Mary Kate

by Nadine Dorries

  The sound of a group of children shouting to each other as they raced their bikes out of the park gates and up to the top of the avenue reached their ears. Mary Kate turned and grinned, taking in their dirty, mussed hair, striped polo shirts, rapidly pedalling legs protruding from chocolate-brown shorts, and thighs burnt red by the sun. ‘Last one to my gate is a big smelly poo,’ she heard one boy yell.

  She smiled as she remembered her own green-painted bike with the over-large wicker basket on the front, still used by Tarabeg’s salmon poachers as a sign, leant up against the whitewashed shop wall, that they’d meet out on the river that night. She felt a pang of homesickness and quickly gulped it down. She had done this all on her own – run away from home, moved to another country – and had, by anyone’s measure, already failed. Before she returned to Tarabeg, she had to turn her fortunes around.

  Deidra came to the door. She’d been thrilled to meet Mary Kate, an Irish visitor from home. She pushed past Mrs O’Keefe with her arms and elbows, stood in front of Mary Kate and without any hesitation announced, ‘When she tells you what the money is, ask for a bit more.’

  Eileen O’Keefe looked at her in surprise. ‘Well, you didn’t do that with me, Deidra,’ she said, amazed that Deidra had actually spoken. She assumed it was because she was addressing someone her own age, from her own country.

  ‘Aye, well, I was as green as one of the fields back home when I came here. I had no idea what I was doing at all. I will be doing just so next time, I can tell you,’ she said.

  ‘Next time?’ said Eileen, her eyes wide in surprise as she folded her arms. ‘What next time would that be?’

  Deidra had turned her attention back to Mary Kate and reinforced her point. ‘Don’t take her first offer – bump it up by at least five shillings. That’s what the girls who’ve been here a while tell me. They all do it, and they get it. They can’t get enough girls over to work in the big houses in Liverpool. There’s babies being born all over the place – you can’t move down this street sometimes for prams and babies – and they bring work.’

  ‘I’ll try my best,’ said Mary Kate.

  Eileen felt a strange sense of competitiveness, as though she needed to have the last word, and decided to join in. ‘And don’t let her cheat you on your working hours. You want a day and a half off at the very least. Ask her to let you finish at twelve on a Saturday and have all day Sunday off. That’s what the other girls who work on the avenue do. In fact, you tell her that, don’t let her decide for you.’

  ‘I will, Mrs O’Keefe.’

  Eileen was grinning; this was the most excited she’d been in a long time. ‘So, there you have it. Don’t take the first money she offers and you tell her what hours you’ll be working. Oh, would you listen to me, I just don’t want you taken in and mugged in a different way. I want you back on your feet.’

  Mary Kate was so grateful to them both, her bottom lip began to tremble.

  ‘Not again!’ said Eileen. ‘You can cry all you like when you get back, but not now.’

  ‘What would I have done if I hadn’t met you, Mrs O’Keefe, and Cat hadn’t been such a lovely woman, and if that doctor hadn’t helped and offered me a lift and given Cat money like he did, and you too, Deidra. I just feel overwhelmed by it all.’

  Eileen opened her arms and Mary Kate accepted her hug. ‘You don’t strike me as the sort to be overwhelmed by anything. Put it all behind you now – this is your new start.’

  As Mrs O’Keefe hugged her, Mary Kate thought of Declan’s expression as he’d stood on the dockside and waved her off. She sighed. Declan was a part of her past; he felt as distant as the miles between them, and, to her surprise, so did Tarabeg. She was about to move into her future, in a new city, and the thrill of it returned as she smoothed her skirt, straightened her hat and, with a backwards grin to Mrs O’Keefe and Deidra, strode down the steps.

  *

  ‘I would like to have every Saturday afternoon off and Sunday too, please.’ Mary Kate spoke with a confidence she truly did not possess. She surprised herself.

  Lavinia Marcus was seated opposite her in the sitting room. Leaning back in her chair, she considered the girl before her. ‘So it’s your preference not to live in, but what if we need you in the evenings, to look after the boys?’

  ‘Well, Mrs O’Keefe’s is just down the road, so I can come back in the evening, or I don’t mind staying on. I’m sure we can work something out. Do you and your husband go out often together?’

