by Maggie Hope
‘A lot of good it’ll do him,’ said Cath. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the County, we can take the bairn in there, it being a proper hotel. I’ll treat you to something to eat.’
‘I don’t know, there’s Charlie’s tea …’ But Joan soon changed her mind. ‘Beggar Charlie’s tea,’ she said, laughing. ‘Howay then.’
By the time Cath got back to Gilesgate her own mood had lightened along with Joan’s. They had eaten spam sandwiches with a salad of tomatoes and cucumber, which was all that was available for it was too early for dinner. Jimmy sat in a high chair and made a right mess while Joan fed him bits of bread and cream cheese. They giggled a lot and even Jimmy crowed with delight and waved his tiny fists in the air and beamed at everyone around him.
Cath told Joan about Mark and his snooty mother and how she must have turned him off her.
‘If he lets his mother tell him what to do he’s not worth it,’ Joan counselled. ‘You’re a bonny lass. There’s plenty more fish in the sea an’ all.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘Did you sleep with him?’
‘No!’ Cath looked at her friend, surprised she should ask.
‘Well, it’s not the end of the world, is it?’ And Cath realised it was not.
‘Well, I’d better be getting home,’ said Joan. She plucked the baby out of the high chair and pulled on his all-in-one suit. It was what they used to call a siren suit during the war, Cath thought, as she watched, invented by Winston Churchill. Come to think of it, Churchill had looked a bit like a baby when he was photographed in his siren suit. She smiled – the little outing with Joan had cheered her.
They made vague promises to meet up more often in the future then Cath walked back to Gilesgate. It was a cold night and a penetrating damp filled the air and seemed to get through her clothes to her skin. Usually she walked all the way but tonight she caught the bus. She had thought she would go to her mother’s but changed her mind and stayed. Mark might ring, or there might be a message. Though why she should think that when it had been over a week since she had seen him, she didn’t know.
She didn’t love him anyway, she told herself. How could she love him and still be in love with Jack? If she didn’t love him why was she thinking about him? What did that make her? A flaming fool, that’s what. She spent the evening wrapping up presents and had yet another early night.
‘Mam, you want to watch out for that Eric Bowron from Winton,’ she said as she took off her coat in the hall of Half Hidden Cottage.
It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve and Cath had just arrived. She was lucky to get there at all, for a cover of snow had fallen during the night and a north wind blew down from the Arctic, creating blizzard conditions. She had had to walk some distance as the road by the end of the drive was beginning to block and the bus had stopped running.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ asked Sadie. ‘Come on in, there’s a good fire in the sitting room and I’ll make some tea. You must be nithered.’
But Cath was not to be distracted from what she had to say. She had been thinking of it all the way from the Great North Road.
‘Ronnie Robson’s cousin; I told you he was back from the army. He’s been away doing his National Service. He was waiting for me when I came home last time, waiting at the end of the drive.’
For a change Sadie was listening properly to her. ‘Are you sure he was waiting for you? I mean, he could have just been out for a walk, like.’
‘He was waiting for me. That wasn’t the first time he’s threatened me.’
‘He threatened you? The sod! I’ll give him something to think about. I’ll threaten him all right, I will.’
Sadie had gone red with anger. ‘Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not frightened of him, are you? I’d give him short shrift if he came near me. I’ve met his sort before, I have.’ She was working herself up into a real temper.
‘Mam, I’m not frightened. I just think we should be careful, that’s all. I think he probably got at our Annie that day at the bus stop, an’ all.’
‘That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? By God, I’ll kill him, I swear I will, I’ll—’
‘Mam—’
Sadie was not listening. ‘I’ll tell Henry, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll tell him. He won’t stand for it, I know he won’t. He’ll turn him out of Winton, that I know. He’ll send him packing.’
‘Mam, he can’t.’ Cath was amused. ‘This is the second half of the twentieth century – the pits and the houses belong to the NCB. How can Henry turn him out?’
