.’

‘Now I mean it ’cos he’s give me no wages in over a week. I know where the money’s gone, too. I know for sure he’s got a fancy piece.’

‘You said you was finished last time when you found out he had a fancy piece,’ Tilly reminded her a mite too sarcastically.

‘It’s alright for you,’ Fran shrieked, stretching her cut lips. ‘We ain’t all lucky enough to have a decent man like Jack.’ Gingerly she raised her fingers to her face as she felt the warm wetness on her chin. ‘Me mouth’s started to bleed again,’ she wailed and bent her head to a cuff to staunch the flow.

‘Where’s the boys?’ Tilly asked after her two young nephews.

‘Got them off to school somehow. Bobbie’s gone off bawling fit to burst. Stevie’s wet the bed. I gotta get that cleaned up before Jimmy turns up. If he finds out he’ll give him such a hiding.’

‘I’ll change the sheet,’ Tilly promised. ‘And if Jimmy turns up, I’ll see to him too,’ she vowed grimly. ‘First, let’s see to you.’

‘I’m alright,’ Fran muttered and again brought her cuff up to her face. ‘Nothing I ain’t dealt with before.’

‘Come upstairs.’ Tilly got hold of her sister’s arm but, hearing Fran cry out in pain, she instead slipped a hand about her waist. ‘Come on,’ she urged and tugged her gently towards the door. ‘Let’s get some tea on the go and we’ll sort it out.’

‘I reckon he’s got a woman round here this time. That’s where he’s spending his money.’ Fran dipped her head to hide her weeping eyes.

‘We’ll sort it out,’ Tilly repeated firmly. She opened the door and propelled her sister out onto the landing.

Alice and Bethany were sharing the job of wiping the crockery dry and stacking it on the battered old dining table. Sophy had said she’d done her stint washing up yesterday and had got going to school. When their mother reappeared with Fran in tow both girls stopped what they were doing to gawp at the state of their aunt’s face. One of her eyes was puffed to a slit, her lips looked gigantic and her jaw was red and grazed from chin to ear. She greeted her nieces quite jovially even though her eyes were suspiciously wet.

‘You two still here? Bobbie ‘n’ Stevie been gone to school a quarter of an hour or more. You’ll be late, y’know.’

Having heard their cousins had already left, the girls looked at one another. It was not unheard of to get a blackboard rubber aimed at your head by Rotten Rogers if you were last in for registration.

‘We’re just going,’ Alice said and dropped the towel she’d been using to dry up. Bethany followed suit.

Both girls knew that big trouble was afoot, and the two women would want to discuss in private a plan of how to put right whatever had now gone wrong between Aunt Fran and Uncle Jimmy.

‘Where’s Sophy?’

‘Gone to school,’ the sisters chorused in reply.

Moments later Tilly surprised them by saying, ‘You’ll have to stop home.’ She caught one of Alice’s elbows in a strong grip. ‘You get going.’ Tilly tipped her head at the door indicating that Bethany should immediately use it.

With a quick, sympathetic look at her sister Bethany did as she was bid. School was a pain, but at least you could have a laugh with friends on the way there and back. Staying home and caring for Lucy was, to Bethany’s mind, utterly boring. And she knew that was why Alice was being kept off school.

‘Do I have to, Mum?’ Alice asked plaintively. Usually when they had women’s talk they liked to be alone. But there had been one other time Alice had been kept home to act as nursemaid to Bethany when Aunt Fran had problems; it had been years ago before Lucy had been born. On that particular day the whole house had seemed to shake with the commotion that’d gone on.

Uncle Jimmy and her dad had come to blows because Jimmy had accused Tilly of poking her nose in his business. Naturally, her dad had backed her mum although Alice had sensed he thought Jimmy had a point.

Alice was glad her dad had gone out now. At least he would be spared any nastiness that might occur if Jimmy turned up hollering for his missus as he had last time. Not that her mum was unable to stick up for herself. She’d witnessed her fighting in the street with men and women. She’d seen her put a poker over the head of Bart Walsh when he’d refused to pay his rent and had spat at her. Her mum had looked big as a house on that occasion. It’d been only a day or so after that Lucy had been born.

‘Yeah, you do have to stay home today,’ Tilly told Alice. ‘Me ‘n’ your aunt Fran have got to go out a bit later and you’ve got to take care of Lucy ’cos we can’t drag her round with us.’ Tilly sweetened the dictate with a promise. ‘Tell yer what, Al; if you’re a good gel I’ll get you some chips dinnertime. There, how’s that?’

Alice gave a faint smile. In fact it was a nice bribe. They’d had very little to eat yesterday. Dinner had been bread and a scrape of jam. There’d been no jam left for this morning and a slab each of bread with the mould cut off the crust had been their breakfast.

‘I’ve got a couple o’ coppers for you too,’ Aunt Fran said and attempted a smile. The small movement made her wince and moan and hold her jaw.

Alice knew things must be serious if she was getting treats. She didn’t know where her mum and Aunt Fran were heading but guessed it would be to locate Uncle Jimmy. A dingdong was sure to ensue. Alice went to the bed and looked down at Lucy. The baby was gurgling quite con tentedly, her thin legs kicking energetically. Alice gave her little sister a tickle then put a finger onto one of her curled palms. Immediately Lucy gripped it, still giving her a gummy smile. Soon the baby would want a feed and become fractious and her mum was bound to be busy elsewhere. ‘Did Dad bring in any milk?’

‘Don’t think he did, love.’ Tilly grimaced in exasperation. She ferreted in the pocket of her apron and pulled out coins in a fist. ‘Here, nip to the shop and get some and we’ll all have a cuppa tea.’

Despite her mother frequently going to bed under the influence she mostly got up in the morning good as new. To Alice it seemed that two different people lived in her mother’s body. One could be quite nice; the other could be a monster. Today she seemed to have recovered better than usual. The thought of sorting out Jimmy had obviously put her in a good mood.

Alice took the money and, having pulled on her coat, went out. They lived on the top floor of the house in a front and back room of about equal size and state. Now she skipped down the dank staircase and rushed towards the light streaming in through the doorless aperture at the bottom of the flight. Once the building had had a front door but it had been damaged in a ruckus many years ago and never repaired. The remnants had then been hacked off the hinges and used as firewood.

The bitter cold atmosphere outside was preferable to the gloom and stench that shrouded their home. Alice sniffed in crisp, clean air, thrust her hands in her pockets and set off on a brisk walk towards the shop.

Either side of the street loomed terraced houses set behind railings, similar to the one from which Alice had just dashed. Campbell Road marched from Seven Sisters Road at one end to Lennox Road at the other and was cut in half by Paddington Street. The tenements were overcrowded, without adequate washing facilities for either people or equipment. Added to a permeating smell of grime was an atmosphere of rising damp and overflowing privies, for the buildings were badly maintained. The majority of the landlords felt under no obligation to do repairs until threatened by a visit from the sanitary inspector.

The Keivers lived in what was known as the rougher end of The Bunk close to the junction with Seven Sisters Road. That territory had always been intended to house the impoverished. The top half of the road had been built with a better class of occupant in mind. But those people had long since decamped in search of respectable neighbours, leaving their properties to be divided and colonised, often by as many as thirty poor people.

As Alice walked, hunched into her coat, she caught sight of her friend, Sarah Whitton. She called out, waved and darted over to the other side of the road to talk to her. ‘You not at school either?’

Sarah aimlessly juggled the few groceries she’d just bought from the corner shop. ‘Mum’s took bad again this morning.’

Alice grimaced in sympathy. It was well-known by her neighbours that Mrs Whitton hadn’t been right since her son passed away. He’d caught the whooping cough and died, making the whole road fearful of going the same way. Lenny Whitton had been a strapping lad of fourteen and the consensus of opinion had been that if it took him out, anyone was fair game. In fact only one other person had succumbed and she had been sixty-nine and already in poor health.

Now Sarah’s mum suffered with nerves and spent most of her time shut indoors. She survived by living off her three daughters. Sarah, who’d not yet had her twelfth birthday, spent the weekends doing whatever odd jobs she could find. Ginny Whitton’s husband had departed shortly after Lenny. But he’d gone just around the corner to Lennox Road and a woman who was less trouble to live with.

‘Why aren’t you at school? You bunkin’ off?’ Sarah asked.

‘Nah! I’ve got to look after Lucy ’cos there’s trouble brewin’.’

‘Yeah? What?’ Sarah had immediately perked up at the prospect of a bit of gossip.

‘You should’ve heard the racket going on in ours last night. There won’t half be big trouble when me mum ‘n’ Aunt Fran catch up with Uncle Jimmy.’ Alice’s blue eyes grew round in her pale face. She leaned forward to confide, ‘Should see the state of me aunt Fran! She looks like she’s been street fighting with a pro.’ Alice whipped a chilly hand from her pocket to demonstrate her poor aunt’s disfigurement. ‘Lip out here and eye like that ‘n’ already going black.’

Sarah’s jaw dropped open. ‘Yer dad going after him?’

‘Dad don’t know yet what’s gone on. Me mum’ll get Jimmy first, anyhow, if she can find him.’

‘I know where he is,’ Sarah gasped triumphantly.

‘Where?’ Alice demanded with a grin.

‘Seen him go in number fifty-five as I was coming out of the shop. It was only a few minutes ago.’

Alice blinked at a house a few doors away. ‘Cor! Dunno why he’s hiding in there. You’d have thought he’d scarper further’n that. Nellie Tucker lives there, don’t she?’ Alice didn’t know much about Nellie Tucker other than she worked nights and lived with her old mum. Although she did recall that a lot of the women round here seemed to have taken against her since she moved in about six months ago. But then feuds between people were commonplace in The Bunk. She shrugged. ‘Suppose I’d better get going. Gotta get some milk. See yer, then.’

When Alice returned home she found her mum in the process of bathing Aunt Fran’s face with a cloth.

‘Hold still,’ Tilly ordered as Fran tried to duck from the pressure on her cuts and bruises.

Alice put the milk on the table and watched.

‘Get the tea goin’, Al, there’s a good gel.’

Alice obediently set the half-full kettle on the hob grate. ‘I just saw Sarah Whitton. She’s off school ‘n’ all.’

‘Her mum bad?’ Tilly asked whilst still patting gently at Fran’s closed eye.

‘Yeah. She just saw Uncle Jimmy going in number fifty-five.’

Tilly halted with the cloth poised above her sister’s face. Both women swivelled to look at Alice. ‘You sure about that, Al?’ her mum asked whilst from a corner of her eye she gave Fran a significant look.

‘That’s what she said. Why’s he gone in there?’

Tilly dropped the cloth back into the basin.

‘I reckon I can guess why he’s gone in there,’ Fran choked out through her fat lips. ‘The bastard! With that scabby bitch!’

‘Come on. Let’s get this done,’ Tilly announced briskly and started rolling up her sleeves.

When they’d gone Alice went to check on baby Lucy. She was still in exactly the same position as when last she’d seen her. But now her tiny face was crumpling and she was making little whimpering sounds. Alice knew she would soon start to wail. Picking up the rag her mum had used on Aunt Fran, she looked for a clean edge. She tore it away then dipped the end into some of the milk she’d just bought. Gently she inserted the milky cloth between Lucy’s lips and watched her suck.

Having satisfied the baby for a moment, she went to the window and angled her head to try to see her mum and aunt. But number fifty-five was too far away for her to catch sight of what might be going on. She pulled a chair close to the window and stood on it but her view was no better from the top sash. Her curiosity was getting the better of her and she quickly found a shawl and wrapped Lucy in it. Then she whipped off her school pinafore and tucked Lucy into that too. Impatient to be outside, Alice scrambled into her coat and, bundling Lucy onto her shoulder, she darted out of the room and down the stairs.

Chapter Three

A little jeering crowd had already gathered about the railings outside number fifty-five. Soon Alice was close enough to see what entertained them. Her mum had hold of a fistful of Nellie Tucker’s fair hair and was dragging her head down close to the pavement. Her other hand was busy delivering swift punches to Nellie’s face. Uncle Jimmy looked embarrassed and keen to get away from Aunt Fran, who was waving her arms and ranting at him.

Alice knew that Uncle Jimmy had beaten his wife, and that it wasn’t the first time. It seemed hard to believe he could ever do such a thing. He always had a laugh and a joke for her and Sophy when they met him. She could see now that he had that soppy smile on his face. It looked like he was puzzled as to what the fuss was all about. Alice edged nearer, hoping to find out what had started this latest upset.

‘Yer fuckin’ whore. Get yerself back down Finsbury Park. Keep to reg’lar clients, or yer’ll have more o’ the same.’ Alice recognised her mum’s raucous voice.