  Lavinia blinked quickly and shook her head. This girl was speaking to her as though she were her equal. And then, admonishing herself, she realised that that was just what the boys needed. If Nicholas raised any objections, the fact that, despite being Irish, Mary Kate had a good education and vocabulary should swing it for her. ‘My husband works long hours,’ she replied. ‘He’s a doctor. Sometimes he doesn’t come home until late at night and he can be out on call.’

  ‘Gosh, well, he has a very important job then.’ Mary Kate immediately thought of Roshine and the respectability and status being a doctor’s daughter had heaped on her. She thought about the doctor who’d rescued her. He was young and handsome and as far from Roshine’s father as it was possible to be; he still popped into her thoughts at every moment of stillness. She almost shook herself. He was in there again.

  Lavinia prickled at Mary Kate’s comment about Nicholas having an important job. ‘He does, yes, but sadly his patients think it’s his life, not just his job, and he chooses to let them.’

  Mary Kate felt a definite shift in the congeniality of the conversation and decided to change the subject. ‘Can I meet the boys?’ she asked with a lift in her voice.

  ‘Good idea.’ Lavinia rose from the chair. ‘They are down in the kitchen with Joan. Let’s go and meet them, shall we, but first let us get this clear: your job is to look after their room, their laundry, their meals, all their mending, their schoolwork and their activities. And on school days you will take them to school and collect them.’

  Mary Kate did not ask what exactly she, as their mother, would be doing. She thought of Keeva and her band of boys and tried to imagine her handing over all her responsibilities to someone else. But it was none of Mary Kate’s business. She was being employed to do a job and that had been explained to her. It wasn’t her place to question. Her opinion was not required.

  They descended a flight of steps to the lower rear kitchen and the sound of a radio and little boys arguing became louder. No one heard them approaching and the sight that greeted them made Mary Kate gasp. On the cooker a pan was boiling, its lid rattling noisily, throwing water into the flames, causing them to spit and flare and almost extinguishing them. The radio was louder than Mary Kate guessed it was supposed to be, judging by the look on her employer’s face. She strode straight over to the sideboard and flicked off the dial. A wooden ironing board stood in the corner with a pile of clothes falling off it and into a basket on the floor. The table was littered with pens and ink and comics, and a scruffy black dog was gazing up longingly at a chicken that was sitting on a work surface dripping juice down the cupboard doors.

  A young girl who was clearly Irish and whom Mary Kate assumed was Joan was at the sink trying to scrub down what looked to be the oldest boy. He was covered in blue ink. The girl’s long red hair had been fastened into a tight bun that morning but was now spilling out all over her face.

  ‘Joan!’ Lavinia shouted, and Mary Kate ran to the cooker to switch down the flames. ‘Would you look at the mess in this kitchen. Get away!’ she shouted to the dog, pushing him with her foot. She opened the back door, threw him out and slammed it shut behind him.

  The boy at the sink wriggled free of Joan’s grip. ‘Oi, don’t put him outside – he likes to stay in here with us.’ In seconds he’d pulled open the door and was shouting the dog to come back in.

  Lavinia grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. ‘David, stop it. The dog stays outside. Your father will be home soon and if you let
Jet back in, I will tell him.’

  David burst into a fit of petulant tears, ran over to the table and began noisily hammering at it with his fists. A second little boy was sitting at the table and observing his brother’s behaviour intently, with an amused grin on his face. He turned and looked up at Mary Kate, his mousey-brown hair flopping over his wide and mischievous blue eyes. He gave her the sweetest smile. She could see that he was the younger of the two brothers.

  ‘He’s been giving out all day, Mrs Marcus,’ said Joan.

  Mary Kate looked over to Joan. The name Marcus sounded so familiar. But how could it – there was no one in Tarabeg with that name. She smiled back at the little boy. ‘What are you drawing there?’ she said as she moved over to the table and looked over his shoulder.

  The older boy seemed in every way the image of his mother, not only because of his blonde hair and blue eyes but also because of his nature. They were still arguing with each other at the back door.

