Coronation Day. Kay Brellend
told you before, I ain’t lying about any of it. Up to now I’ve just told him the bare bones and tried to make meself scarce quick as I could. But I’m done with that. He’s a man and he’s got a right to know. I care about him as much as I do about you, and don’t you forget it!’
‘Well, if you care that much, don’t go upsetting him, and you will if you keep on and he finds out his mother was cruel to him. Should never have told him in the first place that she was alive. Were only you kept on about it made me tell him she weren’t dead.’
‘I went on about it because you’d told lies! And lies always come back to bite yer!’ Matilda stormed.
‘What’s all the shouting about … ?’
Neither Matilda nor Stephen had heard the front door opening, or Christopher walking down the hall. He came further into the kitchen swinging a look between the guilty faces of his father and great-aunt.
And he knew, without either of them answering him.
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Glad you’re both here, and talking about me mum, ’cos I’ve got something to say on that subject too.’
Stephen licked his lips and darted a look at Matilda. She was gazing earnestly at her great-nephew.
‘I’m gonna start looking for her,’ Chris announced. ‘Fact is, I already have started.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve been to the place you told me she and her parents were last known to have lived.’ He stared at his father for a comment but Stephen was tight-lipped, whitening in anger. ‘The lady who now lives in that house remembers the Plummers. She reckoned they moved off to Cambridge over twenty years ago but ain’t sure if their daughter went with them or stayed in London.’ He watched his aunt and father exchange a look, but still neither of them said a word. ‘If there’s anything you can tell me I’d be grateful to hear it, but if you don’t want to help, it don’t matter ’cos I’m still gonna try and find her somehow, just to get things straight in me head.’
‘Well get this straight in yer head,’ Stephen suddenly bellowed. ‘She didn’t want you, I did! And I was the one took on the job of bringing you up, ’cos she was too bleedin’ useless to be a mother …’
‘That’s enough!’ Matilda had shoved herself to her feet. ‘Christopher wants to find out what happened to his mum. That’s natural enough …’
‘She weren’t never a natural mother; she was a lazy good-fer-nuthin’ slut …’
‘Shut up!’ Matilda roared, swiping out at Stephen’s arm with the back of her hand to quieten him. ‘If Christopher manages to find Pam, and she’s got the guts to have an honest talk with him, he can make up his own mind about her, and what went on.’
‘No … let him carry on,’ Christopher said quietly. ‘Finding out more in a few minutes than I’ve learned in twenty-four fucking years.’ He gazed at his father. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before? Why didn’t you say she was lazy and useless and we were better off without her?’ he asked in a voice hoarse with emotion.
‘Didn’t want to upset you about any of it,’ Stephen forced out. ‘What kid wants to know that sort of thing about his mum?’
‘Me … I’d’ve liked to know. D’you think she’d want to see me now? Did she ever try and see me after you broke up?’
Stephen clamped together his lips but gave a savage shake of his head. It was a lie. He’d had dozens of letters from Pamela over the first few years after their divorce. In them, she’d begged to see Christopher, but he hadn’t allowed it. The letters had petered out and, after their son turned five, the birthday cards stopped arriving too. Everything had been burned, but Stephen could remember they’d all had a London postmark. It had been the first thing he’d checked: whether she was still living locally. But he’d never seen her, although he’d expected her to turn up on his doorstep and demand to see their son. Stephen had jumped to the cosy conclusion that when the chips were down, she just couldn’t be bothered.
‘Why wouldn’t she want to see me? I wouldn’t make a nuisance of meself. All I want to do is spend an afternoon talking to her about when I was little and what she’s been up to … that’s all …’
Matilda felt tears needle her eyes and she swung about and started fiddling with the teapot and crockery.
Stephen strode for the door, grim-faced, but Christopher stepped in front of him to stop him leaving the kitchen. ‘Did she go off with another man? Is that it?’
Stephen shoved at Christopher’s arm to move him. But Christopher refused to budge, so he stuck a finger under his son’s nose. ‘The only thing you need to know is … who’s looked after yer? Eh? Who’s got you over bumps and scrapes and the bleedin’ measles and all the rest of it? I’ve spent me life going without and bringing you up …’
‘Yeah, I know. And I’m grateful to you fer making sacrifices. But it took the two of you to get me here in the first place. You ain’t everything …’
Stephen swore beneath his breath. ‘You’d better fuckin’ move, son, or there’s gonna be trouble,’ he threatened softly.
‘Christopher …’ Matilda’s grey head gestured for her great-nephew to move aside.
Stephen strode into the hallway and ripped his coat off the banisters before slamming out of the front door.
‘Well … that went well,’ Christopher said acidly. But his face was ashen with strain.
‘Sit down,’ Matilda said gently.
Once he was seated she put a cup of steaming tea in front of him and loaded sugar into it.
‘Fer what it’s worth, Chris,’ she said quietly, ‘I think you’re doing the right thing.’ She placed a rough hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed. ‘Can tell you like Grace a lot, even though you’ve not been walking out long together. Sometimes things just seem right, don’t they …’
He nodded and sipped from his tea.
‘Things are changing for you, Chris. You’re a man … oh, I know you have been fer quite a while, but comes a time when the larking about with yer mates gotta stop ’cos something far more important comes into your life.’ She walked away to the draining board. ‘Yer dad’ll get over it; be good fer him ’n’ all ter jump this hurdle, then perhaps he’ll start thinking about settling down again himself. He’s still a youngish man. No reason why him ’n’ Pearl can’t get married. Can’t use the excuse of caring fer his boy for ever, can he?’ she said lightly.
Christopher shook his head but didn’t look up. ‘D’you know where I could start looking?’
‘Bexleyheath,’ Matilda said. ‘I reckon if you was to go there and make some enquiries you might find out something about Pam Plummer … or Pam Wild. She might have kept to her married name, but I know when it all happened, and the two of ’em was eaten up with bitterness, she didn’t want to be known as a Wild. Then of course, she might have married again in the meantime, which would make it all a bit harder.’ She paused. ‘And you’ve got to accept that she might be dead, Chris. Whole of London took a battering during the war and lots of casualties … so if she stuck around in town …’
‘Yeah …’ he sighed. ‘Just be nice to know though. What makes you say Bexleyheath?’
‘Ran into a friend of your mum’s I hadn’t seen in a while, before the war. Vicky Watson was her bridesmaid. She said she’d sort of lost touch with Pam but thought she’d gone south of the river, Bexleyheath way. I remember Vicky seemed a bit cagey. It made me think Pam might have a new man in her life. Or perhaps Vicky just thought I harboured grudges over what went on between yer mum and dad. But that weren’t the case then and it ain’t now.’
‘Where does Vicky Watson live?’ Christopher immediately asked.
‘Ain’t