by Mary Gibson
*
Snow was falling outside her garret and a little pile had been swept into one corner of the dormer window, blown there by the sharp river wind. Most of her new clothes were at her father’s, but she’d brought back one outfit to wear for her journey to Belgravia this Christmas Eve. It was a dark-red, low-waisted dress, with buttons down the front and soft pleats around the skirt. She and Nora had chosen it together on a trip to Harvey Nichols, a palace of treasures she could not even have imagined a few months earlier. She tied a black ribbon at the collar and adjusted a low-slung black belt, then buttoned the long sleeves. The garret was freezing and she was glad of the warm dress, and even more grateful for her new black coat, with its fur stole – another present from Nora. She put on a close-fitting cloche hat, picked up her bag and looked around the garret. The violet bedroom in Belgravia would be warm, bright with electric lights, and heavy curtains would block out this freezing, snow-heavy wind. Increasingly the garret looked like the room of a stranger.
There was one thing she needed to do before she left. Although Ethel had always encouraged her to become a member of the bookshop, she’d never taken her up on it, until now. She’d wanted to give Johnny something for Christmas, something that would be as precious to him as the silver coin from the foreshore he’d kept all those years. There was a book he’d mentioned wanting, but when she’d asked Ethel, she’d been shocked to find it would cost 12s 6d, the price of a brand-new Witney blanket, or half the cost of this woollen coat she was wearing now. Although she accepted her father’s hospitality and Nora’s gifts, she hadn’t yet given up all her independence and she still had to live on her wages. The only way she could pay for Johnny’s book was to join the reading room and get her ticket made up with sixpenny subscriptions until she could afford to buy the book. On the Art of Writing, it was called, though she’d have thought Johnny knew enough about that already. The author’s odd-sounding name conjured up a picture of someone in Elizabethan dress lying on a couch, sucking a quill pen and dreaming up stories. She was sure it would be a lot more serious than that. Johnny loved nothing more than a serious tome. Now she took out the book, carefully cut the price off the dust jacket, and put it into her bag.
When he opened the door of his house a small burst of warmth and light emerged.
‘Kate! Haven’t you gone to your dad’s? Come in!’ He looked so pleased and surprised, she hated to disappoint him.
‘I can’t stop. Dad’s car’s waiting round the corner. I just wanted to give you this.’ She pulled out the book. ‘A Christmas present.’ She gave an involuntary shiver as she did so and he stood aside.
‘Just come out of the snow. Your coat’s getting covered.’
She stepped into the kitchen, pleased to see it looking clean and tidy. He’d even stuck some holly along the mantelpiece and hung mistletoe from the corners of the mirror.
‘What’s this?’ He smiled as he unwrapped the book. ‘The Quiller-Couch! How did you know I wanted this?’ He opened the book, flicking through as if he’d like to start reading it immediately. She was glad of all the sixpences she’d handed over now.
‘Oh, this is the best present anyone’s ever bought me!’ And he put down the book and, taking down some mistletoe from the mirror, held it high above them. ‘Am I allowed a thank-you kiss?’ he whispered.
She looked up into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on her cold cheeks. She lifted her face and he kissed her still-smiling mouth. His lips were gentle, appreciative, and his kiss too brief.
‘I hope you know you only got away with that because of the mistletoe,’ she said, and he grinned. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay… the car…’
‘Yes, you said.’ He held up the book. ‘And thank you…’ He opened the door and she went out into the snow. It stung her face and clung to her cheeks.
‘I’ll think of you every time I read it. Happy Christmas!’
She waved at him, his figure obscured by the flare of the gas lamp outside his house and soon smudged by snow flurries. ‘Goodbye, Johnny!’ she called back as an icy snowflake lodged in her eye, causing a tear to trickle down her cheek. By the time she’d brushed it away, he had closed the door.