  ‘Have you never heard the saying “children should be seen and not heard”? That applies to you, young man, as you are a child and I am your mother. Be quiet and stop arguing with me right now or I will tell your father and make sure he deals with you when he comes home.’

  The wails became louder and angrier and the younger boy’s smile became a trembling bottom lip. Mary Kate realised that he was scared.

  Joan, who’d been standing there staring at Mary Kate, suddenly remembered the boiling potatoes. Turning to the cooker, she lifted the heavy pan onto a metal trivet on the table, spilling some of the water on the way.

  ‘Joan, why is supper only half prepared?’ Lavinia asked.

  ‘I’m nearly done, missus. The doctor, he will be home soon. He rang when you were out this afternoon to say he would be in for his tea, and the boys, they haven’t had their food yet.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, why not? They are supposed to have their supper at five o’clock on the dot.’

  Joan looked close to tears. ‘I haven’t had time, that’s why,’ she wailed as she grabbed at her apron and dashed it against her face. ‘David has been giving me the runaround all day.’

  Mary Kate felt uncomfortable. They had only been in the kitchen for moments and now two people were crying and a dog was barking incessantly outside. She was already removing her cardigan. ‘Here, let me help. I’ll mash the potatoes for you.’ She threw Joan a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. ‘We can have the tea ready in minutes – that chicken looks to me like it’s already cooked.’

  It took her a moment to notice that David had stopped yelling and the room had fallen quiet. The only noise was the dog barking out in the garden. It was only when the younger son said, ‘Hello, Daddy,’ that Mary Kate smiled and looked up – straight into the face of the doctor who had saved her.

  His eyes were kind and full of curiosity as he took in the scene before him. ‘Hello, Jack,’ he said as he moved forwards, dropped his case on the floor and, removing his hat, planted a kiss on Jack’s head and ruffled his hair. His eyes never left Mary Kate’s, and over the top of Jack’s head he said, ‘Hello.’

  Mary Kate felt as though the room was moving. Her breath caught in her throat and she was almost unable to reply. She swallowed hard. ‘Oh, hello, I’ve er… I’ve come for a—’ She didn’t get the chance to explain any more as Lavinia jumped in.

  ‘She was sent here by the agency, Nicholas. As you can see, Joan just can’t cope. The girl is hopeless – just take a look at this kitchen and the mess. The boys haven’t even been fed or bathed yet.’

  Nicholas Marcus walked over to his eldest son and scooped him up into his arms. ‘What’s up, David? Why are you so upset?’

  David kicked against his father’s thighs and wriggled. ‘Let me down. I wasn’t crying – I’m not a baby.’

  Nicholas let him slip to the floor.

  ‘You can pick me up if you like, Daddy,’ said Jack in a voice so small, it was barely audible.

  Lavinia folded her arms and her husband moved towards her and kissed the cool powdered cheek she’d proffered. ‘Look, I’m going upstairs – I need another aspirin after all of this. Mary Kate, if you can agree to what we talked about earlier, can you start on Thursday morning?’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Nicholas Marcus’s voice, still gentle, sounded concerned. ‘We haven’t even discussed this, Lavinia. I have no idea what’s happening here – what is going on?’

  ‘That, Nicholas, is because you are never here to discuss anything with. I have taken this decision. Mary Kate, we will see you on Thursday morning at seven.’ Lavinia turned on her heel and, pushing past Nicholas, made for the door.

  ‘Eight.’ Mary Kate’s voice cut through the room.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Lavinia Marcus turned around and her eyes locked onto Mary Kate’s and flashed with impatience.

  Mary Kate blushed and then just as quickly went pale. ‘I begin at eight.’

  Lavinia Marcus’s mouth dropped open and then swiftly closed again. There was very obviously something she wanted to say, but she decided against it. ‘Very well, you start at eight and stay until seven.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Mary Kate, ‘and I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up, we need to discuss my pay. If you want me to work eleven hours a day, I will need another ten shillings on top of what we agreed.’

  She held her breath. This would go one of two ways: she would either exit the kitchen the same way as the dog or be taken on. Her face flared and she couldn’t meet the eyes of Dr Marcus, who she knew was staring at her and grinning in mild amusement.