As if to make her point Tilly landed one final blow on the side of Nellie’s head before letting go of her hair. Nellie tipped forward onto all fours. To add insult to injury, Tilly sent the woman crashing down onto her chin by kicking her up the behind. A hoot of laughter erupted from the assembled throng. A few of the women started to clap. ‘New position for you, love, eh? Or perhaps you like it up the jacksie,’ someone shouted.

Another time Tilly might have joined in the banter but she was in no mood for it today. She stuck her hands on her hips and swiftly got her breath back before swinging about. She immediately stalked after her brother-in-law. ‘You fuckin’ animal.’ One of her thick fingers was up close to Jimmy’s unshaven chin. ‘Find yourself another place and another punch bag. Come back here again and touch me sister ‘n’ you’ll be leavin’ in a pine box.’

Bright colour started to creep up under Jimmy’s collar. Having a brawl in the street with a man was one thing; being threatened by a woman in front of an audience was another. Tilly bloody Keiver was making him into a laughing stock and he didn’t even have the consolation of knowing that later he could, behind closed doors and at his leisure, kick the words back down her throat. She wasn’t his to tame, more was the pity. Only once had she been at his mercy and if he’d known what a thorn in his side she’d become over the years he’d have done a far better job of making sure she gave him respect and a wide berth in the future. That soft sod she’d married let her get away with too much and she’d got cocksure.

He took a furtive glance to right and left to see who was witnessing his humiliation. One of his drinking pals from Lennox Road was laughing openly at him and it made his gut start to writhe. He’d have to give Tilly Keiver a smack in public just to save face.

With his fists tightening at his sides he marched after Tilly to confront her. ‘You interfering bitch,’ he enunciated in a furious whisper whilst swaying on the balls of his feet, ready to strike. ‘Why don’t yer piss off home and sort out your own business?’

‘This is my business, you bastard,’ Tilly snarled and lunged forward, her fingers curled. Before she could tear into him she was grabbed from behind and hauled clear of Jimmy’s swinging fist.

Jack Keiver held onto his struggling wife, his arms hooked under hers so she could do nothing but kick out in frustration and punch her hands in the air. Ignoring her threats and curses he simply said one word, ‘Twitch.’ It was enough to immediately calm her down and quieten the crowd.

The little group of spectators started to shuffle, then disperse. In less than a minute only Nellie, still on her hands and knees and whimpering, remained with the Keiver clan when the two constables reached them.

‘What’s going on here?’

The officer who had spoken was Constable Bickerstaff, nicknamed Twitch by inhabitants of The Bunk on account of a recurrent tic that regularly brought one of his shoulders and ears together. He spasmed and cast a stern look at the dishevelled woman crouching on the floor. ‘What’s going on?’ he again demanded to know. He fiddled with the truncheon on his hip as though to reinforce his authority and hurry an explanation.

‘Nuthin’.’

The single word was chorused by all, even Nellie. Twitch turned to his colleague. Constable Franks was more interested in eyeing a comely woman across the road than bothering with this rabble. Connie Whitton had been watching the spectacle at a distance. The little tease knew he liked her and tauntingly flicked up her skirt to give him a glimpse of her knees before having a raucous laugh with her friends at his expense.

‘What d’you reckon about all this?’ Bickerstaff asked Franks. ‘It looks like more than nothing to me.’

‘I reckon it’s nothing if that’s what they all say it is,’ the younger man replied flatly, then looked around, his expression displaying disgust at his environment. The depressing, rotten houses marched off either side of the road as far as the eye could see, interspersed here and there by shops that seemed to make little effort to draw in customers, judging by their gloomy window displays. Franks had been transferred from Hampstead so was quite new to this beat. He knew they were required to walk this route but he saw no reason why they should linger unnecessarily in the worst street in North London.

Campbell Road, so he had been told by long-serving colleagues, and some of The Bunk’s inhabitants, was home to the most notorious criminals: thieves, prostitutes, fraudsters – every sort of rogue and vagabond drifted through this slum. Unbelievable as it seemed to Franks, some had settled and been resident a very long while. If a couple of women – one who looked like she’d had seven bells beaten out of her – wanted to set about a well-known brass, it didn’t take a genius to work out that one of their old men was playing away. Bickerstaff might be a stickler for doing things by the book but, in the great scheme of things, this was a petty domestic incident. The Bunk community had its own system of justice. Franks agreed with it: leave them be to shovel up their own shit.

‘Well . . . right . . . come on, then. Get on home, the lot of you, before I change my mind and get out my book.’ Twitch earned his nickname again. He didn’t want to start an argument with Franks in front of this crowd. But back at base he’d have something to say about his colleague’s lack of support. To his mind, the new recruit was too keen on warming his arse on a chair and his hands on a mug of tea.

Jimmy Wild needed no further telling. With a sly, poisonous look encompassing his wife and his in-laws he sauntered off towards Paddington Street. Tilly and Jack took up position either side of Fran and, linking arms, they started off home.

Twitch made to follow Franks who’d also moved away, impatient to get back to the comfort of the station. He hesitated and stooped to take a look at Nellie, who was still huddled on the pavement. Not a soul had come to her aid, even to get her to her feet. The worthless scumbag who’d caused the trouble had been the first to skedaddle.

Sidney Bickerstaff had been pounding this beat for very many years. He knew the people round here. He knew Wild. He was a womanising thug who had once put his wife in hospital because he couldn’t control his temper or his fists. Yet the policeman had seen the weasel turn and flee rather than stand his ground when an irate fellow accused him of touching up his wife. Sidney came across many Jimmy Wilds in his line of work. Every one was a charming fellow on the surface. But underneath was a despicable coward who enjoyed beating up women because a fair fight with another man terrified him.

Sidney had guessed at once what had gone on. He took another look at the grizzling tart. Presently she was trying to keep her tangled blonde hair from sticking to the blood on her face. A clump of it was on the road beside her.

‘Need a hand, love?’ Sidney Bickerstaff stooped to proffer an arm.

‘Fuck off, copper,’ she replied and, clearing her throat of congealed blood and mucus, spat it onto the ground by his feet.

Twitch looked at the mess an inch from his polished shoes. ‘Lucky you missed, or you’d be licking them clean,’ he threatened softly.

‘If it ain’t yer shoes you mean it’d cost you a lot more’n you could afford, mate.’ Nellie managed a coarse laugh but it hurt, so she stopped. ‘Fuck off, copper,’ she repeated more quietly.

‘Mum! Mum, come and see, quick!’

It was a Saturday in spring and some balmy sunshine had drawn Tilly’s three oldest daughters out into the air to sit on the pavement with their cousins. Now Alice bolted upright from her squatting position on the kerb and hared into the house. She met her mother flying down the stairs when she was halfway up.

Tilly had immediately responded to her daughter’s urgent summons. ‘What the bleedin’ hell you bawlin’ out fer? What’s up?’

‘There’s a little crowd comin’ up the road! Come ‘n’ see. The man shouted at us asking if we know where he can get rooms.’ The information had streamed out of Alice, leaving her gasping for breath. It was not only the thought of a bit of entertainment to liven the humdrum routine of the day that had propelled her inside. Her mum rented out rooms for Mr Keane, so the prospect of work and money was in the offing too. Alice was very conscious of how precious was that opportunity to her family.

Mother and daughter emerged from the hallway of the tenement house into the sunshine. The sight that met Tilly’s squinting gaze caused her to blow out her lips in astonishment and mutter to herself, ‘Well, what in Gawd’s name have we got here now?’

A small, wiry man was pushing a pram, hobbling with the effort as he clearly had an injured foot. His wife, for Tilly guessed that was who the poor ragbag was, trailed behind him, holding the hands of two children. They dragged either side of her like lead weights. Behind that sorry trio slouched two bigger kids, both boys, who looked to be teenagers, carrying between them a sack. It doubtless held the family’s possessions.

As they came to a stop by her, Tilly peered into the pram. Two more children were in it, one each end, with a bag squashed between them.

‘We’ve been tramping fer days. D’you know where we can get a room or two? Cheap it’ll need to be,’ the man announced without preamble.

Tilly had been busy doing Fran’s washing. Her sister was in no fit state to lift wet sheets. Weeks had passed since Jimmy’s attack but Fran’s arms were still weak from the sprains her husband had given her. Now Tilly plonked her soap-chapped hands on her hips. Her expression betrayed her amazement. The Bunk was known to take in stragglers with nowhere else to go yet even for this depressed area of Islington this family was a very sorry sight. ‘Where’ve you lot travelled from?’

‘Essex,’ the man answered and leaned on the pram handle to ease his bad foot off the ground.

‘You walked from Essex?’ Tilly squeaked in astonishment.

The man nodded and took a glance at his listless wife. She seemed exhausted beyond speech or expression. ‘When we got to Highgate some people knew about this place and directed us here.’

For a moment longer Tilly roved a sympathetic eye over them. Then she got to business. ‘Well, you can have a couple of rooms next door. Front and back middle.’ She tipped her head to indicate the tenement house.

‘You own houses?’ the man said, fixing an interested look on her.

‘Nah!’ Tilly barked a laugh. ‘I manage ’em for me guvnor. I’ve got these two here and a few others for Mr Keane. He owns a lot of property roundabouts.’

‘How much?’ He automatically rocked the pram up and down as one of the babies let out a piercing wail.

‘Can let you have it fer a shillin’ a night. Or five shillin’ a week paid up front, however you want to do it.’

‘Ain’t got five shillin’ but that’s the way I want to do it.’

Tilly fixed her canny gaze on him. ‘Well now, might be able to help you on that score ‘n’ all. I can let you have somethin’ to pawn at a cheap rate so that’s all right.’

The man stared at his brood of silent children huddled about his wife. ‘Any work hereabouts?’ A pessimistic look met his question and made his mouth droop.

‘Some . . . but nothing much good,’ Tilly told him straight. ‘Looks like you’ll need a tidy bit more’n what half-profits down the market pays to keep this lot.’ Tilly cocked her head to look at the woman. An idea came to mind. ‘Your wife after work?’

‘’Course,’ the man roundly answered for his silent spouse.

His wife sent him a sullen stare from beneath low lids.

‘What’s your names, then?’ Tilly asked whilst giving Bethany a cuff, as she’d started to whine for a penny for the shop. ‘Get off up the road a while,’ Tilly snapped at her daughters. ‘I’m doing business here.’

The two older girls, who had been interestedly watching and listening to the exchange, each took one of Bethany’s hands and began swinging her between them as they strolled off up the street.

‘What’s yer name again?’ Tilly raised her voice to make herself heard over the screaming child in the pram.

In exasperation the fellow snatched up the fractious infant then introduced himself. ‘Bert Lovat is me name and this here’s me wife, Margaret. Be obliged if you’d show me these rooms. Won’t go through all the kids’ names. If we stay here long enough you’ll come to know ’em, I expect.’

‘I’m Tilly Keiver. I live here with me husband Jack ‘n’ our girls.’ She flicked her head to indicate the house next door. ‘Wait here and I’ll just nip indoors to fetch the key.’

Within a few minutes they were climbing up a dilapidated staircase in silence. By the time they reached the first-floor landing Bert could no longer conceal his dejection.

Despite the bright and sunny day the interior was so dismal it was hard to discern where doors were set in the drab-coloured walls. A stained sink was set against a wall on the landing and for a few moments the only sounds were a dripping tap and Tilly’s efforts to turn a key in an awkward lock.

‘What a shit hole,’ Bert bluntly commented as he and his wife drearily looked around.

‘Yeah,’ Tilly agreed over a shoulder. ‘But beggars can’t be choosers, right?’

‘Yeah . . . I ain’t choosy,’ Bert sourly agreed.

Tilly led the way into the room’s grimy interior. A few sticks of ancient, battered furniture were pushed against the walls. A fiddle-backed chair that once might have belonged to a nice set now had stuffing leaking from a corner. A wardrobe that had only one door of its pair remaining had been shoved aside to allow an iron bedstead to dominate the centre space. Beneath its springs, resting on bare boards, was an additional flock mattress. A square table with a dirty, fissured top took up the rest of the wall space.

‘Let’s see the other,’ Bert muttered in a resigned tone.

They trooped in single file into the back room. Again the man’s eyes pounced at once on the sleeping quarters: a double bed with a smaller mattress pushed underneath. ‘Big enough for the four old’uns, I suppose.’ He came back into the front room and looked at the hob grate powdered with grey ash. ‘Where’s the water?’ He swung his eyes to and fro.

