Blood Line: Sometimes Tragedy Is in Your Blood

Charlie promised he would, then ran off towards his mentor. His dad might have taught him all he knew about boxing, but Mr Cappovanni knew about all sorts of other, more interesting things, like running books, protection rackets, extortion. And as far as Charlie was concerned these were the things you really needed to know about, and Mr Cappovanni was the man from whom he’d learn them.

‘Can you put this on Billy for me, Mr Cappovanni?’ Charlie whispered as he got near enough. ‘Only don’t tell me mam or dad, will you?’

He slipped the pennies into the bookie’s dark, wrinkled hand and watched as his fingers closed over them.

Cappovanni was in his mid-fifties, and though nobody knew for sure, it was generally assumed he had a connection with the Mafia. This alone seemed to be enough to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, and whether it was true or not, there was no doubt he was a force to be reckoned with; where the Depression kept the rest of the country in poverty and rags, Albert Cappovanni had risen to the top – like a great beast rising from a sea of grime.

He stared hard at Charlie for a moment, skewering him under his gaze. Then laughed out loud. ‘My, my, kiddo,’ he said, ‘I’ll make a man out of you yet! And don’t worry,’ he added under his breath, ‘I’ll keep it quiet, son, but one thing.’ His eyes narrowed and he leaned down towards Charlie. ‘Don’t you go telling anyone else you’ve gone against your old man, will you? Or I’ll have to alter my odds. My old lady’ll have me guts for garters if I don’t go home on top.’

Which was something Charlie couldn’t imagine Mr Cappovanni’s wife ever doing, but he promised he wouldn’t and scampered happily back to his mam.

The fight was due to start very soon after. The club was heaving now, the air tinged with blue from all the pipe smoke and from those lighting up Players Navy cigarettes. The men had formed a ring now around Reggie and Billy, while the few women that were there hung back and chatted by the bar. This obviously included his mam, so Charlie was free to enjoy the fight, even more so when Mr Cappovanni scooped him up and gave him the perfect vantage point sitting on his shoulders. From here he’d cheer for his dad, obviously, shouting along with all his mates, but all the while hoping his long shot would pay off. Which to his mind wasn’t even that much of a long shot. His dad might be the favourite, but Charlie was sharp. He had eyes and ears and the reason he knew about Billy Brennan was because he never wasted an opportunity to use them.

It was exciting but at the same time sometimes difficult to watch. It was his dad, after all, and this was a bare-knuckle fight. They always were. Gloves and padding were generally considered to be for sissies, so blood, snot and spit splatters were the norm, and he winced as he watched the blows raining down, as the two men pummelled the life out of each other.

He took careful note though and, as each round ended – with the ringing of a bell – he made a mental note of the way things were going. And it soon became clear that his dad wasn’t going to win. Billy Brennan, as Charlie’d anticipated, was like a raging animal in the impromptu ring, screaming and running at Reggie as if protecting his young, which, in a way, was what he was there to do. And though Reggie tried to mirror every punch, and often succeeded, he was never going to be a match for a desperate starving man. The fight was all over in 20 minutes.

As Charlie’s dad threw the towel in Charlie himself glanced around, and it was clear most of the bets had been on Reggie. Most of the onlookers looked as defeated as the fighter they’d backed, throwing down their chitties and grumbling to each other. Not that anyone would say a word to Charlie’s dad. They wouldn’t dare. His adrenalin still pumping, Reggie always had a punch in reserve for after a fight, and it would still be in his blood when they got home as well. A good time to do a disappearing act, Charlie thought.

After watching his parents sink a few more morose gills, Charlie was glad when it was time to go home. He’d done well – he’d won a shilling – turned his three pennies into 12, all thanks to his bet with Mr Cappovanni, though it was money he’d not have to worry about hiding; he’d have it off him at a more sensible time. But there would be a price to pay for his dad’s loss, even though it wasn’t him that was responsible, and as they walked up the path he could tell even without looking that his mam would be watching his dad, trying to gauge his mood.

He glanced up to see Margaret peering hopefully out of the window, knowing she’d work it out for herself even before he shook his head. It was the same every time his dad had a fight, always had been. If he won, they’d be linking arms, giggling and stupid – blind drunk, the pair of them, but in a good way. Those times the kids would all get a treat, too. If he lost, though, they would still be blind drunk, but scowling at each other and usually arguing all the way home. The kids knew there’d be no treat on those occasions.

This was one of those occasions. ‘Why are you all still up?’ Reggie roared as he staggered into the front room. He lunged at Margaret and tried to grab her but she ducked. ‘Come here, you little get!’ he yelled. ‘I hope you’ve made us some tea, girl – and get these bleeding nippers up to bed!’

Margaret kept her composure. She always did. Charlie imagined she always would. ‘There’s some dripping in the back room, dad,’ she said, ‘and some tea on the range. Shall I get you some?’ she ventured, trying to pacify him.