*
Kate’s room was just as she’d imagined it, warm and inviting. A fire burned in the pretty fireplace, and a lamp had been turned on. It was Nora who’d greeted her. Archie was still at his office, but she told Kate he’d definitely be home early that evening. Tonight, they were entertaining. A small gathering of friends and a few of Chibby’s business associates, she said, nothing grand.
But Nora had a different notion to Kate of what grand was. When she came downstairs, wearing the cocktail dress that Nora had chosen for her, Kate felt like slipping away, back to Bermondsey and the familiarity of her garret. Men in evening suits and women in cocktail dresses milled around in the larger reception room. Lights blazed and glinted on crystal glasses, pale yellow champagne bubbled, and jewelled cocktails shimmered in wide glasses. She was dazzled and looking for an escape when Martin appeared. She grabbed his elbow and with a fixed smile on her face whispered, ‘Save me!’
‘Happy to.’ He smiled, steering her towards the drinks table. He picked up two cocktails and found chairs half-obscured by a silk screen.
‘Thanks,’ she said, gulping the cocktail. ‘Don’t leave me.’ She peered round the screen to see her father entering. Nora went to him immediately, greeting him with a kiss and putting her arm through his. He walked to the centre of the room, handsome and confident; she could see why Nora would be attracted to him.
‘Do you know all these people?’ she asked Martin.
‘Good grief, no. They’re mostly Chibby’s friends.’ His eyes had followed hers. ‘They’re a very fine-looking couple, aren’t they?’
She looked for a sign of jealousy in his expression, but saw none.
‘I can’t believe I come from the same family as him, he’s so handsome.’
Martin turned to her with a laugh. ‘I personally think it’s a very good thing you took after your mother – you look stunning.’
‘Nora chose it.’ She smoothed down the thin, silvery cocktail dress and instinctively crossed her arms. She’d much rather have stayed in the warm red dress, but Nora had said it wasn’t suitable.
‘I’m not talking about the dress.’ His eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer. ‘When are you moving in here?’
‘That’s funny, Johnny asked me the same thing before I left.’
‘Oh? You’ve seen him?’ She thought she saw a flash of jealousy now.
‘Just to give him a present – a book he wanted.’
They were silent for a while. Then she asked, ‘Has Nora mentioned anything to you? About me coming to live here?’
‘Yes.’
‘She was worried I might find it hard to live with him.’
‘Hmm. He’ll be different with you.’
‘I can’t judge him properly, Martin. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.’ She was surprised that she was looking for his opinion. Usually she made up her mind about people quickly and trusted her own judgement when it came to her first impressions. Why was she asking Martin? If he’d really had an affair with Nora, wouldn’t he be the last person to give an impartial opinion?
‘That’s because you’ve spent too long dreaming, Kate. I’d say the best thing to do is leave things as they are for the time being.’ He spoke casually, not urging her, and she found herself agreeing.
‘Sometimes you can be very sensible,’ she said.
He laughed loudly. ‘I’m not sure I want you to think of me as sensible!’ His laughter had attracted the attention of Mrs Cliffe, who now bore down upon them. ‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘she’s got Mother in tow…’
Kate recognized Mrs North from the photo in Martin’s studio. The two women, though sisters, were unlike each other, not so much in features as in expressions. Mrs Cliffe had a benevolent vagueness that put Kate at her ease. But as the two wom
en approached, Mrs North looked at Kate with undisguised hostility.
Martin squirmed in his chair before giving in to the inevitable and standing up to greet his mother. He kissed her cheek and almost hopped back, as if he’d been burned.
‘This is Miss Goss, Mother… Chibby’s daughter.’ He drew Kate forward, and she thought he’d probably like to use her as a shield between himself and his mother if he only could.
Mrs North inclined her head. ‘I understand you’ve only recently surfaced,’ she said, barely concealed suspicion in her voice. ‘And where did Chibby find you?’
Kate matched her frosty stare. ‘Where he left me.’
She felt Martin’s shoulders shaking and saw Mrs Cliffe’s lip curl into a small smile.
‘Ah. How interesting.’ Mrs North turned away, leaving Martin and his aunt chuckling.