‘Didn’t you see the sink on the landing? You’ve got to share with other people.’ Tilly could tell he was bitterly disappointed at the accommodation. ‘That’s why it’s cheap,’ she said with a sympathetic grimace. ‘Got another of Mr Keane’s houses up the better end o’ the road. But that’d cost more. Got a ground floor front and back. It’s a bit bigger and better furniture and a few sheets ‘n’ blankets to go with it. I could do that at seven bob fer the week . . .’

‘Nah!’ Bert harshly interrupted, shaking his head and slipping a sideways glance to his wife, for she had sunk to sit on the bed edge. ‘This’ll do. It’ll have to do.’ He shifted the baby in his arms, still rocking it to and fro although it had quietened.

‘One thing I won’t do is get meself in trouble with me guvnor,’ Tilly said firmly. ‘I collect his rent and I ain’t losing me job. So you’ve gotta pay me what’s due when it’s due or it’s trouble for everyone. That clear?’

Bert nodded and cast a wary eye at the war-like woman confronting him. He reckoned she looked like that Boadicea in a chariot who’d fought the Romans. He remembered his oldest, Danny, had brought home a book when he’d been learning about history at school. Tilly had leaned forward slightly, fists on hips, whilst awaiting his agreement. ‘Bring the stuff up,’ Bert ordered one of his sons who’d been hovering by the open door. The youth stared sulkily at his father before turning about and doing as he was told.

Bert put the baby down on the bed next to Margaret. ‘I’m off to try ‘n’ find some work,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’ll take a job clearin’ pots in a pub if it comes to it.’

‘That’s what it always comes to,’ his wife muttered acidly at his back as he limped out of the room.

‘You want any work, duck?’ Tilly settled herself on the bed next to Margaret Lovat. ‘Might be able to help, y’know.’

‘What’s goin’?’ The woman raised her eyes and pushed a stand of lank brown hair behind her ears.

‘Might be able to find you something this afternoon if you like. It’s graft but better’n nothing if you need a few bob urgent.’

‘Washing?’ the woman guessed with a dead-eyed look.

Tilly nodded. ‘Me sister Fran’s work but she ain’t fit and her client wants this back by seven tonight. Well-to-do lady she is, out Tufnell Park. Might lead somewhere.’

Margaret Lovat turned a jaundiced eye on Tilly. ‘You reckon I’m daft enough to believe I’ve got a chance of taking yer sister’s best touch?’

Tilly crossed her arms and gave Margaret a keener appraisal. So she wasn’t the mouse she’d seemed. She’d come back with that quick enough. ‘Take it or leave it.’ Tilly stood up. ‘No skin off my nose either way. Ain’t my client.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Come next door when yer ready. I’ll show you what’s gotta be done.’

Margaret Lovat followed her to the door. ‘Where’s the privy?’

‘Out back. Go down the stairs and do a left till you come to a door; that’ll take you out to the courtyard.’ She made to go then hesitated and said with a hint of apology, ‘I’ll prepare you fer the state of it. It’s full of Mr Brown. I’ve been on at Mr Keane fer weeks to get a plumber to fix it.’ She nodded to the landing. ‘There’s the sink. Shared with a couple called Johnson. You won’t have no trouble off them. He’s got reg’lar work on the dust and she hardly comes out the room. Got bad arthritis,’ she added by way of explanation. ‘Back slip room’s just been took by a single lady. Don’t see nuthin’ of her. Think she’s a waitress up west and that’s why she comes in all hours of the night.’ Tilly raised her eyebrows at Margaret in a way that fully exhibited her suspicions.

‘How nice,’ Margaret sighed with weary sarcasm. ‘Stuck between a totter and a prossy.’

‘She’s a looker too, is Miss Kerr, so keep an eye on yer old man.’ Tilly issued the warning with a grin.

‘Ain’t worried about him!’ Margaret snorted derisively. ‘She’s welcome to him. Give me a break at least.’

‘Yeah . . . I noticed he don’t hang about,’ Tilly said, amused. ‘Not much of a gap between your two youngest, I’d say.’

‘Thirteen months,’ Margaret sighed. ‘Little Lizzie’s just three months. I’m bleedin’ knackered, I can tell yer.’

The two women exchanged a look of cautious camaraderie.

‘It’s me eldest, Danny, I’m thinkin’ of. He’s fifteen next birthday ‘n’ comin’ of age, alright. The boy’s always got his hand stuck down the front of his trousers.’

Tilly cackled a laugh. ‘I noticed he’s a strapping lad.’

‘He is,’ Margaret said, her face softening with pride. ‘Nothing like his old man. Takes after my side. Me dad was six foot and built like a brick shit house. Danny’s bright too and was doing well in school till . . .’ She shrugged and turned away.

‘All gone sour for yers in Essex?’

‘Yeah . . . won’t be going back there no more.’

Tilly looked at Margaret’s averted face and felt sorry for the woman. Obviously there was a tale of woe to be told. But then everyone in Campbell Road had one of those. Tilly felt sorry for every poor sod that turned up in The Bunk looking for somewhere cheap to stay and a job of sorts to keep the kids fed. Sympathy was of no bloody use when what was needed was hard cash and a bit of luck for a change.

‘Yeah . . . well . . . anythin’ else you need to know, I’m just next door.’ She wiped her hands on her pinafore. ‘See yer downstairs in a bit, alright?’

Chapter Four

‘Gonna let me in, then?’ Tilly asked impatiently as her sister simply gazed at her. She’d come to tell Fran she’d found someone to take on her washing.

Slowly Fran stood aside and Tilly swept in. Fran’s bruises had almost disappeared, but a sallow colouring around her eyes and jaw was a reminder of the beating she’d taken. Her arms were healing more slowly and the muscles were still stiff and sore from being brutally treated.

‘What you looking so shifty about?’ Tilly asked bluntly.

Fran simply shrugged.

‘A new family’s moving in next door. They’ve not got a pot ter piss in. The woman wants work urgent so she’s doing your washing. We’ll get it finished and back to Tufnell in plenty of time.’

Fran gave a weak smile and muttered her thanks.

Tilly sensed something was not right and then her nose told her what it was. ‘He’s been in ’ere, ain’t he?’ she accused, taking another sniff. ‘I can smell bacca.’

‘Don’t go mad, Til,’ Fran started to wheedle but was soon interrupted.

‘Yeah, don’t go mad, Til,’ Jimmy Wild echoed, emerging from the back slip room where he’d been hiding himself. He walked closer and slung an arm about his wife’s frail shoulders. ‘We’ve made up, ain’t we, gel? I’m back home where I should be with me family.’

‘He’s said he’s sorry and he won’t do it no more. The kids need their dad.’ Fran was unable to meet Tilly’s eyes and stared at the floor.

‘You fuckin’ idiot,’ Tilly exploded. ‘How many times have you heard him say sorry ‘n’ it won’t happen again?’

Fran narrowed her eyes on her sister. ‘I can’t manage on me own. I got kids and debts.’

‘Yeah, ‘n’ he’s gonna add to them for you,’ Tilly said on a harsh laugh. ‘Just like before.’

She gave her brother-in-law a hate-filled look. He winked back, making her fight down her need to pounce on him and punch the smirk from his face.

Jack Keiver was just at that moment on his way up the stairs. Seeing the door open to his sister-in-law’s room he poked his head in to say hello. The greeting died on his lips. The scene in front of him made him hasten further into the room. He drew Tilly’s arm through his in an act of restraint and solidarity. He’d immediately guessed what had gone on. His brother-in-law had managed to squirm his way back home with lies and promises.

‘Come on, Til, leave it. We’ve been through all this before. Let ’em stew. It’s their business.’

For a moment Tilly stood undecided before allowing her husband to lead her to the door. Jack was right, but still she felt betrayed and angered by her sister’s weakness. She felt now more inclined to shake her than punch him.

Jack turned and looked at Jimmy. He raised a threatening finger. ‘We ain’t finished. I ain’t forgot you tried to take a swing at my missus. And all on account of some poxy brass.’

‘I was wrong.’ Jimmy gestured an apology with his flat palms. ‘I swear on the Holy Bible it won’t happen no more. All in the past, mate. I’m back and it’s gonna be alright this time.’

‘Yeah, ’course it is,’ Jack muttered sarcastically as he led Tilly out.

‘What d’you think of that Danny?’ Sophy asked Alice as they made their meandering way back home from the shop. They’d bought a penn’orth of liquorice and sucked on it while talking. Bethany put up a hand and Sophy obligingly wound a black string onto her palm. Their young sister then skipped happily in front of them, head back and the liquorice dangling between her lips.

‘Who?’ Alice asked with a frown.

Sophy tutted and her eyes soared skyward. ‘The new family what turned up yesterday. The biggest boy’s name’s Danny. He kept lookin’ at me. I think he fancies me.’

‘You think all the boys fancy you,’ Alice chortled.

‘Look!’ Sophy hissed and nudged Alice in the ribs. ‘Here he comes now with his brother! I bet they’ve been following us.’

Alice gave her elder sister a look. Sophy’s cheeks were turning pink and she was scraping her fingers through her brown hair to tidy it. In Alice’s estimation the new boys were probably just off to the shop. She decided not to dampen Sophy’s excitement with that opinion.

The Lovat boys made to walk past without a word and with barely a sullen look slanting from beneath their dark brows at the Keiver girls. Alice sensed her sister’s disappointment at their indifference and bit her lip to suppress a smile.

Alice’s mild amusement stoked Sophy’s indignation. She swung herself into the boys’ path and adopted a belligerent stance she’d seen her mum use, with hands plonked on her thin hips and chin jutting forward. ‘Why’ve you come all this way from Essex? You lot in trouble?’

‘What’s it ter you?’ the boy called Danny snarled and aggressively looked her up and down.

‘We don’t want no scumbags living next door,’ Sophy told him, her lip curling ferociously.

‘Nah . . . by all accounts you’ve got ‘’em livin’ in the same house,’ Danny let fly back, making his brother Geoff guffaw.

Sophy turned crimson. She’d not meant to start a proper argument with him. All she’d wanted was for him to stop and say a few words, but now she’d started this ruckus she couldn’t back down. ‘You wanna watch what you’re saying. Me dad’ll have you.’

‘Yeah . . . and I’ll have him back,’ Danny said. ‘We ain’t scared of nobody, you remember it.’

Alice, who had up till now been watching and listening, decided to give her sister some support. ‘You ain’t scared ’cos you ain’t been here long enough,’ she piped up. ‘Wait till you meet the other boys; they’ll beat you both up, you give ’em lip.’

‘Yeah.’ Sophy nodded. ‘Wait till you meet a few of ’em. Robertson brothers wot live across the road’ll thrash you good ‘n’ proper. Let’s see how big yer mouth is then.’

Danny hooted and began to act palsied. ‘Look! I’m shakin’ in me boots.’

‘You will be!’ Sophy answered but she was already edging away, aware that no gains were to be made.

The Lovat boys began to shift too. One last challenging stare over their shoulders and they were carrying on towards the shop.

Sophy stared boldly after them. ‘Knew I wouldn’t like ’em soon as I saw ’em,’ she announced loud enough for them to hear.

‘Don’t think they’re bothered whether we like ’em or not,’ Alice muttered. ‘Don’t think they like us either.’

‘Good!’ Sophy flounced about. Grabbing Bethany’s hand she yanked on it and they headed off home.

They were close to the junction with Paddington Street when Alice spotted Sarah Whitton outside her house with one of her older sisters. Louisa Whitton looked to be in a fine temper and Sarah was scooting backwards away from her, obviously to escape a whack. Louisa was a hefty, sweaty girl of about eighteen, not too bright and known to use brawn rather than brain. All of a sudden she lunged at Sarah and swiped her across the face, making her young sister howl and rub frantically at a scarlet cheek.

‘Wonder what’s goin’ on?’ Sophy murmured to Alice. Her features had transformed from moodiness, brought on by the confrontation with the Lovats, to anticipation. Family fights in the street were a common occurrence in Campbell Road and provided a bit of light relief for people living with the monotony of poverty.

‘Come on, let’s go ‘n’ see,’ Sophy urged. They started to walk faster, Bethany lagging behind. As they got closer they could hear Louisa’s raucous accusations as she stalked her sister with her fists at the ready.

‘Thievin’ li’l bitch! Give it me back or I’ll lay you out, right here ‘‘n’ now.’

‘Ain’t got it . . . ain’t got it, I tell yer. Let me go in . . . Mum’ll tell you, I ain’t got no money.’

‘What’s up?’ Alice called and ran closer to her friend. She liked Sarah and felt concerned on her behalf. She also wanted to help if she could. A worm of guilt was already squirming unpleasantly in her belly as an idea of what might be wrong entered her mind.

