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

took one from her and downed it in one. He was a fine lad, was her Charlie. He’d be a fine man as well.

      ‘Thanks, auntie Aggie,’ he said, winking. ‘I’ll miss you when we’re gone.’

      Agnes blushed. She was soft on him. Always had been. Always would be. The son she’d never had, perhaps? Though she’d never let on. ‘Ah, go on, lad,’ she said, ‘an’ you be sure to watch over them young ’uns for your ma, hear me?’ She gestured towards Annie’s belly. ‘Specially when she’s pushing that latest one out.’

      Young Reggie winced, which made Annie smile. He was at that age when anything to do with women having babies made him do that. Not so slow when it came to girls, though, she thought, smiling to herself.

      ‘Come on, then,’ his father ordered – now he’d been that age for ever. ‘Let’s be off, then. We’ve still a day’s work to do down at the other place.’

      In half a day, Annie thought, gathering her bag and a stray baby’s rattle she’d retrieved from the hedge earlier. Then she took Charlie’s arm and they set off in the warm August sunshine, the thought of that bath, and having a soak in it, making the walk just that little easier.

      But today? Yes, she thought to herself, already knowing the answer. And some say pigs fly, Annie Hudson.

      Charlie was glad to get to the new place and to know his day was over. He’d been hard at it since early morning, and as far as he was concerned had done his bit. He had somewhere to be now – a meet with old Mr Cappovanni. To discuss a boxing match he was taking part in the following month.

      Mr Cappovanni was more of his manager now, whenever the opportunity arose – something that tickled Charlie no end. It made him feel like more of a professional, and had changed the dynamic between them. He even fought under the new name of Tucker Hudson. He had no idea why, but that was the name his grandfather had been known by and, according to Mr Cappovanni, it was a proper boxer’s name.

      And Charlie, more than anything, wanted to be a proper boxer. And he’d made a good start as well; though he’d not yet had many serious fights, he’d won every one that he’d had.

      Which was good, but, from the financial point of view, it wasn’t that good, because it didn’t really leave much of an opportunity for the bookies taking bets on an outcome. Charlie wondered what Mr Cappovanni might have in mind for his next fight. For him to throw it? It was possible. He’d already talked about it. The question was, was it something Charlie should agree to? He’d have to see. Money was always in such chronically short supply. He decided he might consider it – for a price.

      Right now, though, standing in the doorway of one of the three upstairs bedrooms, Charlie’s thoughts were on more workaday things – such as the mess in the bedroom before him. It felt strange having a new house – everything gleaming and perfect – and then filling it with all their grimy, battered possessions. But it could have been worse. They at least had a bit of space now. And having three bedrooms made one extremely important difference. It meant that, at long last, the children could be separated into the sexes. Charlie, Reggie, Ronnie, Brian and little Keith would go into the bigger room – the one he was standing in, and Margaret, Eunice, Annie and June would share the one opposite. And the boys had done better in the bed stakes as well. While the girls had to use the filthy smelly mattress they’d brought with them, Annie had managed to beg a new one from the church for the boys. Well, not exactly new – it had apparently belonged to another parishioner, who’d died. But not while actually on it, Annie had quickly reassured them.

      It was still a squash, though, and if Charlie had one wish about his mam’s pregnancy it was that whatever came out at the end of it was a girl. It was hard enough trying to sleep sharing a mattress as it was; throw in a new baby and he might as well say goodbye to sleep at all. Not the best training for a professional boxer.

      It was just two weeks after the move when he had an answer to that question. It was early September now and most of the kids were back in school. Charlie and Reggie, however, too old for school these days, had been told that on no account were they to do a disappearing act, as their dad was at work and their mam was getting close now. Enjoying the peace and quiet that had been enforced on them – they were jointly in charge of minding their baby brother – they were boxing in the back garden, cheered on by little Keith, who was just three.

      They heard Margaret coming out before they saw her.

      ‘Quick, Charlie!’ she said briskly, beckoning them to come back inside. ‘It’s time. One of you needs to go for the midwife.’

      Margaret was normally at work too – she was a machinist down at Brigella Mills – but she’d decided not to go in so she could keep an eye on their mam. She’d already looked like she might be starting that morning.

      ‘Go on, you go, Reggie,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll stay here and mind our Keith. And if she’s not in, you know the drill, don’t you?’

      Reggie nodded. He knew the drill because they all did. Emma the midwife, who lived round in Nene Street, was a familiar face around the whole of their part of Bradford, and over the years had brought most of the local kids into the world. And if she wasn’t home, she had a piece of slate propped on her doorstep, on which she’d chalk the addresses of all the women she’d planned on visiting that day. That way, if she was needed, there was always a way to find her, though, more often than not, she was usually found out and about, going from patient to patient on her shiny black tricycle.

      Having delivered her orders, Margaret went back inside to look after Annie, so there was nothing for Charlie and Keith to do but wait. There was certainly no point in running down to the Punch Bowl to fetch his dad back from work; Big Reggie, as people had taken to calling him since little Reggie’d been born, had no truck with men getting involved in such things. He’d come home, there’d be another nipper, and that would be that, something Charlie didn’t really understand. Why did he keep on giving his mama all these babies if he couldn’t be bothered with them when they came?

      ‘You want to fight me?’ he asked Keith now. ‘Punch me lights out, little man?’

      Being the baby, little Keith got lots of attention from his brothers and sisters, but by this time tomorrow, Charlie thought, that would change. Though not from him – he had a real soft spot for his little firecracker of a brother. He was scrawny as a chicken but he had a confident way about him – a certain chippiness that always made Charlie smile. Perhaps he’d make a fighter of him yet.

      He lifted his fists. ‘Come on,’ he said, pretending to duck and dive and land punches in Keith’s direction. ‘Put ’em up! Go on, give it to me,’ he urged, trying to look frightened as little Keith jabbed his tiny fists at Charlie’s face.

      ‘Come on, Keith, faster! Pow! Pow! Oh look at you! You’re like James Cagney, you are. Come on, on me chin, lad – that’s it.’

      ‘Gocha, gotcha!’ little Keith shouted, squealing with delight.

      It was a good half hour before there was any sign of action from the house. Being out in the back garden, they had no way of knowing whether Nurse Emma had come or not, and that suited Charlie just fine. They’d know soon enough, because Margaret would come and tell them. Tell them and start barking her usual orders. Go get this. Go do that. Definitely don’t do the other. And it would be like that for ruddy weeks, too. A new baby caused chaos and a terrible amount of noise. No, best to make the most of the peace while it lasted.

      But it was Reggie who appeared out of the back door, rather than Margaret. He stood on the back step, looking ashen, and Charlie became worried.

      ‘Where’s nurse Emma?’ Charlie asked him. ‘Couldn’t you find her?’

      Reggie nodded backwards. ‘In there. Urgh – but it’s disgusting, Charlie. Horrible. Blood ’n’ guts all over the place. Ugh!’

      Charlie grinned and chucked Keith round the chin. It was his brother Reggie who needed toughening up. ‘Shurrup, you sissy,’ he said, ‘before I set our Keith on