‘Well, I’ve rarely seen my sister lost for words. Well done, my dear, for standing up to her.’
‘Why on earth did you bring her?’ Martin hissed.
‘I didn’t! It was Chibby’s doing. He wants to interest her in the business as well.’
‘Water from a stone. Good luck to him,’ Martin said.
‘Oh, he’s got a golden tongue, Nora’s Chibby – your father, my dear – he is a most persuasive businessman. He will make us all rich as Croesus!’
She left them. Martin downed his cocktail and Kate followed suit. ‘I thought your mother was already rich!’
He nodded. ‘She is, but you know how the song goes: “There’s nothing surer…”’ he sang, flapping his hands, ‘“the rich get rich and the poor get poorer”.’
‘Oh, yeah. I know that one. Ain’t we got fun?’ she added sourly, looking around the room at all these people so eager to get her father’s attention. No wonder it had taken him twelve years to ‘find’ her.
15
In My Father’s House
1924–1925
On Christmas Day there were just the three of them. She’d only bought one present – the book for Johnny. She’d puzzled over what on earth she could give to her father or Nora when she could never match any of their gifts for her. So, for weeks she’d stayed behind at Boutle’s for extra half hours here and there when her shifts had ended and, with Miss Dane’s help, she’d acquired enough spare tinplate to make them each a present. For Nora she’d made a paperweight in the shape of a cat holding a ball. The ball spun on a spindle and could be run across the desk as if it were continually chasing the unobtainable. It was a simplified figure, but still recognizable as a cat. Nora had once told Kate she would love a cat, but Chibby forbade it, saying the creatures made him itch. For her father she’d crafted a cigarette tin, with an Egyptian-style sunburst design copied from a newspaper advertisement. She’d smoothed and polished it to a high shine that could be mistaken for silver, fixing a flat spring inside to hold the cigarettes in place. On the back she’d engraved To my father, from your loving daughter, Katy.
After lunch, when Nora handed her a package, Kate was glad of all those hours she’d spent fashioning their presents. At least she had something to give them. The box Nora had given her was lined with black velvet, on which nestled a gold wristwatch. It was beautiful. She gasped.
‘For me? But… I can’t take this!’
Nora smiled and looked at her husband as if they’d predicted her reaction.
‘Yes, you can. And you will,’ her father said, coming to help her put it on.
Kate raised her hand, admiring the watch, twisting it this way and that, letting them see how it fitted perfectly. And yet something inside shifted at the sight of it on her slim wrist. The object immediately made her someone else. She wasn’t sure who that person was, but she knew how she felt – she felt indulged. Like a loved child.
She kissed her father and Nora and hesitated before picking up the bag containing her own gifts. ‘They’re not much compared to this,’ she said, looking at the watch. She handed over the packages. Nora was eager, quickly unwrapping hers, and she laughed with delight. ‘Ha, I’ve got my cat! See, Chibby! Where on earth did you find it, Kate?’ She had discovered that the ball spun.
‘I made it.’
‘How clever of you!’
Kate looked to see if her father was equally delighted with his present. He’d been slower and was now examining the raised sunburst design, running his fingers over it. ‘And you made this too?’ he asked, and her heart swelled as he nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re a talented whitesmith, Katy.’
‘It’s only tinplate.’
‘Of course. But your skill deserves a less humble material – I’ll buy you some and turn you into a silversmith!’ He turned over the case and after reading the inscription, he pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘I’m so proud of my daughter.’ He stood and took something else from his jacket pocket; she couldn’t see what it was. ‘Katy, I promised you that I’d make up for all the years you had to struggle alone. You’re a strong, clever girl and I know you’ve coped better than most could have, but still, you ought to have had your father with you. And now all that is about to change.’
He came to her and placed in her hand a small brass object. It was a key.
Nora saw her puzzlement. ‘It’s to our front door.’
And her father said, ‘This is your house now, Katy. I think it’s time for you to come and live here with us. Would you like that?’
