by Maggie Hope
It was a strange afternoon. Cath felt intoxicated even though she barely touched the wine he ordered. It was good; he wouldn’t order a cheap wine, but she hadn’t ever had wine in her life and it tasted like vinegar. She was drunk with the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes that said she was someone special.
Jack ran her home in his MG sports car and he was right, the journey was fleeting. He parked on South Church Road, below the entrance to Laburnum Grove. He kissed her lightly on the lips and they tingled.
‘Lovely Cath,’ he murmured. ‘No, I’m going to call you Catherine.’ He got out and walked round to open the door for her; as she got out his hand sort of accidentally brushed against her breast and her nipples hardened instantly and it showed through her blouse. Jack smiled.
Cath hurried up the road to Laburnum Grove and the prefabs, with trembling legs. Behind her she heard the car setting off again and roaring away along South Church Road.
As she opened the back door of the house Cath came back down to earth with a bump. There was a dirty plate on the table with sauce from a tin of baked beans coagulated on it and a smell of burned toast. There was a cracked cup beside the plate and crumbs on the table.
Annie came through the door from the living room. ‘Where’ve you been, our Cath?’ she asked plaintively. ‘I’ve been on my own all day.’
‘Where’s Mam?’
‘I don’t know. She went out ages ago,’ Annie said. ‘I did some beans for my dinner.’
Cath sighed. ‘Yes. I see that.’
Jack had said he would call her Catherine and that meant he was going to see her again but he had made no arrangements with her. He had liked her, she was certain he had. But even if he did, she couldn’t bring him here; couldn’t introduce him to her mother. She’d do well to forget him. He’d probably forgotten her already, anyway. He lived in an altogether different world to the one of prefabs and baked beans for dinner, or rather, lunch. What’s more, she was beginning to be aware that he had been having her on about being the gamekeeper’s son. Though he was a student, albeit a mature one, he owned a car that was miles away from Brian’s Standard. How had he got that? No, he must be a Vaughan, one of the family that owned the Hall and the surrounding land. He must have been having a ‘bit of fun’, as they called it, with her. He hadn’t even mentioned his full name and now she knew why. Her mood swung from hope to despair.
‘Did you get anywhere?’ asked Mark when they met later in the evening. He was staying with Jack at the Hall for the weekend and they met in the games room for a pre-dinner game of snooker.
‘Paving the way, old boy, paving the way,’ said Jack, talking like Gregory Peck as he leaned over the table to line up his cue.
‘She’s quite a looker,’ said Mark. ‘I’d have tried myself but I could see she was taken with you.’
Jack grinned at him. ‘Sorry, son, no contest,’ he said.
‘Will you see her again?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I might.’ But already he was planning something for the following Saturday. ‘I wonder what Father is up to? It’s not like him to go out in the evenings.’
‘Maybe he has a girl in the village too,’ said Mark.
‘Not him.’ Jack was positive about that. Since his mother had died, his father had been a bit of a recluse. He spent most of his time working on the estate, turning his hand to various labouring jobs and even rebuilding a wall that had tumbled down. In the evenings he went into his study after dinner and stayed there until bedtime.
The following Saturday Cath walked up Castle Chare to the cathedral and lingered in Palace Green for a while, but she didn’t see Jack or his friend Mark. Christmas came and went and still there was no sign of him, though she went up there most Saturdays.
‘It’s nice when the students are on holiday, isn’t it?’ Joan and Cath were walking along by the Wear, both of them huddled in scarves and mittens and winter coats against the bitter cold. The early January day was already darkening, even though they were only on their dinner hour. They had eaten in the basement of their building where there was an old-fashioned black range, like the one in the house in Eden Hope Colliery, and had braved the weather to take a quick walk before settling down in the stuffy atmosphere in the punch-card room. The wind got through the holes in Cath’s scarf and mittens and she rolled her fingers up tight and tucked her nose down into her collar. Annie had knitted the set for her Christmas box and there were a few dropped stitches.
‘What do you mean, exactly?’ asked Cath as they turned to go back.
‘You know, they aren’t bumping into you on the bridge or practically knocking you out of the way when the pavement is crowded.’