‘Keep yer nose out,’ Louisa bawled at her and wagged a threatening finger. She came close enough for it to land and shove against Alice’s nose. ‘You Keivers need ter mind yer own.’

‘You don’t want to let me mum hear you say that,’ Sophy piped up then piped down as Louisa shot her a pugnacious look.

‘Give me the money you got fer it, you li’l cow.’ Louisa advanced again on her snivelling sister.

‘What’s she on about?’ Alice demanded of her friend as Sarah cuffed snot from her top lip.

‘She reckons I took her new blouse down the secondhand shop in the Land. I never did, I swear.’

‘You lyin’ mare. If you didn’t who did, then? ’Cos I just been down Queensland Road ‘n’ saw it in the winder and that’s where I just got it from. Solly said he remembers a girl about your age took it in. Cost me two ‘n’ six to buy back me own soddin’ blouse. And he wanted more for it!’

Alice suddenly went very pale and very quiet. She looked at Sophy to see that her sister seemed to be engrossed in this spectacle. So were various other people who had lazily propped themselves against doorjambs or railings to watch what was going on.

‘Go on . . . give her another dig,’ one of the boys from Sophy’s class at school called out mischievously.

‘I’ll give you a dig you don’t shut up, Herbert Banks,’ Alice yelled angrily at him.

‘One more chance then I’m gonna really set about yer,’ Louisa warned.

‘Mum!’ Sarah wailed in anguish. But everyone, even Sarah, knew that help from that quarter was very unlikely. Ginny Whitton’s nerves kept her prostrate on her bed for hours on end with just a bottle of gin for company. At this time of the afternoon it was unlikely she could hear much at all through her booze-induced meditation.

‘I’ll get your two ‘n’ six,’ Alice blurted and rushed forward to step between the two sisters.

‘What’s it to you?’ Louisa dropped her hand and stared at Alice.

‘Nuthin’ . . . she’s me friend. I’ll get your money. Just leave her alone.’ Alice felt one of her sister’s hands gripping her elbow and Sophy tried to yank her away.

‘You ain’t got half a crown,’ Sophy hissed. ‘Now she’s gonna lamp you instead, stupid.’

‘Shut up,’ Alice muttered and, shaking off her sister’s fingers, she turned and sprinted for home.

‘None of our business.’ Tilly cut Alice short as her daughter neared the end of her breathless tale of woe.

‘But it is, Mum. Sarah’s gonna get a hiding and it was me took that blouse in to Solly’s place for you and we only got one and six for it.’

‘Yeah, and it was Ginny Whitton give it to me in the first place to sell for her. If Louisa’s got a beef it’s with her mother, not with us.’

‘Will you come and tell her that? She’s waiting for half a crown.’

Tilly transferred baby Lucy from one hip to the other and sipped from a cup of lukewarm tea. She was drinking it in the hope it might take the whiff of whiskey from her breath before Jack got home. ‘I got things to do,’ she answered irritably. ‘Besides, I got enough o’ me own wars to sort out without gettin’ involved in the Whittons’ dingdongs.’ Inwardly Tilly was still brooding on her sister’s monstrous stupidity in letting Jimmy come back.

Since marrying Jimmy Wild it seemed that the pretty, confident young woman Fran had once been had all but disappeared. It infuriated Tilly to know the pig had such power over her sister that he’d started to alter her character. Yet she blamed Fran too for allowing him to return again and again to crush her more firmly beneath his boot.

‘Can I have half a crown then to get Louisa off Sarah’s back?’ Alice pleaded. ‘It ain’t fair. She ain’t done nuthin’.’

Tilly choked on her tea. ‘Get out of here before I land you one, you little tyke!’ she shrieked. ‘Give yer half a crown, indeed. If I had half a bleedin’ crown I’d be down the shop with it and get something fer yer teas tonight.’

Alice knew she was wasting her time. She’d thought straight off that her mum had been drinking from the way she was a bit unsteady on her feet. Now she knew for sure. She was obviously in a bad mood; if she’d had half a crown she’d be down the Duke with it, not down the shop buying bread and jam.

‘Louisa said us Keivers ought to mind our own,’ was Alice’s final tactic in trying to rouse her mum’s temper into action.

But Tilly was sunk in her own thoughts. One day she’d have that bastard Jimmy, she promised herself. She’d have him locked up so he’d never hurt Fran or her kids again.

Alice slipped out of the door and met her mother’s nemesis on the lower landing.

‘Alright, Al?’ Jimmy greeted her with his soppy, wonky smile.

Alice nodded but her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Jimmy blocked her way. ‘Woss up, little ’un?’ he crooned.

‘Need half a crown urgent,’ Alice blurted. ‘Mum won’t give it me.’

‘Half a crown, eh?’ Jimmy fished in a pocket and produced a silver coin. ‘There yer go,’ he said, handing it over with a flourish.

Alice raised a wondrous, grateful smile to her uncle’s face. Half a crown was not easily come by. It had taken her two months to save that from her doorsteps and now she regretted spending it on going to the flicks and chips on the way home just last week. She’d treated Sarah too as she never had more than a few coppers to call her own despite doing odd jobs most evenings. She’d heard her dad say it was bloody astonishing that Ginny Whitton could recover well enough to wrestle away her daughters’ wages before she suffered a relapse.

‘I’ll give it you back, promise,’ Alice gasped at her uncle then fled with the coin clutched tightly in her hand.

Jimmy watched her go with a crafty smile on his face. He then raised his eyes to the landing above. He was just biding his time with that mouthy bitch . . . just biding his time . . .

Having hared back along the road as fast as she could, Alice soon saw that she might be too late. A fight was still going on but now it was between Louisa Whitton and her sister Sophy. Louisa had hold of Sophy’s hair and was dragging her along by it. Sophy was screeching and trotting to keep up as Louisa sadistically speeded up her pace. Their sister Bethany was standing on her own, grizzling, her chin on her chest. From the sidelines came various raucous suggestions as to how Sophy ought to retaliate.

‘I told you to keep your nose out of me business. If yer sister don’t get back here with me money you get the hidin’ instead.’

Alice launched herself at Louisa, punching ineffectually at the rolls of fat in her back. Suddenly she was whipped away by an arm girdling her waist. She landed on her feet and turned about to swipe out but the younger Lovat boy dodged aside so her fist smacked air rather than him.

‘You’d better let her go, fatso.’

Alice gasped in a breath and simply gaped at the two Lovat boys. Danny had spoken; he was standing looking quite nonchalant, his eyes fixed on Louisa. But there was something menacing about him that quietened the crowd. Danny Lovat’s face might betray him as about fourteen but he was a strapping lad, easily five feet eight inches tall. And that was quite lofty for a man, let alone a youth, around these parts where stunted runts abounded.

‘What’re you going to do about it, little boy?’ Louisa jeered but she didn’t sound so confident now and her grip on Sophy’s hair loosened a bit.

‘Well, I don’t usually hit girls, but you’re so big ‘n’ ugly I’m gonna make an exception.’ Danny didn’t respond by as much as a blink to the laughter his comment produced. ‘Let her go, fatso, ‘n’ piss off home. Or I’ll have to make you.’

Louisa considered herself to be a bit of a rough handful. She wasn’t going to let a kid who might still be at school make a monkey out of her. Shoving a flat palm against Sophy’s skull, she sent her tottering backwards to crash to the ground. She then turned to swing a left at Danny that barely connected with his shoulder as he swayed like a pro. Quite gracefully he then stepped back in and floored her with a single punch on the chin. It was obvious he’d put little weight behind it and, after a stunned moment, the crowd showed its appreciation with a smattering of applause before dispersing.

Alice rushed to Sophy to try and get her up off the ground. She noticed that a clump of her sister’s hair was straggling on her shoulder where Louisa had yanked it out. Before Sophy could see it Alice brushed it off and stamped her foot on top of it. ‘Where’s Sarah gone?’ Alice asked.

‘She scarpered after you went and left me with that maniac,’ Sophy sobbed. ‘She’s nutty, that Louisa. She needs lockin’ up.’

‘You alright?’ Danny asked gruffly and stuck out a hand to help Sophy.

‘Yeah . . . thanks,’ Sophy mumbled. She ignored his hand and sprang up in an ungainly jumble of limbs.

He shrugged and he and his brother were soon heading down the road.

‘Oi . . . you two . . . you can’t just go off like that,’ Alice shouted spontaneously after them.

The boys sauntered back and looked questioningly at them. ‘What d’you want, then?’

Alice flushed. Now they’d come back she didn’t know what answer to give. ‘What’s his name?’ She pointed at Danny’s brother, who was unconcernedly chewing as though he’d never hoisted her to safety from Louisa’s fat back.

‘Geoff,’ Danny said while Geoff gave Alice a long look.

‘And how d’you come to fight like that?’

‘I’ll have yer next time, yer bastards.’

Danny stuck two fingers up at Louisa without bothering to even glance her way. ‘Done boxin’ in Essex,’ he told Alice whilst looking at Sophy.

Sophy continued fiddling with her hair to try and tidy it, blushing furiously. She grabbed at Bethany’s hand and shushed her to stop her crying.

‘You get going home now, Beth. Sophy’s alright, see.’ Alice wiped her younger sister’s face clear of tearstains with her thumbs. Then she turned her about and gave her shoulder a little push to start her off home.

‘You got blood on your lip,’ Danny neutrally told Sophy.

‘Did you do boxing ‘n’ get paid?’ Alice asked interestedly, cuffing away her sister’s blood on her sleeve when she saw Sophy searching in vain for a handkerchief.

‘Yeah . . . sometimes,’ Danny replied. ‘Never saw no money though. The old man soon had any purses.’

‘Ain’t worth workin’,’ Sophy chipped in. ‘Never get to keep nuthin’. They always have it off you.’

‘Why d’you come here then?’ Alice asked. ‘Ain’t nothing worth having round here.’

‘Got in a fight with the landlord where we lived. Broke his jaw. He threw us all out then the coppers got involved when it all turned nasty.’ Danny saw Geoff frown at him as though warning him to hold his tongue. Danny shrugged in response. He didn’t see the point in trying to hide it. The Keivers knew they’d only have tramped miles because something serious had happened.

Alice’s eyes grew round. ‘Did your dad go mad at you for getting you all thrown out?’

‘Nah . . . was his fault. If he hadn’t borrowed money off the landlord none of it would’ve happened. Had the money for almost a year and never paid none back, y’see. Never could ’cos he lost his job when he done his foot in.’

‘How’d he do it?’

‘Cart fell on him down the market.’

‘You turned fourteen yet?’ Sophy asked shyly.

Danny nodded. ‘While back.’

‘You’re lucky. No more school,’ Sophy said wistfully.

‘You going to get work round here?’ Alice asked.

‘Soon as I can find something decent. Don’t want no dead-end errand-boy capers. Want me own business.’ Danny looked about with disgust in his eyes. ‘Then when I’ve got a few bob I’m moving on, going home to Essex. Can’t wait to get out of this dump.’

‘Me neither . . .’ Sophy and Alice chorused passionately.

Feeling quite relaxed in their camaraderie, Alice opened her palm and showed her half a crown.

Three pairs of hungry eyes darted to it.

‘Where d’you get that?’ Sophy gasped. ‘Mum never give you it.’

‘Uncle Jimmy did,’ Alice said. ‘’Spose I should give it back, ’cos I ain’t giving it to Louisa after what she’s done.’

Nobody said anything, they all kept their eyes pinned on the shiny silver coin.

‘Let’s go and get some chips.’ It was an impetuous decision. ‘You two can come ‘n’ all,’ Alice magnanimously said to Danny and Geoff.

‘When you was boxing did you get knocked out much?’ Sophy asked Danny before chewing on a chip.

The four of them were lined up, sitting on a low wall in Blackstock Road with scrunched newspapers filled with chips and meat pies nestled on their laps.

‘Reckon that’s insulting,’ Danny said, all solemn.

‘No . . . didn’t mean you weren’t no good, or nuthin’,’ Sophy blurted, and quickly turned to give him an earnest look. ‘Just wondered if you ever got injured, that’s all.’ The last thing Sophy wanted to do was start another row with Danny.

Danny and Geoff exchanged a look and laughed.

‘He’s winding you up,’ Geoff said easily and tipped his head back to swig from a bottle of pop.

‘Undefeated champion, weren’t I?’ Danny said, deliberately puffing out his chest to make the girls giggle. ‘Mind you, weren’t no reg’lar fights I got into. More like bare-knuckle street scraps where bets were took off the audience. Well-arranged, though, they were. Had to be, of course, ’cos the law would’ve put a stop to it if they’d found out. Could make fifty quid a night . . . sometimes more.’ He looked off into the distance. ‘Should’ve stuck with it. Might’ve got a backer who’d have took me pro. A couple of fellers showed an interest in managing me. But me mum wouldn’t have it. Said I was too young. Could’ve ended up like Kid Lewis ‘n’ made some real money if I still had them contacts.’