*
The ball-chasing cat and the cigarette case were the last things Kate made at Boutle’s. She was saying goodbye to the tin basher’s forever. And though she wasn’t sorry to lose the solder fumes and the metal fever, she would be sorry to lose her workmates. After Christmas she’d sent a letter handing in her notice and now she was at the factory collecting her cards and final pay packet. Marge and Conny both burst into tears when she came down from the office into the soldering room and broke the news. It felt good to be able to finally tell people that she had a father who wanted her, and a real home at last, but it was more of a wrench than she’d ever imagined. For they’d both been good friends to Kate. Marge, from her first day, had been her advisor about everything from flux to men, and poor little Conny had repaid Kate’s early protectiveness with a loyalty that was unswerving.
‘You’re not leaving here without a do!’ Miss Dane insisted, and even though the forelady wasn’t a drinker, she insisted on organizing an impromptu send-off at the Hand and Marigold later that evening. Kate walked back out into the yard, where a lorry delivering tinplate was blocking the exit. She skirted it and was caught in a billow of black smoke belching from the coke-oven chimneys. Once out of the double gates and into Wild’s Rents, she allowed herself to look back at the ramshackle collection of storage sheds and ancient buildings added to over the years. The old stables had been pulled down to make room for a new tinplate store and press room. It was an ugly, soot-stained, smelly warren, and yet it had been one of those unlovely havens she had always found for herself. Her father had called her a smith; she could thank Boutle’s the tin basher’s for that.
From the factory, Kate walked to the Bermondsey Bookshop and told Ethel she would be losing her cleaner.
‘I knew it was coming!’ Ethel exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. She got up from behind the long table where she and Lucy were parcelling up the latest Bermondsey Book ready for despatch to various parts of the globe. Ethel had been very proud that the publication had gone international and so had Johnny, telling Kate that he’d even received a fan letter from a miner in the Transvaal.
‘I’m distraught, my dear Kate.’ Ethel took both Kate’s hands in her own.
‘Sorry to leave you in the lurch,’ Kate said, looking round at the shelves of books. ‘I’ll miss keeping this place spick and span, but I can put the word out at Boutle’s, see if any of the girls need extra work?’
‘I’m not mourning the loss of our cleaner, but our rock! What will we do without you?’
Kate made a dismissive gesture. She didn’t see herself as rock
-like, but Lucy came to join them. ‘It’s true! You’ve done so much more than clean. I’d be married to that horrible boy I was so in love with if it weren’t for your advice, and our dramatic productions would have been in tatters and our classes so much less fun without you!’
‘Exactly!’ Ethel agreed enthusiastically. ‘We must arrange a little goodbye party.’
‘Well, you could come to the Hand and Marigold tonight, if you want to? The Boutle’s girls are giving me a send-off.’
From the looks on their faces she thought she might have put a little too much strain on the bridge connecting north and south of the river which Ethel had been so proud of building, but then a mischievous light shone from the woman’s dark, intelligent eyes.
‘I have been looking for an opportunity to enter a Bermondsey public house since I opened the shop in 1921. I would be delighted!’ And much to Kate’s surprise, Lucy agreed to come too.
As the door of the Bermondsey Bookshop closed behind her, Kate stopped to study the sign that swung above it. The painted torch of learning had faded since she’d first seen it, but the legend He Who Runs May Read meant so much more to her now. Almost as if the place had given her permission to become someone else – the orange door a portal to another world.
She had yet to find courage to say the hardest goodbye, but before doing so, she stopped at the Marigold to give her notice and warn the landlady that tonight there would be quite a few extra customers. She ordered some sandwiches and paid for them out of the allowance her father insisted she must now receive; she wasn’t going to let the Boutle’s girls pay for them. By the time she turned into East Lane the afternoon light was fading. She walked first to the river stairs, watching as a dull orange sun set over Tower Bridge. For a moment the brassy disc was suspended between the bridge’s two towers, north and south, caught between two worlds – just as she was.