Cath looked up the deserted street as they reached it. That was true; she hadn’t even noticed there were no students at all. They were missing; it wasn’t just Jack and Mark. Her heart lightened. What a fool she was! Of course they wouldn’t be here over Christmas.
‘Make the most of it, they’ll be back next week,’ said Joan. Next week! Cath could barely wait.
She stood by the sorter watching the cards going through, slotting into the holes in order, one or two going into the error section. She would have to punch those again. Her attention wandered to the window by the sorting machine. The afternoon was really darkening now and lights were showing along the river and twinkling through the trees on the opposite bank. The trees no longer looked bare and forlorn but dark and mysterious. And she might see Jack next week.
‘Cath! What are you doing? Watch out.’ The supervisor was striding up the room and the sorter was making a whirring sound. A card had stuck and others were piling onto it and they were twisting and tearing. Cath hastily stopped the machine.
‘This is no good, you know, Cath,’ said the supervisor, Miss Green. ‘You’ll have to do this lot over again. And not so many errors this time, when you’re punching. Keep your mind on the job, will you? Otherwise I’ll have to do something about it.’ She nodded meaningfully at the door at the end that led to the section manager’s room.
‘Yes, Miss Green. I’m sorry, Miss Green,’ said Cath. This would make her late; she would miss the bus. ‘Blooming heck,’ she said under her breath. ‘Bloody rotten Chinese pokers,’ It was the fashionable swear phrase.
It was after seven by the time Cath got home. It would be all right if Mam were in, Annie would be all right. But if Mam was out Annie would be in a state, for she was still frightened of the dark even though she was ten. She would sit in the living room and shiver, frightened to go into the kitchen because the window looked out on to the dark garden and fence at the end and there were no curtains to pull against it. She would not switch on the wireless in case she didn’t hear anything sinister and was caught unawares by whatever horror was stalking her. She would be hungry too.
Cath hurried up Laburnum Grove to the house and let herself in the front door. There were voices coming from the kitchen: everything was fine, her mam was home and there was a lovely smell of panackelty coming from the oven.
‘Where’ve you been, our Cath?’ her mother asked. She was looking really smart, with her hair in a long bob like Veronica Lake’s but held back from her face by a glittery pin. She wore a red skirt and a white lacy blouse pulled tight into the skirt so that it showed the outline of her ample breasts and the vee between them. Over this outfit she wore a frilly pinny, new and clean, not with the edging torn and ragged like she usually wore. Annie was sitting at the table with her knife and fork in her hands, smiling happily.
‘Em, I missed the bus,’ Cath mumbled. She was slightly out of breath from running up the street.
‘Well, sit down and we’ll eat,’ said Sadie. ‘I have something to tell you.’
Chapter Eleven
‘You stupid woman,’ said Aunty Patsy. ‘It won’t be long before he tires of you and then you’ll be on the streets with nowhere to go. And don’t think I’ll take you in again. I vowed never again—’
‘Aw, shut up, Patsy,’ said Sadie. ‘That�
��s not going to happen, Henry promised me. I can have the house for ever if I want it. He’s not my fancy man, any road.’
‘Oh aye?’
Patsy pursed her lips and stared sourly at her sister. Trust her to fall on her feet; Sadie always came off better off than her.
Patsy had come in to see her sister that Saturday evening to tell her she had got a council house and to crow about it. Bell’s Buildings were being knocked down to make way for new housing. Only Sadie didn’t care; in fact, she had hardly listened.
‘I’ve got a new house an’ all. It’s on the edge of Eden Grange land. It’s got four bedrooms and a bathroom and a cloakroom downstairs with a shower and water closet.’
‘You’re having me on, our Sadie,’ said Patsy.
‘No, I’m not. We’re going to move in the morrow, so we have to pack up. I’m busy, can’t you see?’
Sadie gestured at the old straw box that had been packed so often before and the cardboard suitcase alongside it on the sofa. She smiled a complacent sort of smile at her sister.