Sadie nodded her head. ‘Oh, he can, believe me he can,’ she said. ‘Henry has contacts.’ She had begun to calm down. ‘Howay in and I’ll warm some soup. I made a big pot for Henry coming tonight but there’s plenty.’
‘Henry’s coming tonight?’ Cath’s heart sank. When Henry came it usually meant she was banished from the sitting room. Henry liked to have Sadie to himself. Christmas was beginning to look as though it would be even bleaker than she had envisaged.
‘He is,’ said Sadie. ‘We have some news for you.’
‘What news?’
‘Never mind. You’ll find out tonight.’
Cath ate her soup, a thick mutton broth designed to keep out the winter’s cold and found it surprisingly good. She spent the afternoon helping Sadie prepare for the evening. Henry had sent over a large Christmas tree and included decorations so they had a good time making it look festive.
She kept glancing at her mother, wondering what the surprise was. Sadie was happy so it wasn’t anything bad. Was her mother having a baby? She wasn’t too old, not really. Cath’s imagination ran away with her. If Sadie had a baby and it was a boy perhaps she would give it away as she had the others. For a brief moment Cath thought of Timmy, her little brother. Had it really happened that they had gone into the Bishop’s park and Sadie had given away her baby? Cath pushed the thought out of her mind. It was so long ago and her mother must have had her reasons. Her mother was a weak woman and she wasn’t the first one to go wild when her man was away for years at a time.
They were sitting at the dinner table eating trifle made by Sadie with real cream (which did a good job disguising the runny jelly and custard), when Henry dropped his bombshell.
‘Catherine, your mother and I are going to be married next year. I hope you are pleased for us.’ He smiled at Sadie and put his hand over hers. ‘We wanted you to be the first to know.’
‘Married?’ Cath thought she had not heard right. When Sadie nodded and smiled the question popped out of Cath’s mouth almost of its own volition.
‘Are you having a baby?’ she asked.
Chapter Twenty-six
Christmas Day dawned clear and bright, though the winds overnight had swept the snow from the fields into great drifts against every wall and hedge. It was a cold, silent world that Cath looked out on from her bedroom window. It wasn’t too warm in the bedroom either, for there was no fire in the grate.
Cath climbed back into bed and snuggled under the eiderdown. Sadly, she wondered what Jack was doing this Christmas. The aching void inside her just didn’t get any smaller.
Reluctantly, she got out of bed and went along to the bathroom. The water was still fairly hot, so she had a bath and dressed and went downstairs.
‘Good morning. Merry Christmas,’ said Henry. Usually he went home sometime in the early hours but today he was sitting at the dining table and eating a plate of home-cured ham and eggs. Though rationing was still on, it had been relaxed yet Cath was still surprised to see two fried eggs on one plate. She was even more surprised when her mother came through from the kitchen with two more plates of food in her hand.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she carolled and kissed Cath on the cheek. The morning was full of surprises. She sat down and started to eat. The food was well cooked and she enjoyed it. This domesticated side of her mother was new to her. Sadie was really trying hard.
Sadie and Henry were chatting toge
ther, and Cath concentrated on her breakfast. She let her thoughts wander as they did so often these days. The conversation was simply a hum in the background for her. But she was suddenly alerted by the mention of Jack’s name.
‘I need Jack at home,’ Henry was saying. ‘I need him to run the estate. I’m no longer young.’ He looked across at Cath. ‘Your mother and I want to enjoy our declining years together.’
Despite Cath’s surge of hope at the thought that Jack might come back and that he might, possibly, if she prayed like mad, get in touch with her and tell her he hadn’t really deserted her, it was all an unlucky accident. He might tell her he loved her, that he wanted to marry her—
‘Besides, I want him to settle down, have a family. It’s high time,’ said Henry, breaking into her thoughts.
Oh, she agreed with that, Cath thought fervently. Only Henry wouldn’t mean her, no: he would have someone very different in mind for Jack. One of the county set, no doubt. That dampened the wild hope down a bit.