Annie, being drunk, was less civilised. ‘Oh, so you’re a big man now, are you, Reggie Hudson? Not so bloody big in the club, were you? Don’t you dare take it out on these children!’

Reggie spun round and landed a slap on the side of Annie’s head. ‘Keep it shut, Annie, I’m warning you,’ he growled. ‘You’re a wicked woman. Always was, always will be.’

Annie drew herself up, just as she always did, and Charlie knew what was coming. ‘I promise you on my life, Reggie, I’ll leave you, I will! I’ll pack my things and take the kids and go back to my mother’s. I’m not standing for this every bloody week.’

Charlie’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next as well. As did the others. You could see it on their faces. Little Eunice quickly scooped up baby Annie and backed away towards the fireplace. ‘It’s all right, Dada,’ she said. ‘We’ll be good an’ we’ll all go to bed now. Look, Dada – our little Annie is smiling at you.’

‘No!’ Reggie yelled, glaring at Annie. ‘It’s bloody not all right! Come on, the lot of you, line up. Your mother is leaving, is she? Well, let’s just see, eh? Come on – you too, Charlie. You get over here right now. Right. One at a time, then. Come on,’ he roared. ‘Who are you going to live with?’

It was the same almost every weekend. Were they going to pick him or were they going to pick her? Too much beer and not enough to eat – that was what Agnes next door always used to say. All this nonsense for a bit of bread. And she should know, Charlie thought miserably, as he took his place in line. She heard every word, every time.

The outcome never differed, either. The young ones would cry and refuse to answer, which would only make their father worse; he’d take his belt off and would wave it around, sometimes clipping one or two of them, threatening them with it till they’d all made their choice. And between them, the kids tried their best to make it fair. One by one, they’d alternate, half choosing Annie, the other Reggie, but whatever they did, and whoever they chose, it still earned all of them a crack. Still saw them sent off to bed without any supper. And in Charlie’s case, without any tea either.

‘Stop that snivelling,’ Charlie ordered as his brothers and sisters clambered across the freezing cold mattress. ‘It’ll do you no good and it won’t get you any supper either. Listen,’ he added, lowering his voice, just in case the rowing downstairs stopped, ‘I’ve earned some wages tonight, so if you shut up and be good, I’ll get you all some sugar and cocoa tomorrow.’

The grins on his siblings’ faces felt like riches to Charlie. Even Margaret smiled – something she didn’t do often, especially when her mam and dad started up the way they had. Charlie felt happier now. Tomorrow, like he’d promised, he’d treat them – make them all cones out of some folded-up bits of newspaper, share the spoils and watch them lick their fingers in and dip to their hearts’ content.

Then tonight, just like always, would be forgotten.

Chapter 4 (#uef994a76-bf06-54a9-9f7c-1395028a6a20)

1940

Annie lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it as she sat down on the doorstep for a moment’s rest. It had been an exhausting morning and would be an equally exhausting afternoon, and as she watched Reggie and the boys disappear round the corner with the last of the family’s belongings, all she could think of was the mess that she’d be faced with when she got to the other end.

They were moving today, after 22 years. To the brand new estate that was currently being built in Little Horton, to provide homes for the growing population. And they’d been lucky, in a way – the Broomfields estate was going to be being demolished over the next couple of years and, as a growing family, they’d got priority for getting the first of the built homes.

‘You all set then, fanny Annie?’ Agnes Flanagan asked as she stepped out of her own door. ‘Sure, you and your tribe won’t want to know us now you’ve got yourself a three bedroomed.’

Annie blew out smoke in a thin stream and shook her head. She must be getting old. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d last felt so bone-weary. ‘I’ve nothing to brag about, Agnes,’ she said, pointing down to her pregnant belly. ‘Nine children now, one in the graveyard and this one on its way. A three bedroomed might give us a bit more room, but once this one shows up I doubt we’ll even notice.’

Annie smiled at her neighbour of over two decades. They’d rubbed along okay, all told, she and Agnes. Many didn’t. And as for the house itself, they went back even longer. She remembered back to that first night – her first as Mrs Hudson, and how she’d turned up at it without Mr Hudson even in tow. Him passed out at her mother’s, her alone in the cold bed, all teary – so frightened about what the future might hold.

The future had certainly brought plenty of children. Child after child, each leaving Annie more weathered and weary than the last. Hundreds of scraped knees to be kissed, and as many set-tos with the neighbours’ kids … And their parents, too, when fights had broken out …

She felt tearful again all of a sudden. ‘I’m going to miss this place, Agnes. I don’t know …’ She shook her head. ‘It might be grand and that up there, but I’m worried I won’t settle. I belong here. It’s all I’m used to.’