‘Could’ve ended up all bashed about ‘n’ all,’ Sophy lectured. ‘You’re lucky yer nose ain’t all squashed and yer ears shaped like cauliflowers.’

‘You sound just like our mum,’ Geoff said wryly and slid his brother a significant look before he turned his attention to Alice, sitting rather quietly beside him.

‘When you leaving school?’ he abruptly asked.

‘Not for ages.’ Alice grimaced sadly. ‘Not even thirteen yet.’ She frowned again at the crumpled newspaper on her lap containing her delicious food. It had seemed like a good idea to come and have something to eat with the Lovat boys. But now doubts about what she’d done were worming into her mind. In her pocket she had change from the half crown her uncle had lent her but she knew she must offer him back the whole amount and she’d no idea where she’d find that money. She was regretting having shown off and offered to be generous with money that wasn’t hers to spend. If her mother ever found out what she’d done she’d be for it.

Chapter Five

‘There . . . take yer poxy half a crown!’ Tilly roared. She drove a fist into her pinafore pocket, pulled out a coin and lobbed it.

‘No need to be like that, Til,’ Fran said, swiping the money off the dirty floorboards. ‘I’m just saying that your Alice has took what’s rightfully mine. Jimmy’s give me no money and the boys need something for tea.’

‘Well, ain’t that a surprise . . . Jimmy’s give yer no money!’ Tilly sarcastically echoed her sister’s words back at her.

‘Well, perhaps he would’ve done if your Alice hadn’t been out beggin’ and got to him first.’

Tilly turned her savage, narrowed gaze on her sister, making Fran flinch. ‘My kids don’t beg, and don’t you ever say they do. He should’ve told her no when she asked.’

‘He’s got a kind heart.’ Fran coloured at the sound of her sister’s scoffing hoot of laughter.

‘He’s a fuckin’ animal and you know it,’ Tilly spat. ‘He’s deliberately making trouble between us, you know that too.’

‘Don’t talk about him like that. He’s me husband,’ Fran shouted, narked.

‘Yeah, he’s your’n alright, more fool you,’ Tilly replied and turned her back on her sister. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’

‘Oi . . . you . . . here!’ was the greeting that Alice got when she returned home with Sophy.

Immediately Alice felt her stomach lurch. She knew straight away from her mother’s voice and fearsome look that she was in for a hiding and she could guess why.

‘You two in back,’ Tilly commanded her other daughters.

‘You been asking Uncle Jimmy for money?’

‘No!’ Alice protested. ‘I didn’t ask him for nuthin’. He give it me.’

‘But you was telling him our business, and that I’d not give you money you’d asked for. You took his half crown.’

Alice nodded then howled as a rough hand swiped her cheek.

‘You tell him nothing, you hear? Never tell him what goes on in this place. Have you given that half a crown to fat Louisa on account of her blouse going missing?’

Alice miserably shook her head. She knew she was in trouble whatever she said. All she had left to return to her uncle Jimmy was a shilling and threepence in change. ‘I didn’t give Louisa it. When I got back she was beating Sophy up and Sarah’d scarpered.’

Tilly’s features tightened on hearing that Sophy had been set about. ‘Right. Give it here, then,’ she ordered and stuck out a hand to take the coin.

‘Spent it,’ Alice muttered and hung her head.

‘You . . . done . . . what?’ Tilly demanded in genuine astonishment. She grasped her daughter’s chin and forced it up.

‘Bought chips; we was hungry.’ Alice knew that wasn’t explanation enough to satisfy her mother. A few penn’orth of chips didn’t make half a crown. She’d bought pies and pop too. ‘Bought some for the new boys too ’cos Danny was on our side and knocked down Louisa for what he did to Sophy.’

‘Feeling generous, was you?’ Tilly’s hand cracked against the other side of Alice’s face this time. ‘You little pest. Give ’ere what’s left of it. Every penny.’

Alice dropped the coins into her mother’s waiting palm. ‘I’ll pay back the rest from me doorsteps,’ Alice mumbled while the tears rolled down her scarlet, stinging cheeks.

‘Too bleedin’ right you’ll pay it back,’ her mother agreed harshly. ‘Now get out o’ me sight else I’ll really give you something to cry about.’

Alice sank onto the bed in the back room and shrugged off Sophy’s comforting hand. She turned her face into the musty old mattress and closed her hot, dribbling eyes.

‘Wish I was old enough to leave school,’ she muttered. ‘I’d be out of here and miles away by tomorrow.’

‘Me ‘n’ all,’ Sophy agreed. ‘Hope Danny gets a decent job soon.’

Alice turned on the bed to look at her sister. ‘Won’t help you what job he gets,’ she said shortly and cuffed the wetness from her face.

‘Might do . . .’ Sophy looked away. ‘Only just met him but I know he likes me and I like him,’ she said a bit defensively. ‘Can’t wait to get away from this dump and nor can he. When he goes home to Essex I’m going with him.’

Alice levered herself up on an elbow, momentarily shocked into speechlessness. Her sister looked oddly calm and confident and there wasn’t a sign of the self-conscious smile that usually accompanied her daft hopes. ‘I never heard him say you can,’ Alice reasoned. ‘Anyhow, you don’t hardly know him.’ She’d spluttered that with a grin, already recovering from her mother’s chastisement. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for any of them, even Bethany, to get a good belt off her when she was het up over something. And she had given her mother something to get very het up about. Inwardly her stomach squirmed in regret because she knew the money must be found from somewhere to pay back Uncle Jimmy. He wouldn’t wait for payment while she did her doorsteps for the next few months. Alice focused on her sister’s expression, considered the meaning behind it. She looked secretive but in a nice way. Danny did like Sophy. He’d made that pretty obvious this afternoon by the way he was looking at her and touching her. At one point Alice had feared he might try and kiss her behind a wall in Seven Sisters Road. And Sophy had just let her know . . . as if she hadn’t already guessed . . . that she liked him right back. ‘You reckon he’ll marry you or something?’ Alice asked. ‘You’re not even old enough to leave school.’

‘Soon I will be.’ Sophy nodded in emphasis. She glowered fiercely at Alice. ‘Don’t you go telling Mum I like him. She’ll put a spoke in. She can’t wait for us to get out to work neither but only so’s she can have our wages off us.’

Alice knew that was true. Even the little bit they managed to make on their odd jobs was under scrutiny from their mother. They’d learned to hide very well their few coppers for their mother had been known to prise up floorboards searching for them.

‘You could marry Danny’s brother Geoff, if you like,’ Sophy said, revelling in her romantic daydream.

Alice snorted. ‘I’m not getting married for a long while. When I get a job and get some money I’m getting meself some decent clothes from Chapel Street. I’m never going in the rag shop again once I’m working.’ She paused and thought about being married and found the idea of it didn’t seem as ridiculous as once it would have done. She wondered if it was because in her mind she’d pictured Geoff sitting opposite her at the table, drinking tea in his vest. ‘And I’m saving too,’ Alice rushed on, feeling confused. ‘I’m saving as much as I can to get away from here.’

‘Shall I go out now?’ Bethany suddenly piped up. She’d been fidgeting on the bed for a while. ‘I want to go and see me friend Sally over the road. Is Mum still on the warpath?’

Alice encouraged Bethany to go away. She was quite enjoying this talk with Sophy. They’d never before chatted for so long about their plans for the future. Before, getting work and being a grown-up had all seemed to be a long way in the distance. Now, for some reason, it didn’t.

‘Danny probably won’t take you with him anyhow.’ Alice hoped in her heart that she was wrong. She hoped Sophy got to live her little dream, if that’s what she wanted.

‘We’ll see . . .’ Sophy said and with that she lay down on the bed too. She rolled over and stared at Alice, her eyes wide and concerned. ‘I bet he don’t know.’

‘Don’t know what?’

‘He don’t know to keep his mouth shut about where he lives. If he tells people he’s living in Campbell Road he’ll never get a decent job.’

‘It’s too late to go after a job today,’ Alice wisely pointed out. ‘You can tell Danny all of that tomorrow.’

‘What in Gawd’s name is that?’

‘What’s it look like?’ Jack asked, still smiling widely.

Tilly had a look on her face halfway between disbelief and despair. ‘It looks like a bleedin’ piana,’ she roared at him. ‘Don’t dare tell me that you’ve paid good money fer it.’

Jack knew that before Tilly got worked up enough over wasted cash to launch herself at him he must stop teasing her and reveal his good news. In fact he’d no need to say anything at all. He simply shoved a hand in a pocket. When it reappeared it held several pound notes.

For once in her life Tilly Keiver was momentarily dumb-founded. They were stationed on the pavement just outside their home. At the kerb was a cart that Jack had just pulled up the road. Tilly had seen him from the window when he came round the corner from Paddington Street. After a stunned few minutes gawping at her husband ferrying a gleaming piano on an old cart she’d flown down the stairs to confront him over it. Her eyes darted about the street as though she reckoned someone might be close by and spot her husband had a wad in his pocket. As far as she knew Jack had been working as a runner for a bookie because nothing better had presented itself. That paid shillings not pounds. ‘Put that away for Gawd’s sake,’ she squealed.

Jack obligingly shoved the cash back where it came from but said, ‘Let ’em see. I come by it fair ‘n’ square.’

‘Did you now?’ Tilly sounded sceptical. ‘What you done? You pulled a stunt?’

‘No . . . I ain’t pulled a stunt. I ain’t been gambling neither. I got work, Til. I got good work from Basher Payne.’

Basher Payne had started out with just one horse and cart. He now owned half a dozen and hired them out. He also owned doss houses in Campbell Road and the surrounding streets. He protected his little empire fiercely despite the fact he stood little more than five feet four inches tall, and had earned the name and reputation of a formidable fighter.

‘What work’s he given you?’ Tilly eyed her husband suspiciously.

‘I’ve been painting out his places in George’s Road ’cos the sanitary inspector’s been in and condemned ’em. I started Monday. I kept it as a surprise for you. He’s pleased as punch with what I’ve done so far.’ Spontaneously Jack pulled Tilly in to a hug. ‘He paid me this on account.’

Energetically Tilly elbowed free of her husband’s embrace, not yet convinced that such good luck could be theirs. She needed more information. ‘So you got a job off Basher and a sub off him so thought you’d buy a joeyanna with it to celebrate.’

‘Why not?’ Jack asked simply. ‘You want a bit of a drink and a laugh, don’t you?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind if I join in. No need to go down the Duke all the time. We can have a few bottles and a singsong right here. The kids can stay home instead of dawdling in the corridor of the Duke or out on the pavement.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket and scrunched the notes till they crackled. ‘Ain’t as if I spent it all. Supper from the chippy tonight. Kids’ll like that.’

‘Yer daft git,’ Tilly said quite affectionately. ‘We ain’t got room enough upstairs to swing a cat and you bring us home this monstrosity. Where we gonna put it? Out on the landing?’

Jack bent to snatch a kiss from his wife. ‘You’re pleased really, ain’t you?’ he teased. ‘If Basher keeps me in work for a good while perhaps we’ll finally get out of here ‘n’ get up the other end of the road in something bigger ‘n’ better.’ He ruffled her thick, fiery hair. ‘This Saturday we’ll have a bit of a knees-up. Ask a few of the neighbours over.’

‘You daft git,’ she repeated with a grin. She slipped her fingers over the glossy lid of the piano. ‘How we gonna get the bugger upstairs?’

‘I’ll see if Jimmy’s in,’ Jack said. ‘He can give us a hand with it.’ He disappeared into the dank interior of the house, whistling cheerfully.

The smile on Tilly’s face faded at the mention of her brother-in-law. She wouldn’t ever forgive Jimmy for beating Fran, or for causing trouble over the half crown he’d given to Alice. Several months might have passed, and things might have calmed down between them all, but Tilly knew it wouldn’t be long before Jimmy was up to his old tricks again. Jimmy was work shy. He also thought he was a bit of a hound round these parts and the fact that he had a wife and kids relying on him wouldn’t stop him poncing about doing nothing or showing off to his mates . . . most of them younger than he was by some years. When he thought he could he’d take up with fancy women again and generally act flash with the bit of cash that should be given to Fran as housekeeping. And if Fran didn’t like it, he’d show her who was boss . . . in the way he always had . . . with his fists.

A few minutes later Jack reappeared with Jimmy loping at his side. It was early summer and Jimmy had on just a vest belted into his trousers. From his lips dangled a stumpy crumpled roll-up.

