‘How bad is he? Is he going to die?’ Pearl blurted out. She was a tubby woman and the tops of her arms were visibly quivering beneath her cardigan. She looked dishevelled, as though she’d dropped everything to race here. Suddenly she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to scrub at her watering eyes.
‘Waiting for the doctor to come and give us his verdict.’ Robert had put an arm around her trembling shoulders. ‘He’s strong as an ox, is Stevie,’ he encouraged her. ‘Take more’n a tumble to see him off …’
‘He’s been telling me about those pikeys in the street.’ Pearl was generally easy-going but, at present, her face was puckered in anger at the thought that Stephen might have been set about. ‘Have they done it to him? Was he in a fight?’ She shoved at her sleeves in agitation, eyes narrowing vengefully.
‘No, nothing like that,’ Robert soothed. ‘He’s had a fall from a ladder …’
Pearl gulped in a startled breath. ‘How high up was he … ?’ she started.
Matilda was first to notice the white-coated doctor entering and she sprung from her chair, flinching at the sharp pain in her knee. The little group converged on the portly fellow.
‘He’s been very lucky.’ The doctor addressed Christopher. ‘All things considered, it’s a miracle, young man, I’m not now writing your father’s death certificate.’ He waited until the information had sunk in and expressions of sheer thankfulness were transforming four faces. ‘He’s badly bruised and has a broken leg and collarbone and a few cracked ribs. The ladder probably saved him from worse injury. From the few words he’s said, he remembers landing on top of part of it and it probably broke his fall.’ He paused, aware of hungry eyes on him; the invalid’s family was silently devouring every word he uttered. ‘It’s the nasty head injury that’s most worrying,’ the doctor continued. ‘He’s concussed … I’m hoping that’s all it is. But we’ll need to keep a careful eye on him.’
Christopher nodded vigorously, feeling so utterly relieved that he thought he might burst out crying. He could feel heat in his eyes and a stinging sensation attacking his nose. He tried to say a few words of thanks but his throat seemed to have closed so he let his uncle do the talking and sank down onto the chair next to the one Pearl had tottered to. He put his elbows on his grimy overall knees and let his forehead sink into his cupped palms.
‘Can I go and see him?’ Robert asked.
‘I think just his son should see him today.’ The doctor paused. ‘And only for a few minutes; you mustn’t excite him at all. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness and needs to rest.’
Christopher nodded wordlessly and, as the doctor gave him a kind smile, he felt his eyes fill up again.
‘You’ll keep him in here for as long as necessary, won’t you, doctor? Don’t let him come out till you’re sure he’s ready.’ Robert knew his brother well enough: Stevie would discharge himself as soon as he was able to get his feet to the ground.
‘I’ll sit by his bed and make sure he don’t do a runner, if needs be,’ Matilda announced, thrusting her shaking hands into her coat pockets.
A sob suddenly burst from Pearl and she wailed against Christopher’s shoulder, ‘Stupid sod, he is. What’s he doing going up ladders at his age when there’s you young men to do that …’
Robert went over and patted comfortingly at her back. ‘Don’t worry, luv,’ he consoled her. ‘Soon as he gets out of here I’m gonna have his guts fer garters over it.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Yeah … it is …’ Christopher immediately spurned Grace’s comfort. ‘We’d argued again just this morning about me wanting to find me mum.’ The tip of his cigarette glowed and, in the ensuing silence, smoke drifted through his nostrils to mingle with night air. He turned away from the van’s open window to gaze at her. ‘Made a change for us to speak actually, even if it were just a blazing row. He’s been giving me the silent treatment for weeks. Hell it is trying to work with somebody all day long when they won’t say a word to you.’
‘It’s not your fault he went up that ladder, Chris,’ Grace gently persisted. ‘Your dad decided to use it, and he should’ve known better.’ One of her hands covered his fingers, resting idle on his thigh. ‘You’d all told him it was dangerous. What more could any of you have done?’
‘Could’ve kept quiet about me mum, that’s what I could’ve done. Wish I’d never bloody mentioned anything about going looking for her. Me dad was right. He’s always been around for me. What’s she done except made herself scarce for over twenty years?’ The bitter outburst tailed away only to be resumed a moment later. ‘I knew it’d upset him badly if I started going on about her, but still I did it.’
‘You’ve got a right to know about your mother,’ Grace quietly reasoned. ‘Anyhow, rowing over your mum doesn’t excuse him doing something stupid.’ She huffed. ‘For Heaven’s sake, at his age, he should’ve known better than risk his life like that!’
Irritably, Christopher whipped his fingers out from under Grace’s warm palm. He knew there was sense in what she was saying but anxiety and guilt continued gnawing at him. ‘Neither of us has been able to concentrate properly since this blew up. He probably forgot the ladder were knackered because of everything else going round in his head.’ Chris flicked the dog end out of the van window and immediately drew out another cigarette from the pack. ‘And where was I, eh, when it happened?’ His tone was viciously self-mocking. ‘Buying fags down the shop, weren’t I, ’cos I couldn’t stand the bad atmosphere and needed a break. If I’d been where I should’ve been, and seen him hoisting it, I’d’ve put a fourteen-pound hammer through the poxy thing right there and then.’
Grace slid closer to him on the seat and leaned her cheek against the tightly bunched muscle in his shoulder. ‘Come on … relax, don’t blame yourself,’ she softly urged, massaging his forearm with her small fingers. ‘The doctor said he’s been very lucky. Tomorrow when you get to the hospital you might find him sitting up having breakfast in bed.’
‘Please God you’re right about that …’ Chris mumbled. ‘He didn’t say a word to me. Don’t know if he could hear me talking to him. Looked still as death and whiter’n the sheet tucked under his chin.’
At the hospital Christopher had stayed only briefly with his father yet he’d found the time ample. The sharp, sterile scent of the small side ward, and oppressive silence, had made him glad to spot the doctor beckoning him away after five minutes. Although Stephen’s eyelids had flickered up once or twice he either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak to his son. Nevertheless Christopher intended to visit the hospital first thing tomorrow before carrying on to see his uncle Rob and sort out what was to be done about the work situation.
‘He’ll be fine after his breakages mend and he’s had a good rest!’ Grace whispered fiercely against his stubble. She rubbed a finger back and forth on his grimy jaw, realising it wasn’t just his overalls that smelled mucky, but his skin too. ‘You could do with a wash and shave.’
Christopher put an arm around her and eased his face against her sweetly scented skin. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without you to talk to,’ he murmured.
‘Thought you said your Aunt Tilly was a diamond at listening and giving advice,’ she teased.
‘She is …’ Christopher paused, realising that a couple of months ago he’d have headed straight to Whadcoat Street to sift through the day’s troubles with his aunt. But instinctively he’d come away from the hospital and headed towards Tottenham, without even returning home first to wash and change out of his work clothes. ‘It’s you I need to talk to now when bad things happen.’