After breakfast a tractor from the farm came through with a snowplough on the front and Henry and Sadie were able to walk up to the Hall. Cath declined to go with them and they made little effort to persuade her. She settled down with her mother’s Forever Amber before the sitting-room fire, but was soon tired of the antics and machinations of the heroine in the court of Charles the Second. She fell asleep as the afternoon darkened and the only light in the room came from the flickering fire.
Cath awoke with a start and sat up, her heart pounding. For a few seconds she couldn’t think where she was. And there was a banging noise and then the sound of the bell ringing through the house. She jumped up and went to the front door and almost opened it when she suddenly thought of Eric. He could have seen her mother and Henry leave the cottage and know she was on her own.
‘Who is it?’ she cried.
‘It’s Mark. For goodness sake let me in, it’s freezing out here.’
Mark! Oh, she was glad to see him. He would have some good explanation for keeping away all this time. Serious illness, was it? His mother or himself?
Cath opened the door and he strode into the hall, his overcoat spangled with frozen snow from the brief time he had been outside.
‘I thought I must have missed you, that you had gone back to Durham or something. The house was dark; I thought it was empty. Where’s your mother?’
‘A merry Christmas to you too, Mark,’ said Cath. She could smell whisky on his breath. She felt suddenly flat.
‘Why did you come out on a night like this? Come into the sitting room and I’ll get you some tea. Or coffee, if you like?’
‘A drink would be more like it.’
Mark swayed and looked at her with a strange expression but he followed her into the sitting room and slumped down in the armchair she had just vacated.
‘Where’s your mother?’ he repeated. ‘I want a word with her.’
‘She’s up at the Hall. She and Henry Vaughan are going to be married. They told me last night.’
Mark laughed. ‘She has him fooled, all right. There’s no fool like an old fool, as they say.’
Cath chose to ignore this. ‘Did you say you’d have coffee?’
‘No I didn’t, I want a whisky, damn you!’
‘Look, you’d better go if you’re going to be—’
‘I’m not bloody going until I see that bitch. Now get me a drink, will you? Or have I to get it myself?’
Cath bit her lip. She was nervous of him now – she hadn’t seen him in this sort of mood before. She could hardly force him to go physically and anyway, he was in no condition to drive anywhere, and in the snow. It was starting to blow again and the path cleared by the tractor and snowplough was becoming obliterated.
‘I’ll get it. You sit still. And stop calling my mother names,’ she said as calmly as she could. She went to the tray, which held Henry’s whisky and glasses, poured him a small one and added a generous amount of water. She handed it to him then sat down opposite him.
He took a gulp then spluttered and spat it out.
‘What’s that? Get me a proper drink,’ he shouted at her.
‘Mark!’
Cath was horrified; she couldn’t handle this. He was so hostile. She didn’t even know what she had done. She took the glass and poured more whisky into it and handed it back to him. He must have driven through the gloom to get here – it was a wonder he hadn’t killed both himself and any other unfortunate road-user he happened to meet.
‘Mark, Mark,’ he parodied her and gulped his whisky. ‘Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it, you innocent-faced whore.’
‘What do you mean?’
Cath was trembling. She got on her knees to mend the fire as an excuse to pick up the heavy brass poker to defend herself. Then she realised she was in a vulnerable position on her knees and stood up, still holding the poker.
Mark leaned forward in the chair. ‘I dare bet you know all about it,’ he said. His words were slurring more and more. He shook his head to clear it and rose to his feet unsteadily. ‘I’ll just get another one,’ he said.
‘You’ve had enough,’ said Cath. ‘What is it I’m supposed to know all about?’ The look on his face was so dark she thought of edging towards the door; she was still holding the poker.
Mark didn’t reply. He poured himself the last of the whisky then he turned to her and his expression changed. He grinned and walked towards her.
‘Don’t touch me or I’ll brain you, I swear,’ said Cath and stepped back towards the door, lifting the poker.
Mark laughed. ‘Touch you? I won’t touch you, don’t worry about that. It’s not legal, didn’t you know that?’