‘Alright, gel?’ he greeted Tilly.

She mumbled a response, her eyes flashing dislike at him.

Jimmy smirked and unconsciously flexed the muscles in his naked arms. He knew Tilly despised him yet it didn’t stop him preening. Such was his conceit that he thought every woman must find him irresistible. He’d plenty of time on his hands to keep himself in shape by sparring with the lads at the YMCA in Pooles Park. His eyes lingered on Tilly, running over her top to bottom. He was just waiting for the right opportunity to impress on her once again he was a bloke you didn’t mess with. He’d done so once before,. She’d deserved another lesson on numerous occasions since. It might have been a while ago but he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d showed him up in the street when he’d been caught out with Nellie. His pals still ribbed him over it and made him feel a bloody fool. He was more careful with Nellie now. They’d had to make use of alleys and dark corners instead of her room along the road.

But Nellie was pulling in a good few quid a week from working the streets up west and sometimes Jimmy thought he might be better off moving in with her. He didn’t see why he should knock himself out acting as Jack’s labourer doing painting and decorating, or helping Billy the Totter for a few measly bob a day, if he could act as Nellie’s manager and take a bit of commission off her.

‘Oi, daydreamer . . .’ Jack called and started Jimmy from his brooding. He undid the rope that had lashed the piano to the cart.

‘Where d’you get this fucker then, Jack?’ Jimmy enquired past the drooping dog-end in his mouth.

‘Off old man Bailey. He said he’d give me first refusal on it. He kept to his word. Been put by since Christmas.’

‘You give him a deposit?’ Tilly demanded shrewdly. She knew that Victor Bailey had a secondhand furniture store in Holloway Road. She knew too that he wasn’t generally soft-hearted. He was a wily businessman.

Last Christmas things had been tight for money and the kids had had just one stocking, filled mainly with bruised fruit and a few liquorice sticks, to share between them. If she thought for one moment that money that could have been well spent had been put down on a piano and left there for six months she’d put a hammer through the poxy thing right now.

‘I didn’t give him nuthin’,’ Jack soothed, knowing the way his wife’s mind worked. ‘He kept to his word ’cos I did him a favour and mended the lock on his door when he was burgled.’

Tilly’s acceptance of that explanation was limited to a jerk of her chin. She watched as the two men proceeded into the house lugging the piano between them. She glanced around to see that they had drawn a few spectators. She threw back her fiery head and gave a loud chuckle. ‘What’s up? None of yers seen a bleedin’ piana before?’ she bawled out, spinning on the spot in glee. Then gripping her skirts she followed Jack and Jimmy in to the house.

‘Mum . . .’

Tilly gathered up the old sheet in her arms then spun about to look at Alice. She narrowed her eyes on her daughter. ‘What’s that look fer? What you after?’

Alice chewed her lip. ‘Don’t go mad . . . but . . .’

‘Spit it out, girl,’ Tilly said and folded her arms with the sheet bundled against her chest. ‘I ain’t got all day to stand about.’

They were in the bedroom that Alice shared with her sisters. Tilly had got hold of a decent sheet off Billy the Totter to replace the threadbare scrap that had covered the dirty mattress the girls slept on. Alice had just helped her mother put the new one on the bed whilst trying to pluck up courage to ask the favour that had been playing over in her mind. Oddly she thought she had a good chance of her mum agreeing to what she wanted. She could be awful in some ways but nice in others.

‘It’s about Sarah . . . she’s got in right trouble again.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Well, you know I said she’d moved round the corner to stay with her dad ’cos Louisa won’t leave her alone and keeps hitting her over that blouse?’

‘Yeah . . .’ Tilly said in a drawn-out way.

‘Well, she can’t stay with her dad no more ’cos he’s moving to Bethnal Green to get a job and if Sarah goes she’ll have to go to a different school and she don’t want to ‘n’ nor do I want it ’cos she’s me friend.’ Alice drew breath to renew her appeal. ‘She can’t go home ’cos of Louisa and also ’cos her mum’s took in Louisa’s friend who pays rent. There’s no room there now.’

‘And?’

‘Can she stay here for a while? Just till . . .’

‘Just till what?’ Tilly asked, but she gave a rare smile. ‘You’re too soft, my gel. It’s gonna do you no favours when yer older.’

‘So can she stop here for a while? Till the lodger moves out?’

‘Just for a while till she gets it all sorted out. I’ll take Beth in our bed fer a bit. Sarah can kip in with you ‘n’ Sophy. But you tell her that if she’s gonna expect a bit of grub Ginny’d better stump up the necessary. You tell her or I will.’

Alice rushed to her mother and hugged her about the waist. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Get off with you.’ Tilly elbowed herself free. ‘Now let’s get on. Yer dad’ll be back soon and wantin’ something to eat.’

Chapter Six

‘I’m arresting you lot if that fire’s not out by the time I come back.’

‘You ’noose army, rozzer?’

Constable Bickerstaff took a threatening step towards the bonfire, fingers stroking the truncheon on his hip. Through a mirage materialised two men’s faces, their grins highlighted by fierce flames.

‘Aw, c’mon, mate . . . just roastin’ me chestnuts . . .’ one of the men lewdly implored for lenience.

‘You know rules are no street fires; now put the bugger out,’ Twitch bellowed. ‘It’s hot enough tonight as it is without you making it worse than it needs to be.’

As though to reinforce his argument Sidney Bickerstaff peeled his serge collar away from his sticky skin and wiped it with a handkerchief. He took a glance about. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday evening in late summer and dusk had settled long ago. It might have been three o’clock in the afternoon. Campbell Road never slept. At any time of day or night you might find it bustling with people young and old, and reeking of unwashed humanity and indeterminate rotting debris. At the height of summer the stench and noise was just so much worse. The domestic cacophony escaped through windows and doors flung wide in the forlorn hope of letting in fresh air. It wasn’t unusual at this time of year to see people sleeping on carts in the street to escape the stifling conditions in the overcrowded houses.

Sidney Bickerstaff and Ralph Franks had just passed a grizzled old fellow playing a barrel organ and stopped a group of louts from tormenting him and his monkey. The boys had scattered, shouting abuse, but Twitch knew if he turned around he’d see them peeping round the corner of Paddington Street at him. They’d simply wait till he disappeared into Seven Sisters before looking for mischief again. He knew too the street gamesters who’d hared off, after grabbing up dice and cards and coins that’d been strewn on the pavement, would reconvene on the corner outside the doss house as soon as the coast was clear.

‘I’m sweltering here,’ Constable Ralph Franks complained as he sought his older, stouter colleague as lee from the illegal bonfire. ‘We’re not coming back this evening, so might as well turn a blind eye.’ He turned to squint at the blaze. ‘Leave ’em be. With any luck they’ll burn the whole bleeding street down and do everyone a favour.’ He broke off grumbling as he glimpsed the girl he found attractive. She’d seen him too and was casting sideways looks his way while chatting to another girl. The one he fancied was a definite looker whereas that lump of lard standing next to her was ugly enough to put a bloke off his beer.

As the young constable turned away from her Connie Whitton smiled and wondered what coppers got paid and if that particular copper had a wife or sweetheart. If he did, it wouldn’t stop her. It wouldn’t stop him either; the randy git couldn’t keep his eyes off her when they met. If she took up with him, or any copper, she’d get the cold shoulder round here. That wouldn’t worry her. She was itching to get away from the lot of them. Her mother was driving her mad, taking all her wages, then collapsing on the couch she used as a bed. She never stopped drinking and moaning. Her sister Louisa stank the place out because she sweated so much and never bothered to wash. She looked across the road and saw her sister Sarah sitting with the Keiver kids on the steps outside their house. Sarah had been living away from home for months and it didn’t seem to bother her younger sister one bit to be away from her family. Connie knew how she felt.

On noticing the two policemen were heading off in Sarah’s direction, Connie sauntered over to say hello to her sister and put herself in the young constable’s way again.

‘What d’you want?’ was Sarah’s blunt reply to her sister’s cheery greeting.

‘Party goin’ on in there, is it?’ Connie cocked her head to listen to the unmistakeable sound of a piano being thumped and some raucous singing accompanying it.

‘What if it is? You ain’t invited, anyhow,’ Sarah flatly told Connie.

‘No need to be like that, Sar,’ Connie complained. ‘Ain’t my fault Louisa set about you and started it all off. Ain’t my fault either that Dad moved off to Bethnal and left you behind.’

‘He didn’t leave me,’ Sarah muttered. ‘I wanted to stay behind.’

‘What’s all that racket?’ Twitch asked, earning his nickname twice in rapid succession. He’d crossed the street to stand and glare up at the open window out of which, at that precise moment, sailed an empty brown bottle. It narrowly missed Alice’s head and smashed on the pavement. Alice jumped up and scraped shards together with her foot.

‘Just me mum ‘n’ dad ‘n’ a few friends having a singsong,’ Alice cautiously told Twitch, still shifting broken glass. She knew, as did everyone in these parts, that you had as little as possible to do with the law. She sat down again and one of her hands dived into the newspaper containing the chips she was sharing with Sarah. They’d been sitting on the pavement for some while talking about this and that and every so often going indoors to jig about on the fringes of the adults or snatch a drink of lemonade. But this weekend the temperature had soared and it was too crowded and hot in there for the youngsters to want to stay too long. They got crushed and elbowed by adults boozing and swaying and roaring out songs.

Since Jack had brought home the piano it had been a regular occurrence on Saturday evening to have a get together – and it went on for as long as limited space and sobriety would allow. Usually by the early hours of Sunday the guests who were still standing had stumbled off home and an uneasy peace was to be had till morning.

Twitch continued to gaze at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. It was a racket, no doubt about it, but if Bunk residents stayed on their own patch it meant he and Franks encountered fewer disorderly drunks while on the beat. And Tilly Keiver was one of the most difficult drunks to deal with. About to share that observation with his colleague, Twitch realised Ralph had wandered off and was talking to the pretty Whitton girl.

‘You’re fairly new around here, ‘n’t yer?’ Connie struck up conversation and lowered her eyelashes. Close to he wasn’t bad looking at all for a flatfoot.

‘Yeah . . .’ Ralph said. ‘And I wish I wasn’t.’

Connie glanced up from beneath her lashes. ‘Stay long enough you might just find something about The Bunk you like.’

‘Like what?’ Ralph eyed her calculatingly. ‘You know of some sort of compensation for me being stuck in the worst street in North London on a Saturday night?’

‘Yeah . . . might do . . . might know of something . . .’ Connie pouted. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ralph Franks.’

‘I’m Connie . . . Connie Whitton. I live up the other end a bit; better end, you might call it.’

‘I might,’ Ralph said sarcastically. ‘But I doubt it.’ He moved away from her, conscious of his colleague’s ears flapping.

‘Well, might see you again . . . when you come back for your compensation,’ Connie added slyly.

‘Ready to go then, are we?’ Twitch asked with a very old-fashioned look lifting his brows beneath his helmet. ‘Able to march back to the station, are you, with your balls on fire?’ he added with acid amusement as they plodded on towards the corner that turned into Seven Sisters Road.

Franks scowled and said nothing but his restless hands plunged a little deeper into his pockets.

‘So . . . found something desirable about the place, have you?’

‘She’s probably on the game . . . hard to know with any of that lot what they get up to.’ Ralph frowned into space.

‘If she was on the game, son, she wouldn’t be hanging around here on a Saturday night. She’d be up west somewhere earning a fortune with those looks.’

‘Are they trouble?’

‘Who, the Keivers? I wouldn’t mess with them for no reason.’

‘Nah. The Whittons.’

‘The Whittons.’ Twitch grunted a laugh. ‘Now let me see. What you’ve got there is one mad old mother, a father who’s had sense enough to have it away on his toes before he goes crackers too, a son dead of disease and three daughters. Lenny died of something or other when he was just about old enough to go to work. I think that’s what sent the mother into a decline . . . the thought of his lost wages. As for the girls . . . you’ve got a fat ugly one, a skinny schoolgirl and the novice tart you just spoke to. So, all in all, I suppose you’d have to say they’re a pretty average mob for around here.’

‘Come ‘n’ play us a tune, Al,’ Jack called to Alice as she tried to slip past him in the crowded room. Jack pulled her onto the stool beside him and affectionately ruffled her dark hair.

‘Don’t know any tunes, Dad,’ Alice said with a grin but she plinked and plonked up and down on the ivories, making some inharmonious noise while her dad took a break from performing. He flexed his fingers then supped from the pint glass on top of the piano. The other men might drink straight from the bottle but her dad liked to take his ale with a bit more style.