Agnes climbed over the sagging fence and joined Annie on the step. ‘Ah, go on with you, Annie. It’s no use getting all maudlin, is it? I hear Canterbury estate is fit for the toffs, and the houses have all you could wish for. Does yours have a fixed-in bath? Doris Coulson said hers had a bath. Fixed to the floor, she said, with running water. Think of it! Mind you,’ she said, after a moment’s pondering, ‘Doris Coulson also said her old man had joined the war, didn’t she? Bloody liar she is. Everyone knows he ran off with a scarlet woman!’

Annie laughed. For all their spats, Agnes could always cheer her up. All those years. All that history. She was going to miss her. ‘Yes, Agnes,’ she said, ‘we’ll be having a fixed-in bath. We have our own toilet too.’ This was a detail that did make her happy. She’d spent 22 years using a toilet in the block down the back – each block serving four of the terraced houses. To not have to trudge to it would feel like such a luxury. ‘It’s right there in our own back yard,’ she said. ‘Imagine.’ She put her cigarette out and stroked her hands over her swollen belly. ‘Particularly when you’re in my condition, eh?’ She turned to grin at Agnes. ‘I sometimes wish my Reggie would find himself a scarlet woman. Give someone else a belly full of arms and legs for a change.’

The two women laughed and spent a companionable ten minutes reminiscing. That was a safer place, Annie thought, the past. She was eight months gone and before she knew it there would be another mouth to feed. Another nipper to care for in an increasingly uncertain world.

Times were changing and Annie really didn’t like it. A lot of the local men had already been called up to fight in the war and she was afraid Charlie might be called next. He was almost 18 now, after all, so there’d be nothing to be done about it – and no chance of talking him out of it if he was called – but he was still her baby and she was frightened she might lose him.

There was danger at home too; Bradford had already seen more than one air raid; this new kind of war was being brought right to their doorsteps. Rawson Market had taken a hit, and though it hadn’t been that serious, it was enough to put the frighteners on people. And it looked like the powers that be were expecting worse. Thousands of kiddies in other cities were in the process of being evacuated to safer areas. Would that be happening in Bradford too? They kept saying not – kept saying the bombs in Bradford were just off-target, but Annie didn’t think she could bear it if they took her kids away.

But better be safe than sorry anyway. The best thing about moving to the new estate, as far as Annie was concerned, was that because they had one of the bigger houses on the end of a street they had an Anderson shelter in their garden.

‘You’ll have to come down to ours, Agnes,’ Annie said, ‘if you hear the sirens. Just come straight down to us. You’ll be safe in our bomb shelter.’

Agnes wiped her face with a corner of her pinny. Annie squeezed her arm. Were those tears in the old girl’s eyes? ‘Bless you, Annie,’ Agnes said, ‘that’s kind. But the ruddy Germans won’t have me running. If the good Lord sees fit to blow me to smithereens, then that’s what’ll happen.’

Annie believed her, too. She was going to miss her old friend.

Annie had just hauled herself back up onto her feet when a sound from down the road heralded the arrival of a cart.

She waved. Reggie, Charlie and young Reggie were back from having taken round the last cartload of possessions, dragging the now empty cart behind them. They all looked hot and sweaty in the late August sun. Agnes stood up too. ‘Will I get you some water, lads?’ she called. ‘I’ll go tell Stan that you’re back with the cart.’

The cart had been a gift for the house move. Without it, the two-mile trips back and forth would have been interminable. Stan had made it himself, toiling away for long hours the previous year. It had been part of a plan he’d formed with a friend called Tinker Mick, who lived in a gypsy wagon on some spare land by Peel Park. Being a Romany, he also had a horse – a big black mare called Ebony, who’d seen better days. But she was still a strong working horse, even so. So the two of them had decided to pool their resources and see if they could get into the coal business.

But that was before the war. Everything, coal included, was in very short supply now, so though the horse still had her uses the cart had been made redundant. Handy, though, Annie thought, for the business of moving house, as long as you had men strong enough to drag it about.

The cart parked up, Reggie leaned against the wall to get his breath back. He was still as fit as a butcher’s dog, and still had the same twinkle in his eye, but it had been a hard job hauling so much stuff all that way, and Annie could see he was knackered.

‘Been better if the lazy bum had seen fit to give us a hand,’ he grumbled, as he and Annie stepped back inside for a last look around. She couldn’t quite believe the whole street was being demolished, but that was all it was probably fit for, even so.

‘You about ready to make a move, woman of mine?’ Reggie asked Annie.

‘I am that,’ Annie said, taking a last lingering look. Seeing it empty now seemed to bring about a change in her. No sense in looking back, she thought, the empty room already closing in on her – she had to look forwards. And the thought of that fixed-in bath dragged her out of her melancholy. ‘Yes,’ she said, meaning it. ‘Yes, I’m good and ready. Can’t wait to get out of this place, truth be told.’