Cath stared up at him. What did he mean? ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you know? Why, incest of course,’ said Mark. He grinned but his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. He stopped just in front of her and gripped her arms. ‘How about a nice brotherly kiss?’
‘Get off me, get off me, let me go. You said you wouldn’t touch me,’ she hissed at him. His grip on her arms loosened and she pushed him. He was taken off guard and stumbled, tripping on the copy of Forever Amber she had dropped by the chair earlier in the afternoon to fall and land sprawling over the carpet, bumping his head on the brass knob of the fender. Cath was left shaking and staring at him as he lay in a heap, blood trickling down from where the skin of his forehead had split. The blood dripped on to the white fur hearthrug.
She couldn’t move for a moment then she stepped over his legs and bent down to him and felt his pulse. At first she couldn’t find it then there it was, a little fast and thready but beating nevertheless.
‘Oh, thank God, thank you God,’ she murmured. She sat back, not knowing what to do, her thoughts were so chaotic. In the end she ran to the kitchen and got a bowl of water and a clean cloth and went back to him to dab at the wound on his forehead. He stirred and groaned, then sat up suddenly, leaned over and was sick on the hearthrug. The smell of stale whisky filled the air.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘Let me help you up.’ He pushed her away. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said savagely. He pulled himself upright, groaned again and sat down heavily in the chair. ‘What a stink in here. And my head is breaking in two.’
‘Here.’ She held out the damp cloth. ‘Hold this to your head. It’s just about stopped bleeding.’ She left him clutching at his head as she rolled up the rug and took it out to the back porch. She would have to have it cleaned.
Back in the sitting room she opened the window despite the bitter cold wind and the fire flared up with the draught. He was still leaning forward in the chair with his head in his hands. She sat down opposite him again.
‘Now tell me what that was all about,’ she said.
He sat back and looked at her. ‘I need a couple of codeine,’ he said weakly. Cath rose and got some from the bathroom and handed them to him with a glass of water.
‘Now,’ she commanded
.
‘I have to sort my head out,’ he replied.
‘Mark!’
‘All right, all right. I suppose it’s not your fault. How could you know? You weren’t even born.’ He paused, evidently searching for the right words, but in the meantime the front door opened and Sadie’s footsteps sounded across the hall and she came into the sitting room.
‘By heck, our Cath, it’s blowing a gale in here. It’s colder indoors than it is outside,’ she said, crossing to the window, closing it and drawing the curtains. ‘It smells, an’ all. What have you been doing?’ Then she turned and saw Mark in the chair. He was sitting bolt upright now and staring at her.
‘Oh, your friend’s here. That’s nice,’ she said. ‘Hello, Mark. You haven’t been around lately.’
‘Hello, Mrs Raine,’ Mark replied, getting to his feet. ‘Or should I say, Mother dear?’
‘What?’
Sadie halted in her walk towards him and the fire. ‘What are you talking about? Oh, are you two thinking of getting married?’ She started to smile, still not realising there was anything strange about his attitude.
‘Married? No, I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ said Mark. He was speaking courteously enough, though his words were still slightly slurred.
‘Mark, I don’t understand a word you’re saying,’ said Cath. He smiled humourlessly at her.
‘I’m sure our mother will explain it all to you.’
Our mother? A terrible suspicion was forming at the back of Cath’s mind.
‘Did you know Toby and I were adopted? I’m sure your mother must have some idea when I tell her my adoptive mother’s name is Daphne Drummond and my father’s Nigel.’
‘What? It’s not true, you’re lying. They went to live down south years ago. They said they wouldn’t be back.’ Sadie had collapsed in a heap on to the sofa in the middle of the room but now she jumped up to confront him. ‘You’re a bloody liar!’ she shouted.
‘I see I have a foul-mouthed harridan for a mother,’ Mark observed. The wound on his forehead had started to bleed again and blood trickled down the side of his face. He ignored it. His face was very white and his eyes glittered. Abruptly he sat down again and closed his eyes.