‘Come on, Jack, get goin’ again while I’m in the mood,’ Jimmy Wild yelled before swigging from the bottle in his fist.

Alice swivelled on the seat to look about. Her eyes met Jimmy’s and he gave her a wink. Not so long ago she would have shared the private moment and winked right back. But now, since he’d got her in to trouble with her mum over that half a crown, she felt differently about him. She was beginning to understand that Uncle Jimmy wasn’t as nice and friendly as he liked people to think. She was coming to believe that perhaps it wasn’t half a dozen of one, six of the other when he and Aunt Fran were going at it hammer and tongs. And perhaps Bobbie and Stevie hadn’t misbehaved enough to deserve the bruises she’d seen on them at school. She suspected that her uncle just needed to be in a bad mood over something to act mean.

He’d been mean to her. He must have known that she’d get a wallop off her mum for taking his half a crown. She’d thought that a little secret existed between them yet he’d told on her straight away. His wink and that secret stare now made an odd feeling squirm in her stomach. She half-smiled at him but looked away quickly, her eyes flitting about the cramped room.

She’d left Sarah on the pavement and only come in to get them a drink of pop . . . if any was left in the bottle. If not she was going to ask her dad for a bit of money so they could get some from the shop. Since her dad had got a good job with Basher Payne money hadn’t been so tight and being cheeky and asking for a few coppers didn’t naturally get you a clip round the ear. Her dad had waylaid her and she’d stopped where she was rather than slipping back outside because she enjoyed having his attention.

‘Come on, give us a little tune, Monkey,’ her dad fondly invited her, using the pet nickname he had for her.

‘Alright, Freckles,’ she teased him back and rubbed a tickling finger over the speckled skin on his jaw. ‘Glad I’m not a Freckles,’ she said provocatively.

Jack touched the mark. ‘It’s me beauty spot,’ he said, as he always did when ribbed over the blemish. ‘I know you’d like one just like it really.’

Alice chuckled and picked out a simple chord that he’d taught her when they’d first got the piano. Her dad accompanied her lightly, encouraging her to try again when she hit a wrong note. Finally Alice gestured she’d had enough and looked around for her mum. She was squashed up against the mantelpiece with Aunt Fran. Both of them drinking whiskey by the look of it. Aunt Fran’s best skirt barely outlined the little mound of her pregnant belly. Most of the people who had lodgings in the house were either crammed into the room or were out on the landing. Even old Mr Prewett from the landing below – who was known to be a bit of a misery guts – was sitting on the bed edge, tapping his good foot in anticipation of her dad soon starting to play a new tune.

Margaret Lovat bent her head close to Alice’s and shouted over the rollicking din, ‘You seen my Danny, Alice?’

‘He’s just outside on the pavement with all of us,’ Alice answered.

‘Tell him to nip next door ‘n’ see to the little ’uns, will you, in case Geoff’s gone out.’

Alice got up from beside her dad and slipped out and into the back room. Mrs Lovat had just reminded her that her baby sister might need her attention. It was usually her job to make sure that Bethany and Lucy were taken care of while the adults enjoyed themselves and got drunk. Not that her mum asked her to do it. She was probably too under the influence to even remember she had kids some of the time. She just assumed Alice would look out for the younger ones.

By the light of a tiny flame in an oil lamp balanced precariously on the seat of a chair Alice could see Bethany was dozing on the bed next to Lucy. The room stank and the unmistakeable sound of flies could be heard buzzing. Alice turned up the flame. She looked down at Lucy. She was awake and smiled at her despite the fact that a fly crawled in the milky sick on her chin.

Alice flicked it away and found what she needed to clean her up. She wiped her face with a rag then attended to her bottom end. Alice felt herself gag as the stench intensified. Quickly she bundled the filthy nappy onto the floor and cleaned Lucy’s bottom. She then put a clean scrap of cotton on her and picked her up.

‘When I go . . . I’ll take you with me,’ she promised her. ‘I’ll always be around if you need me,’ she whispered against her soft, musky cheek. She put her back down on the bed close to Bethany then, picking up the stinking nappy, she took it out, hoping that most of the flies would follow.

‘Lucy’s nappy,’ Alice said by way of explanation as Sophy wrinkled her nose at her. Alice had tried to rinse her hands under the tap on the landing but the place was so packed it was hard to get to the water and wash properly. She felt a little embarrassed and annoyed at Sophy for miming she stank in front of Danny. ‘Anyhow, your mum said you’ve got to go ‘n’ check on the little ’uns,’ she told Danny.

Danny muttered beneath his breath but got to his feet.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sophy immediately volunteered.

A significant look seemed to pass between the two of them. ‘Nah . . . ’s’alright,’ Danny mumbled. ‘Geoff might be in there. Not seen him go out. Not that he’s any bleedin’ use with the kids. He’s probably akip.’

‘You two been making plans then?’ Alice asked when they were alone. Sarah had gone off to the shop with her sister Connie to get some sherbert.

Alice knew that Danny had just started a new job down the market helping on a costermonger’s stall. Despite having boasted months ago he wouldn’t be taking dead-end errand-boy jobs, that was what he’d started off with. To save face he said he’d taken it because he got a bike to use for deliveries. He’d bring the bike home at dinnertime and give the Keiver kids and his brothers and sisters lifts on the cross bars up and down the road. But misuse of the bike wasn’t why he’d got the sack. The grocer had got suspicious about the amount of stale loaves and broken biscuits that went missing rather than being sold on at a discount. Of course, he couldn’t prove that Danny had had them . . . but he reckoned it’d seemed odd that Mrs Lovat never seemed to need to buy bread to go with her margarine and jam.

Chapter Seven

‘I’m going to ask you a straight question and you’d better give me a straight answer.’ Tilly was talking to Sophy but she suddenly shot a frown at Alice. ‘Wait outside.’

Alice did as she was told and descended the stairs. She loitered first in the musty hallway then, when the sensation of debris, blown in by the wind, fluttering against her feet began to irritate, she went to breathe in the sweeter atmosphere of a dull and misty mid-November morning. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and shivered against the chill whilst her mind began turning over possible reasons why her mum would want a private talk with Sophy. From several painful experiences Alice had learned that usually no good reason prompted their mother to get you on your own.

She heard a clattering of footsteps on the stairs and saw her cousins Bobbie and Stevie emerge from the murky hallway. Alice noticed that one of Stevie’s cheeks looked red.

‘Your dad clouted yer?’ Alice asked him sympathetically.

Stevie sniffed and cuffed at his nose. ‘Nah . . . got it off me mum,’ he said.

‘He wet the bed again,’ Bobbie said and dodged as his brother swung out at him. ‘He’ll get a belt off dad ‘n’ all tonight if he smells piss on the sheet.’ Bobbie started trotting down the road.

‘Why don’t you shut yer gob,’ Stevie snarled after him before he slunk past Alice.

Various people were coming out of the tenement houses: adults going off to work, children on their way to school. Alice returned a simple greeting to people who hailed her whilst her mind still brooded on what was going on upstairs. She gazed up at the battered sash window as though wishing to peer in it and ease her curiosity. It seemed she’d been waiting ages for Sophy. Slowly her faraway vision dropped, focused on Sarah Whitton who was on her way down the road towards her.

Sarah had lodged with the Keivers until last month. Then Tilly had said enough was enough. She’d wanted Beth out of her bed and again in the back room with the other girls. So Sarah had had to return home. Sarah had wanted to stay but Alice had been oddly relieved and had only half-heartedly backed her friend’s pleas to stay. Since the piano had arrived and taken pride of place in the front room their home was even more cramped than usual. But it certainly had been well used and even her mum had grudgingly said it had been worth shelling out for.

‘What you hangin’ about for?’ Sarah asked as she drew level with Alice. ‘Be late if you don’t get going.’

‘Waiting for Sophy. Mum’s got her upstairs . . . talking to her,’ Alice added darkly.

‘She in trouble?’ Sarah asked with a grimace.

‘Dunno . . . hope not,’ Alice replied and sent another look up at the top-floor window. She suddenly realised that she needed to get rid of Sarah so that when Sophy eventually appeared she could find out what’d gone on. Sophy would clam up in front of Sarah. Their mum had drummed into them enough times that you never let anyone, including your friends, know too much about your family’s business. ‘You’d best be getting off or you’ll be late. Don’t hang about waiting for us.’

Sarah gave a shrug as though indicating she wasn’t too bothered about being late for registration but, after a few silent minutes, she sensed Alice’s withdrawal and mumbled a farewell. Alice watched her friend go and then took a few paces towards the desolate hallway. She wondered whether to creep back in and listen on the stairs to try and find out what was going on. She decided not to bother. If her mum were in any sort of paddy she’d be able to hear all about it just where she was.

‘I know you ‘n’ Danny Lovat have been friendly for a while and I ain’t put a stop to you seeing him because I ain’t seen you misbehaving.’ Tilly paused and considered. ‘Ain’t seen him misbehavin’ either. Fact is he’s been alright giving you bits ‘n’ pieces he’s got hold of.’ Tilly remembered that Danny had given Sophy bread and biscuits when he’d worked at the grocery store. Now he was helping out old Mr Greene on his market stall, Sophy often brought in a bit of buckshee fruit or salad stuff. In fact, Tilly had been happy to foster the little romance between her eldest daughter and the lad next door. But something was niggling at her and Tilly’s way was to have it out rather than brood on it.

‘Have you let him touch yer?’ Tilly demanded to know. She fixed on Sophy a stare that made her daughter blush crimson and fidget on the spot.

‘’Course not,’ Sophy spluttered, guessing at once what was worrying her mother. She’d thought she might not have noticed. Recently their mother had been boozing most nights now they were more flush with money. Their dad was working late distempering and so on and getting more of Basher Payne’s houses ready for the sanitary inspector. But, drunk or sober, it seemed Tilly managed to keep an eagle eye on all that occurred, or didn’t occur, in the Keiver household.

‘I’ve not seen you take any rags out the drawer this month.’ Tilly continued cutting bread for Bethany’s breakfast but she slid Sophy another piercing look. ‘You’d better not be lying to me, my gel,’ she said in a quiet, sinister voice, so unlike her usual harsh tone. ‘I’ve told you what happens when boys take liberties with gels. The gels get in the family way ‘n’ then it’s right big trouble. So even with boys you really like you don’t ever let them take liberties like that. Right? Remember what happened to Maisie Brookes?’

Sophy nodded, quickly edging towards the door. She remembered that alright. It’d gone round their school like wildfire that poor Maisie had almost died to get herself out of the trouble that Tommy Greenfield had got her into. But Sophy knew she wasn’t that daft. She and Danny had already worked that one out and knew what to do. ‘I’d better get going to school,’ she said. ‘I’ll be late.’ She shoved an arm into a sleeve of her coat.

‘Yeah . . . well, end of this month you won’t have no more school. The day you turn fourteen you’re out ‘n’ earnin’ full-time,’ Tilly called after her. ‘Christmas ain’t far off ‘n’ we need all the wages we can get to make it a good ’un fer once.’

Sophy gave a nod. She was glad to change the subject. ‘I’m already keeping me ears ‘n’ eyes open for something.’

‘I’ve been looking too. Don’t yer worry about that, my gel.’ Tilly gave a rare smile. ‘I think I’ve found something for you to start off with. Rag shop in Fonthill Road needs a sorter. One of ’em’s leaving to have her baby come the end of the month. I already put your name forward fer it.’

‘I ain’t doing that!’ Sophy stopped her sidling towards the door. She showed her mother an expression of total disgust. ‘I ain’t coming home stinking ‘n’ dusty ‘n’ covered in fleabites for a measly seven bob a week. I’ll stick with me doorsteps if nothing else turns up.’

‘You’ll take whatever full-time you can get hold of. If you want to keep your doorsteps then do them Saturday morning or give ’em to Alice to take on. Doorsteps are kids’ work for weekends. You’re out of here working every day, pulling in full-time, or you’re outta here fer good. I mean it.’

‘I’ll sort out me own work,’ Sophy mumbled and slipped out onto the landing before adding, ‘Pam Greenfield got a job packing in the laundry in Fonthill Road. I can try there.’ She turned and was soon hurrying down the stairs.

‘I already tried the laundry. They don’t want no one else right now,’ her mother yelled after her.

‘What’s she on about?’ Alice asked Sophy as they started trudging down the road towards school.

‘Reckons she’s got me a job ready ‘n’ waiting in the rag shop in Fonthill Road for when I turn fourteen. Fine birthday present that’ll be! Ain’t havin’ it ‘n’ that’s that. I’ll try one of the factories for a job as a tea gel. But I ain’t workin’ in no poxy rag shop sorting stinky old clothes for a pittance.’

