The Street. Kay Brellend

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СКАЧАТЬ started to clap. ‘New position for you, love, eh? Or perhaps you like it up the jacksie,’ someone shouted.

      Another time Tilly might have joined in the banter but she was in no mood for it today. She stuck her hands on her hips and swiftly got her breath back before swinging about. She immediately stalked after her brother-in-law. ‘You fuckin’ animal.’ One of her thick fingers was up close to Jimmy’s unshaven chin. ‘Find yourself another place and another punch bag. Come back here again and touch me sister ‘n’ you’ll be leavin’ in a pine box.’

      Bright colour started to creep up under Jimmy’s collar. Having a brawl in the street with a man was one thing; being threatened by a woman in front of an audience was another. Tilly bloody Keiver was making him into a laughing stock and he didn’t even have the consolation of knowing that later he could, behind closed doors and at his leisure, kick the words back down her throat. She wasn’t his to tame, more was the pity. Only once had she been at his mercy and if he’d known what a thorn in his side she’d become over the years he’d have done a far better job of making sure she gave him respect and a wide berth in the future. That soft sod she’d married let her get away with too much and she’d got cocksure.

      He took a furtive glance to right and left to see who was witnessing his humiliation. One of his drinking pals from Lennox Road was laughing openly at him and it made his gut start to writhe. He’d have to give Tilly Keiver a smack in public just to save face.

      With his fists tightening at his sides he marched after Tilly to confront her. ‘You interfering bitch,’ he enunciated in a furious whisper whilst swaying on the balls of his feet, ready to strike. ‘Why don’t yer piss off home and sort out your own business?’

      ‘This is my business, you bastard,’ Tilly snarled and lunged forward, her fingers curled. Before she could tear into him she was grabbed from behind and hauled clear of Jimmy’s swinging fist.

      Jack Keiver held onto his struggling wife, his arms hooked under hers so she could do nothing but kick out in frustration and punch her hands in the air. Ignoring her threats and curses he simply said one word, ‘Twitch.’ It was enough to immediately calm her down and quieten the crowd.

      The little group of spectators started to shuffle, then disperse. In less than a minute only Nellie, still on her hands and knees and whimpering, remained with the Keiver clan when the two constables reached them.

      ‘What’s going on here?’

      The officer who had spoken was Constable Bickerstaff, nicknamed Twitch by inhabitants of The Bunk on account of a recurrent tic that regularly brought one of his shoulders and ears together. He spasmed and cast a stern look at the dishevelled woman crouching on the floor. ‘What’s going on?’ he again demanded to know. He fiddled with the truncheon on his hip as though to reinforce his authority and hurry an explanation.

      ‘Nuthin’.’

      The single word was chorused by all, even Nellie. Twitch turned to his colleague. Constable Franks was more interested in eyeing a comely woman across the road than bothering with this rabble. Connie Whitton had been watching the spectacle at a distance. The little tease knew he liked her and tauntingly flicked up her skirt to give him a glimpse of her knees before having a raucous laugh with her friends at his expense.

      ‘What d’you reckon about all this?’ Bickerstaff asked Franks. ‘It looks like more than nothing to me.’

      ‘I reckon it’s nothing if that’s what they all say it is,’ the younger man replied flatly, then looked around, his expression displaying disgust at his environment. The depressing, rotten houses marched off either side of the road as far as the eye could see, interspersed here and there by shops that seemed to make little effort to draw in customers, judging by their gloomy window displays. Franks had been transferred from Hampstead so was quite new to this beat. He knew they were required to walk this route but he saw no reason why they should linger unnecessarily in the worst street in North London.

      Campbell Road, so he had been told by long-serving colleagues, and some of The Bunk’s inhabitants, was home to the most notorious criminals: thieves, prostitutes, fraudsters – every sort of rogue and vagabond drifted through this slum. Unbelievable as it seemed to Franks, some had settled and been resident a very long while. If a couple of women – one who looked like she’d had seven bells beaten out of her – wanted to set about a well-known brass, it didn’t take a genius to work out that one of their old men was playing away. Bickerstaff might be a stickler for doing things by the book but, in the great scheme of things, this was a petty domestic incident. The Bunk community had its own system of justice. Franks agreed with it: leave them be to shovel up their own shit.

      ‘Well . . . right . . . come on, then. Get on home, the lot of you, before I change my mind and get out my book.’ Twitch earned his nickname again. He didn’t want to start an argument with Franks in front of this crowd. But back at base he’d have something to say about his colleague’s lack of support. To his mind, the new recruit was too keen on warming his arse on a chair and his hands on a mug of tea.

      Jimmy Wild needed no further telling. With a sly, poisonous look encompassing his wife and his in-laws he sauntered off towards Paddington Street. Tilly and Jack took up position either side of Fran and, linking arms, they started off home.

      Twitch made to follow Franks who’d also moved away, impatient to get back to the comfort of the station. He hesitated and stooped to take a look at Nellie, who was still huddled on the pavement. Not a soul had come to her aid, even to get her to her feet. The worthless scumbag who’d caused the trouble had been the first to skedaddle.

      Sidney Bickerstaff had been pounding this beat for very many years. He knew the people round here. He knew Wild. He was a womanising thug who had once put his wife in hospital because he couldn’t control his temper or his fists. Yet the policeman had seen the weasel turn and flee rather than stand his ground when an irate fellow accused him of touching up his wife. Sidney came across many Jimmy Wilds in his line of work. Every one was a charming fellow on the surface. But underneath was a despicable coward who enjoyed beating up women because a fair fight with another man terrified him.

      Sidney had guessed at once what had gone on. He took another look at the grizzling tart. Presently she was trying to keep her tangled blonde hair from sticking to the blood on her face. A clump of it was on the road beside her.

      ‘Need a hand, love?’ Sidney Bickerstaff stooped to proffer an arm.

      ‘Fuck off, copper,’ she replied and, clearing her throat of congealed blood and mucus, spat it onto the ground by his feet.

      Twitch looked at the mess an inch from his polished shoes. ‘Lucky you missed, or you’d be licking them clean,’ he threatened softly.

      ‘If it ain’t yer shoes you mean it’d cost you a lot more’n you could afford, mate.’ Nellie managed a coarse laugh but it hurt, so she stopped. ‘Fuck off, copper,’ she repeated more quietly.

      ‘Mum! Mum, come and see, quick!’

      It was a Saturday in spring and some balmy sunshine had drawn Tilly’s three oldest daughters out into the air to sit on the pavement with their cousins. Now Alice bolted upright from her squatting position on the kerb and hared into the house. She met her mother flying down the stairs when she was halfway up.

      Tilly had immediately responded to her daughter’s urgent summons. ‘What the bleedin’ hell you bawlin’ out fer? What’s up?’

      ‘There’s a little crowd comin’ up the road! Come ‘n’ see. The man shouted at us СКАЧАТЬ