‘You got a council house, then? Isn’t that nice. I’m sure it will do very well for you and Jim.’ Cath came down the stairs carrying a bundle of her and Annie’s clothes. ‘Hurry up and put them in the box, Cath. Then put the top on and fasten that belt round it,’ said Sadie. ‘I’m sorry, Patsy, did you want a cup of tea? I’ll make you one, though as you can see, I’m busy. Henry is coming at ten o’clock tomorrow to take us up there. You can see how it is.’
‘Oh, don’t bother about me,’ said Patsy, moving to the door. ‘But like I said, don’t come running to me when your fancy man lets you down.’ She banged the door after her and stomped off down Laburnum Grove. Cath lifted the curtain and watched her as she passed under the streetlight on the corner, turning once to stare back at the prefab, her face shadowed.
There was a noise on the stairs as Annie came down; she was sleepwalking. She came into the room and opened the top drawer of the press, taking out something invisible and folding it on the table with quick, nervous gestures. Her mouth worked all the time.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Annie—’ Sadie began, but Cath had dropped the curtain and gone up to her sister and put her arm around her.
‘Ssh!’ she said to her mother, then: ‘Howay, Annie, let’s go back to bed, eh?’ She led Annie gently back to the stairs then lifted her and carried her up. Although Annie was thin and small for her age, she was a dead weight and Cath was puffing and blowing by the time she got the little girl back into bed. She felt the sheet but it was dry; thank goodness for that at least. Annie didn’t often wet the bed nowadays, but when she had a nightmare she sometimes did.
‘She’s a pain, that kid,’ Sadie observed. ‘Come on now, let’s get finished. I’m tired meself.’
‘Who’s fault do you reckon it is that Annie’s like that?’ Cath was stung into saying.
‘Don’t you be impudent, now,’ her mother warned. ‘Any road, I’ve always looked after her, you know I have. I came back from Kent, didn’t I? Why would I do that if not for you kids?’
Cath was struck dumb at this. Her mother actually seemed to believe it. But then Sadie had always had the capacity to forget unpleasant facts about herself. She might as well let it go.
‘What did you say his name was? This man who is going to let you have the house?’
‘Henry, I told you. Henry Vaughan. He’s a lovely fella and not a bit stuck-up, you’ll see. He’s right well off an’ all. Oh, Cath, it’s going to be lovely, it is really.’ Sadie was like a kid herself after Santa Claus had been and brought her everything she’d ever dreamed of.
‘He’s not doing it for nothing, is he?’
‘He likes me, that’s all. He says I’m like a breath of fresh air. His wife, you know, she was a lady, thought she was something special ’cause she had a bit of money. Henry now, he came from nothing, worked for all he’s got, he told me. He talks to me lovely.’
‘I bet he does,’ Cath muttered, and prayed silently, Lord, don’t let it be Jack’s father, please God. But she had an awful feeling it was.
‘What’s that, our Cath?’
‘Nothing, I said nothing,’ Cath replied.
‘You’d better not an’ all,’ said Sadie, but she was in too good a mood to hit out in her usual manner when she thought Cath was cheeking her.
‘What about the furniture?’ Cath looked around at the old, battered press and the utility table and chairs.
‘We’re not taking it. It can go on the tip. Henry says I can have the stuff that’s there. I saw it, our Cath, it’s grand, everything is tickety-boo!’
Tickety-boo, thought Cath as she sat in the back of the pre-war Bentley with Annie and stared at the house. It was at the end of a quarter-mile drive in from the road and looked quite isolated, standing as it did on the edge of a beech wood. The trees rising behind it were bare of leaves and a thin winter sun shone through them, showing a faint sheen of green on the slates of the Teesdale-stone roof. The house was built of stone, grey and solid, and the windows were tall and small paned. By the side of the house was a sort of lean-to, except that it was stone too and the roof was quarry tiled. The door was like a stable door with a top half that could be opened separately.
‘How do you like it, Cath?’ Mr Vaughan asked, turning and smiling at the two girls.
‘It’s lonely,’ said Cath. He looked older than when he had caught her trespassing and taken her into the kitchen for cake. He didn’t seem to recognise her as that girl, but then she had been only eleven.
