Blood Line: Sometimes Tragedy Is in Your Blood. Julie Shaw

cry.

      Charlie leaned in through the back door. ‘Boy or girl, Margaret?’ he shouted.

      ‘Boy!’ came the answer, followed by a long string of instructions.

      That was that, then. A few weeks sleeping in the drawer beside his mam and dad’s bed, then the little bleeder – whatever they decided to call him – would be in with the rest of them.

      Great, Charlie thought, doing a quick calculation. That would be his share reduced to just a sixth.

Chapter 5

      The war was beginning to make itself felt. Charlie remembered how, growing up, his mum had told him all about how certain groceries were rationed in the Great War, but now this one was under way it was still a shock to see how many things you couldn’t get any more. And even the things you could get were strictly controlled – you had to buy them by producing a coupon from something called a ration book, coupons that were rationed in themselves. They were used to buy things that, when you could afford them at least, used to be plentiful: sugar, butter, tea, jam, meat, cheese and eggs. All gone – or as good as, because they were in such short supply. Charlie reckoned that Hitler, the horrible German leader who seemed to want to take over the world, must be trying to starve everyone into submission.

      But, as Charlie had learned a long time ago, during the boxing match he’d won a shilling at, with desperation there usually came determination. And though he wasn’t that desperate, he knew others were, and even those that weren’t still had a hunger for the sort of basic things they’d once taken for granted.

      Which meant opportunity.

      Charlie had grown into a strapping hulk of a young man. To the astonishment of his mother (which always amused him) he now stood a good two or three inches over his father, and because he boxed at every opportunity he was strong, too. He’d also carved out a bit of a reputation for himself locally, and not just with the girls who swooned over him either. He’d lived on the Canterbury estate for less than a year now but already he was well known as someone you could rely on – or someone you didn’t mess with, depending on your point of view.

      Charlie was also independent, which mattered to him greatly. It had never really appealed to him, the idea of getting a job and working for someone else, and because he was clever and opportunistic, and had several ways of making a bob or two, so far he hadn’t needed to, either. This too, despite his relative youth, had given him status in the community, and because of his size and strength most people would do anything Charlie ‘suggested’. The local grocer, Theo Briggs, was no exception.

      ‘So what I was thinking,’ Charlie said to Theo one early autumn morning, ‘was that I’ll fetch you apples, plums and whatever else I get my hands on, and you keep it under the counter. It’s up to you if you save it for them that’s got coupons, but we’ll split the income, how about that? I’ll need to collect three-quarters of it, mind, Theo, because I’ve got my brothers to pay.’

      Theo looked doubtful, which amused Charlie greatly. Balding, fat and in his forties, lending him an air of jolly respectability, it was no secret that Theo had been a bit of a rogue in his youth. In fact, local legend had it that he’d won the money to buy his shop in a card game – and that getting his winnings, apparently the loser’s life savings, had involved a couple of bones being broken, too.

      ‘It’s illegal, Charlie,’ he pointed out now. ‘You know that.’

      Charlie nodded his understanding, then placed both of his huge fists on the counter. Not as a threat – more as a form of persuasion, just as he’d seen old Mr Cappovanni do so many times over the years. ‘I’ll do it, obviously,’ Theo added. ‘But I’m risking getting caught, aren’t I? Tell you what. How about we go halves?’

      Again, Charlie nodded to convey his appreciation of Theo’s position. Then he picked up an orange from a box on the counter. A rare and precious jewel now, oranges were only supposed to be sold to people who could prove they had children. And they came at a cost, too. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it appreciatively.

      ‘Lovely,’ he said, tossing it in the air a couple of times. He then proceeded to peel it, throwing the bits of peel onto the floor as he did so. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I have my brothers to pay, don’t I? And we’re taking a risk of getting caught as well. So here’s an idea. How about we don’t go halves. How about we stick with three-quarters?’ He looked down to the mess he’d created on the floor of Theo’s shop. ‘How about I also see to it that this place doesn’t get turned over by all the starving little thieves on my estate? What d’you think? How about that?’

      Theo shook Charlie’s hand and the deal was sealed.

      Charlie winked at his mam as he breezed back into the house the following morning, having finalised his plan overnight and strolled back down to Theo’s again to get himself a hessian sack. Annie had little Malcolm on her hip and was sitting with Eunice, and by the expression on his sister’s face Charlie reckoned they were having one of their regular discussions about Annie’s wish for Eunice to leave school and go to work.

      Eunice was 13 now, and Charlie knew she really didn’t want to. She’d said as much to her more than once, and he reckoned she was right, too. She was a clever girl and if she wanted to learn more then she should do. After all – look at Margaret, who toiled such long hours as a machinist, putting her wages in the pot on the mantelpiece only to have them taken out again by her father, once his wages had run out. And it wasn’t like they were going on anything useful for the kids, either. They were just funding his booze habit – helping no one, and often hurting them instead. He was still as free with his belt when he was drunk as he ever was. It was no wonder they’d recently found the pot smashed in the garden. No one had admitted to smashing it, but Charlie reckoned he knew. No, Eunice should stay put, to his mind.

      It was a Saturday, which meant no school, which on a sunny day like this one meant his siblings would variously be scattered around the estate or, more usually, all together playing out back. There were so many of them now, they didn’t really need anyone else for fun. They were like a tribe now, the Hudson kids, everyone said so. Well, except for Margaret, who’d started seeing some toff from down south. Called Bob Sloper, he’d come to Bradford to stay with an aunt, his mam and dad having been worried about him staying down in Kent since the bombings. He was joining up any day soon, so they’d be making the most of their last days together. And Margaret would be a right narky cow once he’d gone.

      ‘Kids in the back garden, Mam?’ he asked Annie now.

      ‘They are, son,’ she said. ‘Can’t you hear them? Our Reggie’s got the tin bath off the hook and they’ve put some water in it to play in.’ She shook her head. ‘Been in and out all morning, our Brian and little Keith have. Little buggers, the pair of them. The ruddy floor’s wet through!’

      Charlie laughed as he went through the house and into the garden. She was right. There was a soggy trail of tiny footprints all over the lino, which he dodged as he made his way to the back door. ‘Right,’ he said, scanning his siblings. ‘Reggie, Ronnie, Annie. Get your shoes on. And get your jumpers. You’re coming with me.’

      The kids stopped what they were doing and looked excitedly at Charlie. He knew they loved it when they were allowed to go on adventures with him. ‘Me an’ all, Charlie?’ Annie asked him, as if not believing her luck.

      ‘You as well, Annie,’ he confirmed. ‘You’re eight now, aren’t you?’

      ‘Eight and a quarter,’ she corrected. ‘And why’d we need jumpers? It’s boiling.’

      She was a sharp one, was Annie, Charlie mused. She’d go far. ‘Well, there you go, then,’ he said. ‘If you’re already eight and a quarter you should be earning your keep. And as for the jumpers …’ He tapped a finger against his nose.

      ‘Yeah, but she’s a girl,’ Ronnie pointed out.