The Family. Kay Brellend

painful memories of the beatings his father had dealt out, Stevie had retained a spark of optimism that there might be some reason to be proud of the man who’d sired him. Back when he was a lot younger, he’d convinced himself that Jimmy Wild, like the unknown warrior and the men who’d lived in the neighbourhood, such as his uncle Jack Keiver and Geoff Lovat, had perished nobly on foreign soil for king and country. Later, when no official notification ever arrived about Jimmy Wild being missing, presumed dead, Stevie’s hopes had taken a different turn. His father might have returned, dreadfully wounded and suffering from amnesia. He had heard of fellows – seen them, too – who’d been shell-shocked, or had their minds destroyed by the terrible things they’d witnessed in the trenches. Then he’d wondered whether he might have been one of those unlucky civilians caught up in the London bombings, which had left many corpses too horribly mutilated for identification. Obstinately Stephen had clung to the fantasy that something other than callous self-interest might have prevented his father coming back home.

      Now he inwardly mocked himself for having wallowed in such sentimental guff. Yet he remained where he was; the old man was standing with his stepdaughter, and she had a face that’d draw any bloke in for a closer look. A couple of times he’d seen her walking down the road, but she’d crossed over and ignored him. He’d learned from Robert that their father had taken on a stepfamily when he’d got involved with Edie Greaves. He knew one of Edie’s kids was a girl aged about eighteen, called Faye. An odd note in his brother’s voice when he’d mentioned her had alerted Stephen to the fact that Rob had an interest there. But he’d not questioned him over it. Robert could be aggravatingly uncommunicative when it came to personal matters, especially where women or money were concerned.

      Curiosity was creeping over Faye too, so she ceased straining against the cruel grip Jimmy had placed on her arm. She’d only previously seen Stephen Wild at a distance. Now, as he slowly approached, she noticed that his hair was styled short, probably to tame its curls, and had a coarse appearance. Neither was the colour as dark brown as Robert’s sleek, straight mane. Stephen also looked to be a few inches shorter in height than his brother, although they shared a similar spare build. His eyes appeared lighter, too; more the colour of caramel than chocolate, and he had a slightly softer set to his lips. On the couple of occasions Faye had been with Robert she’d noticed the slant to his mouth that made him look constantly on the verge of being sarcastic. Possibly, when he’d been in his twenties, their father might have resembled his handsome sons. Now Jimmy was a bloated, grizzled wreck of a man; only a few dark threads in his lank grey hair hinted at his lost youth.

      ‘Still here then?’ Stephen greeted his father sourly as he approached and stopped close to the kerb. He cocked his head, looking them up and down.

      ‘’Course we’re still here. We ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ was Jimmy’s blunt reply. ‘Next time I leave The Bunk, it’ll be in a pine box.’

      ‘They all right with that?’ Stephen nodded at Faye as his eyes swept over her, a crooked smile on his lips. Now he was close to her, he could see it wasn’t only her face that was lovely; she had a sweet figure on her too. ‘Don’t know of any nice young lady who’d be grateful to be dragged here to live permanently.’

      ‘Faye’s a good gel; she’ll do as her dad tells her.’ Jimmy slung a possessive arm about her narrow shoulders.

      Faye shrugged him off immediately in a way that taught Stephen a lot about their relationship, and her obedience.

      ‘Yeah … can see she’s devoted to her new dad,’ he scoffed, watching her slender back as she disappeared, unhindered by Jimmy, into the house.

      ‘Don’t matter about her,’ Jimmy said, lip curling. ‘It’s me boys – me own boys, that is – who I care about.’

      Stephen hooted an acid laugh. ‘Yeah, we noticed how much you cared about us when we was growin’ up.’ He started on his way, but halted on hearing his father’s next comment.

      ‘Always thought it’d be you, y’know, who’d make summat of himself.’ Jimmy smiled, having regained Stephen’s attention. ‘You was always the brightest of the two of yers.’

      ‘How d’you work that out? Weren’t me wot done any good at school; Rob did.’

      ‘Don’t need no schoolin’ to be shrewd.’ Jimmy nodded at him. ‘You was the one learned the right lessons.’

      ‘Wot … like not to wet the bed ’cos I’d get the belt?’ Stephen took a step forward and put his lips close to his father’s unshaven cheek. ‘Yeah, I learned that lesson all right,’ emerged in a hiss.

      ‘And it were a lesson you needed to learn, son,’ Jimmy said in his weary, gentle way. ‘Did you want all the kids round here teasing the life outta yer ’n’ callin you names like “piss-pants”?’ Before Stephen could recover from the shock of hearing his father finally acknowledge his brutality, Jimmy continued, ‘You knew early on that you gotta be ambitious and make some money.’ A paternal hand patted his son’s shoulder. ‘When you was just a nipper, you was the one always wanted to earn himself coppers when the gambling school was up ’n’ running on a Sunday dinnertime; always acting dogger-out for us, wasn’t you. Your brother was too fond of sparring down the boys’ club with pals, or kicking a football about, as I remember.’

      ‘Yeah … ’n’ I soon learned he was wiser, ’cos doin’ little jobs for Solly fer nuthin’ paid off eventually in a fuckin’ big way. Anyhow, whatever I earned, you or Mum ’ud have it straight off me.’

      Jimmy shrugged, all affable. ‘Don’t want to start no arguments with you, son, nor hear you speak bad about yer mum, God rest her. She did her best …’

      ‘I’ll never speak bad about her … only you!’ Stephen exploded. ‘Don’t you try to twist me words, you crafty bastard.’

      ‘Right … right … calm down,’ Jimmy crooned soothingly. ‘All I’m saying, Stevie, is I’m surprised you’re the sidekick and Bobbie’s in charge. That’s all I’m sayin’ …’

      ‘Yeah … well, tell someone else,’ Stephen spat and strode off. His hands were thrust casually in his pockets, but his face was flushed and his mouth compressed in a thin line.

      Faye moved back from the doorway as she glimpsed Stephen crossing the road. She wouldn’t usually eavesdrop on other’s conversations, but she’d stopped, out of sight, just behind the doorjamb because she’d had an inkling her stepfather might try to stir up trouble. But the trouble he seemed to want to cause wasn’t the sort she’d anticipated. She’d thought he’d wind Stephen up and point him in the direction of the Keivers. She knew Jimmy was itching to start a war with Tilly Keiver; she’d seen the way he stared obsessively at the woman when she passed by, nose in the air, or occasionally two fingers in the air, when he tried to accost her and she couldn’t be bothered to tell him to piss off. But, instead, it seemed Jimmy’s intention was to drive a wedge between his sons. Silently, Faye hurried up the stairs in case he came in and saw her and guessed she’d been loitering and listening.

      Jimmy stayed where he was and watched, slit-eyed against the afternoon sun, as Stephen went about his business. When his son disappeared into a hallway opposite he turned and shuffled back inside, looking smug.

      The moment Faye entered the room, Adam immediately put out his arms to be picked up. She settled him against her hip then felt the dampness from his bottom seep into her skirt. She sighed and touched his posterior.

      ‘He wet?’ Edie demanded as she noticed her daughter’s actions.

      Faye nodded.

      ‘Get him in the back room and clean him up ’fore yer dad finds out,’ Edie garbled. ‘Y’know he reckons it’s high time Adam was trained.’

      ‘He’s only two and a bit,’ Faye protested. ‘He’s bound to have an accident now ’n’ again.’

      ‘You ’n’ Michael was dry by then,’ Edie said querulously, shooting an anxious look at the