‘It’s great, Henry,’ Sadie said quickly and frowned a warning at Cath. ‘And lovely of you to let us have it at such a low rent. Come on, let’s go in. I can’t wait.’
Annie clung to Cath’s hand as Mr Vaughan opened the door with a large key then put the key in Sadie’s hand. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Your new home.’
Sadie squealed, and Cath looked at her in disgust. Her mother was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl, it was revolting. She followed them into the hall, almost dragging a reluctant Annie, and looked around. The hall was narrow and at the far end a staircase rose up to a large window, like the window of a church, and then turned and went up the other way, like the staircase in Shire Hall but smaller. There was a strip of red-patterned carpet on a stone slab floor and a picture of old Hartlepool with a sailing ship being unloaded at a dock, faded to a sepia colour with age. Doors opened on either side of the hall.
‘Your new house is not so new,’ Cath commented, and Henry Vaughan glanced sharply at her. His eyes could have been Jack’s eyes. Oh yes, they were father and son, she thought bitterly.
‘Come into the sitting room,’ he said, opening a door on the left. ‘You’ll get a better idea of the place. It’s not new, no, but it has been renovated. The plumbing is fairly new and it has electricity.’
The room was large, as large as the whole of the prefab. The tall window let in the morning sunlight and showed the furniture, not new but comfortable. There were deep armchairs and a sofa and a low table beside it. There was a light wallpaper with a leaf pattern and a real painting – a portrait of a man with a beard and the same blue eyes – over the marble fireplace where a wood fire burned. The view through the window was of a garden and beyond that the wood, and rising above the wood the distant view of Shildon Bank. To Cath it looked like a film set.
Mr Vaughan brought in the tatty straw box bound with an imitation-leather belt. ‘That’s the lot,’ he said as he stood and wiped his hands together. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled in. There’s a box of groceries in the kitchen to welcome you.’ He looked at Sadie. ‘Walk me to the car?’
Cath was still holding Annie’s hand. The little girl was looking around apprehensively.
‘It’s big, isn’t it, Cath?’ she whispered, afraid to speak any louder.
‘It is, but it’s nice, isn’t it?’ Cath said brightly. ‘And warm an’ all. We’ll sit by the fire a bit, eh? Then we’ll go and explore.’ She could hear the murmur
of voices outside. Mam must have left the door open, for a cold draught was coming into the room.
The kitchen was a typical farmhouse kitchen with a scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the floor and a range not too unlike the one they had had at Eden Hope Colliery. Cath gasped when she saw the basket of food. There were eggs and fresh milk; fresh bread and cold cuts of meat.
‘He’s a black marketeer!’ she gasped to her mother. Food was still rationed. This had to be under-the-counter stuff and illegal.
‘Don’t be soft, our Cath,’ said Sadie. ‘He has a farm, hasn’t he? More than one, I bet. Come on, get the kettle on and we’ll have a bite of dinner before we do anything else. We can have an egg each day.’ She couldn’t stop smiling. Like the cat that got the cream, thought Cath.
They had a room each, of course. Cath’s was almost as large as the sitting room and was furnished in old-fashioned but good furniture, beech, like the trees outside. Annie had a bedroom too but hers was smaller and there was an old rocking horse in the corner. She gazed at it – the mane was stringy and its painted eyes faded. She gave it a push and it rocked with a squeak of protest.
‘I’m too old for a rocking horse, our Cath,’ she said.
‘Well, look, there’s a feather eiderdown on the bed, that’ll be cosy, won’t it?’
Annie regarded the bed and the wash table and dressing table and went to stand by the window without comment. The trees were closer here than at the front of the house and there was some sort of creeper on the wall outside; its tendrils waved in the freshening wind.
‘I’ll lend you my flashlight, eh?’ Cath told Annie. ‘Then, when the light’s out, you can switch it on if you wake during the night so that you can see the light switch.’
About eleven o’clock that night, just as Cath was dropping off to sleep, the door opened and a beam of light preceded Annie as she ran in and hurled herself on the bed. She burrowed under the eiderdown and clung to Cath.
‘What’s the matter?’ Cath asked.