Alice looked sympathetic. In just over a year’s time, it would be her turn to try and winkle out a reasonable job for herself. Searching for decent work around here – especially when employers guessed you came from the Campbell Bunk – was like finding a gold ring in the gutter.

‘You could go try in the factory that makes toys,’ she suggested to Sophy, but not very enthusiastically.

‘Connie reckons that’s what sent her sister Louisa so nutty. It were three years ago but she’s never been the same since, Connie says.’

‘Louisa’s always been a mad cow.’ Alice chuckled. ‘Anyhow you don’t want to go talking to Connie now she’s seeing that copper. Mum’ll go mad if she thinks you’ve been telling her anything. She calls her the copper’s nark.’

‘Haven’t told Connie nuthin’. Hardly ever talk to her. She thinks she’s something, she does, now she’s moved in with his family.’

‘They sound horrible anyhow,’ Alice said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Connie told Sarah his mum’s stuck up and calls her common as muck. His dad keeps touching Connie up.’ Alice looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll decide to come back here though.’

After they’d walked a distance in silence Alice shot a shrewd look at Sophy. ‘Is that all Mum wanted with you? To talk about getting work?’

Sophy pursed her lips before starting to chew at the lower. ‘Wanted to know about me ‘n’ Danny being sweet on each other . . . you know . . . about us kissing ‘n’ so on. She’s guessed me monthlies are late.’

Alice felt a hard lump jump to her throat. Sophy had already confided that to her but had said there was nothing to worry about because she’d been late before and in the end it came alright. But if Sophy had done something really silly, like dropping her drawers for Danny and going all the way, Alice didn’t even want to consider what the outcome of that might be.

When Tommy Greenfield had got Maisie Brookes in the family way all hell had broken loose. The Brookeses and Greenfields had been fighting in the streets every other day for ages. Then Maisie’s mum got what she wanted out of the Greenfields. She got some money and took Maisie to see someone in King’s Cross and when they got back Maisie wasn’t expecting any more.

‘D’you ever find out what happened to Maisie when she got pregnant?’ Alice slid a fearful look at Sophy.

‘Her mum took her to some sort of doctor down in King’s Cross.’ Sophy pulled a face. ‘He stuck something like a skewer inside her ter get rid of the baby and it all came out in sort of big bits of liver. That’s what I heard anyhow.’

‘Must’ve hurt terrible,’ Alice whispered with a shudder. She’d guessed it had been something awful because Maisie had looked like death warmed up for ages afterwards.

Sophy sensed Alice’s frightened eyes on her. ‘’S’alright,’ she reassured her but with a smile that wobbled on her lips. ‘We always do it standin’ up. Danny said you can’t ever get pregnant like that.’

‘You sure about it?’

Sophy nodded miserably, her eyes darting about as though she feared they were being watched. But at the moment the Fonthill Mews, where she and Danny had stationed themselves to talk in private, seemed to be quiet enough. ‘Sure as I can be. I know me aunt Fran was being sick when she was first expecting though she’s alright now she’s big as a house. Her baby’s due in a couple of months, me mum says.’

‘Can’t see nuthin’.’ Danny eyed Sophy’s belly. ‘Just ’cos you’ve been sick a few times don’t mean yer in the family way.’ He sounded desperate to believe his own reassurance and he scraped the fingers of one hand agitatedly through his hair.

‘’S’not just that. Me monthlies haven’t come for ages . . . must be almost three months now.’

‘Can’t be,’ Danny said then followed it up with, ‘Shit!’ He looked bleakly at Sophy. ‘Ain’t getting trapped in to stayin’ round here,’ he warned her through gritted teeth. ‘Ain’t ending up in some poxy room in a dump like this with no money and whining kids. Already got that back there and it’s driving me nuts.’ He jerked his head towards Campbell Road.

He raised a hand to touch Sophy’s face as he watched her lower lip wobble. ‘Love you, Sophy, honest I do, but we can’t get tied down yet or we’ll have nuthin’, just like the rest o’ the sad gits here. Be trapped in The Bunk forever, we will, if we can’t get decent jobs and get a few bob behind us before we get wed.’

Sophy nodded and bit her lip. She knew Danny was right, but she knew too she was pregnant. She felt different, she was getting fat, so a baby must be growing inside her.

It was mid December and many weeks had passed since her mother had interrogated her that morning and made her late for school. Tilly had managed to wangle her a good job at the Star Brush factory because she’d called in a favour from Kitty Drew, one of the supervisors. Sophy was only making tea and doing a few odd jobs but she liked it and the wages at eleven shillings were better than she’d expected to start off with. Not that she got to keep much of it. Her mother soon had her pay packet off her on a Friday and woe betide if she tried to slip a bit out before handing it over. Sophy knew that to lose such a good job would be a disaster. She knew she would lose it if she were pregnant. She glanced at Danny; he was still staring at her, white-faced and frowning, as though he was desperately trying to think of a reason why she might be wrong.

‘Can’t you do something?’ Danny burst out and then relief lifted his countenance. ‘You’re supposed to drink gin, or something like that,’ he rattled off. ‘I remember now when one of me friend’s brothers got a girl knocked up he got her a bottle o’ gin.’

‘Did it work?’ Sophy asked, brightening a little.

‘Dunno . . . we’re here now, ain’t we, not in Essex. It don’t notice,’ Danny added quickly as Sophy looked as though she might burst in to tears. ‘You can get rid of it before anyone knows . . . only us’ll ever know.’

‘Me mum’s gonna kill me if she finds out.’ Sophy snuffled on her sleeve.

‘I’ll get you a bottle of gin soon as I can,’ Danny promised. He leaned forward and pecked at her lips.

‘Gedoff!’ Sophy shoved him away. ‘’S’how I got in trouble.’ She pushed him more purposefully as he persevered in trying to kiss her. ‘Got to get back to work anyhow. Me dinnertime’s over.’ They walked to the end of the Fonthill Mews. ‘You’d best get me that gin then,’ Sophy ordered grumpily before they turned in opposite directions.

‘Fuckin’ fine New Year this is goin’ to be.’ Tilly’s shrieked exclamation reverberated about the room. It had been loud enough for every person in the tenement house to know something bad had happened to the Keivers.

Sophy cuffed her wet face and tried to escape her mother’s swinging fist by dodging behind her father.

‘Get off her and calm yourself down,’ Jack bawled at his wife as Tilly lunged at Sophy again. He grabbed at Tilly and, planting his palms on her shoulders, shoved her down on the edge of the bed.

Sophy was sobbing quietly, one of her palms fastened to a cheek reddened from her mother’s hefty blow.

‘You stupid little cow,’ Tilly spat between her thin lips. ‘I warned you . . . I warned you what’d happen if you let him . . .’

‘Shut up,’ Jack snarled at her. He might have seemed more in control of his temper than his wife but he was equally shocked and angry. ‘If I’m going to cause a war . . . and it will be a hell of a war,’ he stressed to his oldest daughter, ‘I need to know I’m doing it for a real reason.’ A paternal eye examined Sophy’s body. He noticed the thickening about her usually skinny hips and the buttons stretched across her bosom. ‘You sure, Sophy?’ he asked unnecessarily; his eyes had told him the awful truth.

‘She’s just been sick again,’ Tilly pointed out, kicking at the bowl on the floor that held the vomit and sending it over. ‘That’s the third time this week. She’s missed three monthlies. What more proof d’yer need that she’s knocked up?’

Jack swiped up the half-empty bottle of gin that Tilly had found hidden under the mattress in the back room. ‘’Course she’s been sick if she’s been downing this stuff.’

‘Why do you think she’s been downing that stuff?’ Tilly bawled scathingly. ‘To try and get rid of it, that’s why.’ She shot to her feet. ‘If you ain’t goin’ after Danny Lovat, I’ll do it meself. If those bastards think they’ve got a roof over their heads after today they can think again. They’re out on the streets and I’ll make sure nobody else round here takes them in. They’ll bleeding well suffer fer doin’ this to us.’

Jack again slammed a hand on Tilly’s shoulder and pushed her down. He swiped fidgeting fingers over his bristly jaw. ‘No need to be spiteful, Til. Seems it’s as much Sophy’s fault as his. Sophy ain’t accused Danny of forcing himself on her.’

‘He didn’t . . . I swear . . .’ Sophy squeaked from behind her father.

‘Keep quiet,’ Jack barked at her and continued reasoning with his wife. ‘I’d say Bert ‘n’ Margaret are going to be as done in as we are when they find out. They’re not going to want this trouble any more’n we do. They don’t need another mouth to feed any more’n we do.’

‘There ain’t gonna be another mouth to feed,’ Tilly spat out. ‘She’s only fourteen ‘n’ she’s getting decent wages down at Star Brush. Whatever needs to be done’ll be done.’

‘If you mean what I think you mean,’ Jack said through gritted teeth, ‘you’ll do it over my dead body.’ He glared ferociously at Tilly. ‘Abortionist ain’t getting nowhere near her, and that’s the end of it.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Tilly muttered.

Tilly got up and this time when Jack made to push her back down she thumped him in the chest double-handed. ‘I’m going round to see the Lovats. If you think you can stop me, just try. I’ll have you first if yer like.’

‘Can’t always sort out everything by lashin’ out, Til,’ Jack said quietly. ‘This is our daughter and our first grandchild we’re talking about here. Danny might do his duty by her. They’re both old enough to be wed, if not wise enough.’

‘Stupid, sentimental git!’ Tilly exploded. ‘What they supposed to do fer money? Neither of ’em’s got a pot to piss in. We got no room to have them here and the Lovats are worse off’n we are.’

Tilly transferred her glare to Alice, who had been standing still and silent in a corner of the room, watching and listening in fascinated dread to this latest upset in the Keiver household. Alice had been awaiting this showdown. For weeks past she’d feared it to be looming menacingly just a few days away.

‘You know anything about all this?’ Tilly demanded.

Alice shook her head and her anxious gaze darted back to Sophy. It wasn’t wholly a lie. She’d guessed, of course, at the awful truth as soon as she’d noticed Sophy’s belly getting bigger. But Sophy had said nothing and acted quite normal. She hadn’t confided in her even when she’d hidden the bottle of gin under the bed. Alice had just thought she’d started to drink because she was showing off now she’d got a good job.

So all the time Alice had hoped and prayed that she was wrong and Sophy was right: her sister might be getting a fat boozer but she couldn’t possibly be pregnant because she’d always done it standing up with Danny, so that was alright.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late January and despite the freezing cold weather a lot of people would be about in Campbell Road. That wouldn’t stop Tilly causing a rumpus out there in front of them. You kept to yourself and dealt in private with what you could, but when you couldn’t you might as well let the whole world know what you were up to, and why. That way they’d know you weren’t a mug and easily messed with. Tilly started for the door, rolling up her sleeves to her elbows as she went.

‘I’ll go next door. You stay here,’ Jack directed her grimly and stepped in front of her. It wasn’t that he feared for his wife’s safety. He knew she could look after herself, as did most people who’d been about The Bunk long enough to get on the wrong side of her. But he was still head of the household and as such it was his place to confront Danny.

‘I’ll be right behind you then,’ Tilly said forcefully. She let Jack go out then grabbing Sophy by the wrist she jerked her forward. ‘You can come ‘n’ all,’ she barked. ‘You’ve had your fun, now see what it cost. After that I’m gonna pay you fer this.’

Chapter Eight

‘Looks like trouble’s on its way.’

Geoff Lovat had made that muttered observation before turning from the window and staring meaningfully at his older brother. Unfortunately Danny missed his warning. He seemed to be lost in a world of his own and continued gazing at the cold tea cupped between his palms.

Their parents, ever alert to the word trouble, had both shot up from the table and elbowed Geoff out of the way. His mother had got there first. She was faster on her feet than his crippled father. Soon Bert had caught up and was squirming for a space at the window so he could peer out.

Moments before Geoff had been watching the street scene, yawning. Then he’d spotted the Keivers and his jaw had clacked shut. Jack Keiver was marching ahead with his wife right on his heels, dragging Sophy by an arm.

Instinctively Geoff had guessed what the problem was. He knew that when their parents had been getting a skinful on a Saturday night in the Keivers’ place Danny had been getting to grips with Sophy in their place. It hadn’t happened for a while now, probably because Sophy had panicked when she’d guessed she was up the duff and put a block on it. Often on a Saturday evening Geoff had been obliging enough to take himself off to give the lovebirds more time alone. Geoff had been glad to get out of the fleapit and hand over responsibility to Danny for their young brothers and sisters while he met a few mates for a crafty drink and smoke.

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