  Lavinia looked as though she was about to explode. ‘I’m really not sure the kitchen is the place for this discussion. However, very well. If they are your terms, I agree.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mary Kate. ‘I know I haven’t started yet, but I’ll just stay and help Joan here tonight. She looks exhausted and I can learn the ropes whilst I’m at it.’

  ‘Jolly good idea.’ And Lavinia, without another word to her husband, flounced out of the kitchen, up the stairs and back to the sitting room.

  Neither the boys, Mary Kate nor Joan said anything; the only sound was the deep sigh that came from Nicholas Marcus. The sitting room door banged shut.

  Jack was the first to speak. ‘Daddy, can I let Jet back in now? He hasn’t had his tea either.’

  Dr Marcus nodded and Jack ran to the back door and shouted, ‘Jet, come on, boy.’

  David, much to Mary Kate’s surprise, made his way towards the stairs. ‘Mummy’s upset, I can tell. And, Daddy, tell her we don’t need anyone else…’ He pointed his finger straight at Mary Kate’s face. ‘She can go home. I’m going to see Mummy.’ And before his father could reprimand him, he ran up the stairs shouting, ‘Mummy, Mummy, are you all right?’

  ‘Come along, Jack, I suggest we do the same,’ said Dr Marcus. ‘Leave Jet down here. You know how Mummy hates him being up in the house.’ He lifted his son into his arms. ‘Ring the bell when supper is ready, if you don’t mind, Joan. I’ll bring the boys down myself.’ Turning to Mary Kate, he said, ‘Are you fully recovered now?’

  Joan’s mouth fell open and she looked as though she was about to faint.

  Mary Kate nodded, avoiding his eyes. Her stomach flipped as he spoke. She mentally remonstrated with herself, lifted her head high and looked at him straight on, then immediately regretted it. He was studying her face, looking at her with intense curiosity. ‘I am, thank you.’

  ‘And did your aunt’s neighbour look after you well? Are you going to be sharing a room with Joan?’

  Another question. Where would she start with the answers? ‘No, I am living with Mrs O’Keefe, who is across the road and I met her on the boat and she was such a lovely lady, and Cat, she did look after me, but I wanted to come to Mrs O’Keefe’s, and her sister owns the agency and she called around when I was there and your wife had already just rung looking for someone, but I had no idea it was you.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Dr Marcus, grinnin
g, put up his hand to halt her volley of words. ‘This sounds like a long story. Let’s talk about it another time, shall we? In the meantime, welcome, Mary Kate. I hope you don’t regret this.’ He pulled Jack up higher into his arms and turned to the door.

  As he left, Jack smiled at her over his father’s shoulder, but she couldn’t smile back. Something had happened and she wasn’t sure what. It had made her skin prickle and her mouth dry. Every nerve in her body was tingling, and there was one thing she was sure of: she would not sleep tonight. She was already playing his last words over in her mind. The sound of his voice alone churned her emotions and brought feelings to the surface she never knew existed.

  ‘Here you go.’ Joan’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Mary Kate turned as Joan slapped a wooden implement into her hand. ‘Get mashing then.’

  *

  Mary Kate’s room was the smallest guest room in the house. Mrs O’Keefe had shown her the other three, which were large and airy and not like any bedroom that Mary Kate had ever seen before, and then they’d climbed the stairs to the top of the house, where Deidra’s room was. Mary Kate’s was on the first floor, below Deidra’s but not much bigger. Mary Kate had thought it a tactful decision to choose the smallest room. Deirdra was someone she did not want to offend.

  As she prepared for bed, she thought back to the previous night and her fitful sleep at Cat’s house. It was dark outside and she threw up the large sash window to let what breeze there was into the room. With her hands on the windowsill, she dipped, put her head and torso outside and peered down the avenue. She could see what she thought must be the chimney of the Marcus house further down, peeping up above the treetops.

  The night sounds were very different from her room back in Tarabeg. No river rushing past in the background. No splashing salmon or hooting owl. Instead there was what sounded like the cry of a distressed baby but which Deidra had already taught her was actually a cat. There were no cats in Tarabeg.