Katy's Men

by Irene Carr

  *

  ‘I thought you had gone for good.’ Fleur’s greeting was both acid and cool when she opened the door to Matt.

  He paused on the threshold and reminded her, ‘I told you I couldn’t get out on account of young Beatrice.’

  Fleur replied tartly, ‘Neither can I. You should never have taken on the child. I said so at the beginning.’

  ‘I had no choice. I’d promised Joe.’ That edge of irritation was back in Matt’s voice.

  Fleur noted it and became cautious; she would not push this tall young man too far. She was still convinced he was headed for success. Hadn’t he plenty of money before that stupid Joe Docherty lost it all — and saddled Matt with debts? Now he said, ‘And I’m here to take you out now. It will only be a couple of seats at the Empire because that’s all I can afford.’ He still had debts to pay and was paying them. The seats at the Empire would consume his spending money for the week.

  Fleur decided to settle for what she could get and smiled, ‘I’ll get my coat.’ As he held it for her she asked, ‘What has happened to that child tonight?’

  ‘Mrs Merrick is looking after her.’

  Fleur questioned sharply, ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Merrick. She’s married to a sailor away at sea. She’s got a baby daughter.’

  Fleur relaxed, ‘And it gives you some freedom. That sounds like a sensible arrangement.’ Because it seemed to her advantage; Matt would be able to escort her again.

  Matt was still not sure about the arrangement, but Fleur took his arm then, smiled up at him and they set out.

  It was close to midnight when he returned to the yard. Katy had long since gone to bed but she heard him moving below. She thought that he was engaged but by his own admission still in debt. He was sheltering Katy and Louise when he needed all his money to marry one day. Katy had to make it up to him. Somehow . . .

  Chapter Twelve

  MONKWEARMOUTH. DECEMBER 1910.

  Katy had been living above the office for a week when, glancing out of the kitchen window at mid-morning, she saw the stranger cross the yard to the office. He was burly, roughly dressed and unshaven. It was a grey, bitterly cold winter’s day and there was not another soul to be seen, in the yard or the street outside. She told Beatrice, playing with her dolls, ‘You stay here. I’ll just be downstairs.’ Then she looked to see that the fireguard was in place and ran down to the office. She was not taking fright at the man’s appearance because she had seen many such when she was at the Spargo yard, honest men dressed for honest toil. But she was aware of her vulnerability, alone in the yard.

  As she reached the foot of the stairs there came a hammering at the door. Katy smoothed down her apron and opened it, disclosing the stranger with his fist raised.

  He lowered it then and asked, ‘Now then, lass, where’s the boss?’

  ‘Mr Ballard’s out on a job.’

  ‘Aw, blast it!’ He started to turn away.

  Katy asked quickly, ‘What did you want? Something moving? Maybe I can help.’

  He scowled at her over his shoulder, ‘Don’t be daft, lass. I can’t see you shifting half-a-ton o’ bricks.’

  ‘When? Where?’

  ‘What?’ He turned back to her, the scowl still there but now he was puzzled.

  ‘When do you want them moved?’

  ‘Today. I’m doing a building job just round the corner in the next street and another in Fulwell. I want the bricks I’ve got left here over there for a start tomorrow morning. My cart’s gone out Seaham Harbour way and won’t be back till after dark.’

  ‘We’ll do it this afternoon.’ Katy knew, from his order book, where Matt would be while she was speaking. She also had a good idea, from her own experience and studying his books, what he would usually charge. But this customer wanted the job done urgently . . . ‘It’ll be five shillings.’

  ‘Five bob! That’s near a day’s work and it won’t take him more than a couple of hours!’

  ‘If he thinks it’s too much he’ll knock the price down. But I doubt if you’d get it cheaper from anywhere else. I think Spargos across the river would charge the same, but you could try them.’ If memory served her correctly, Spargos would charge four shillings. She said, ‘I’ll tell you what, you keep us in mind for any work you want doing and I’ll book the job at four and six.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ And when Katy nodded, he grinned. ‘Thought I could knock you down a bit. I wasn’t born yesterday. Done.’

  ‘Done.’ Katy had got the price she had wanted from the beginning. ‘Now where are these bricks and where do they have to go, Mr . . .?’

  ‘Billy Nicholson.’

  Katy got the addresses from him and before he had reached the gates she was running up the stairs. She bundled Beatrice into her coat and pulled on her own.

  Beatrice clasped her doll to her chest and asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To see Uncle Matt.’ Katy picked up Louise, wrapped her in a shawl and preceded Beatrice down the stairs.

  Out in the street she walked quickly and found Matt where she had calculated, a mile or so away, unloading furniture from the cart at a house in Southwick on the northern border of Sunderland. He turned from the cart with an armchair in his hands and paused, staring. Then he asked as she hurried up, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Katy caught her breath, smiling, ‘I’ve booked a job for this afternoon.’

  Matt set the armchair down carefully and straightened. He asked coldly, ‘You’ve done — what?’

  Katy heard the irritation in his voice again but replied patiently, ‘A man called Billy Nicholson came to the yard. He wanted some bricks moved from just round the corner

  from the yard to Fulwell, today. I knew you only had the one job at the start of the afternoon so I said you’d do it.’ Matt asked, ‘How did you know? And how did you know where to find me?’

  Katy admitted, ‘I saw your order book. I’ve been reading it so I knew what was going on — in case I could help. I didn’t think it was private, just part of the business. Are you annoyed?’

  Matt thought about this for a moment, while Katy changed Louise from one arm to another. He asked, ‘Why are you carrying her? Why isn’t she in the pram?’

  Katy explained, ‘It has a broken spring. Look, I wasn’t prying. I just thought that if anyone came along wanting some job done I could deal with them rather than send them away.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘I don’t mind you looking at the book. It seems it’s just as well you did. But you say you booked the job. How much did you ask for?’

  ‘Four and six.’

  What! Matt shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got a nerve.’

  ‘Did I do right?’ asked Katy.

  ‘You did — and better. I would have taken four bob and thought myself lucky.’

  Katy smiled, ‘I let him beat me down from five shillings because he promised to give us any carting jobs he has in the future.’

  Matt burst out laughing. ‘You cheeky—’ He stopped there, and asked instead, ‘Right°, then, tell me where to find this job.’

  He thanked her when he returned to the yard that night. Katy ran down with Beatrice to help him stable the horse and Matt dug in his pocket then opened his hand to show her a jumble of silver and copper. ‘What I made this morning — and four and six from Billy Nicholson. You did well.’ He passed the money to her: ‘Put it in the cash box and book it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Katy put it in the pocket of her apron, smiling. She had been accepted. And before they left the stable, as she stroked the back of the gentle beast, she asked, ‘Why do you call him “Sergeant”?’

  Matt laughed, ‘It’s Sergeant O’Malley if you give him his full title. Joe Docherty called him that because he reminded us of a sergeant we had once. He used to nod his head when he was drilling on the square, just like the Sergeant here.’ Katy laughed with him.

  Later, after they had eaten, Matt said, ‘That was a good bit of business today.’


  Katy ventured, ‘We’re going to need a lot more before we’re rich.’ And when he blinked at her, startled, she added, ‘I mean, with a horse and cart you can only handle small loads and those from the cheaper end of the market, people who can’t borrow a cart to shift their stuff themselves.’ Katy knew this from her time at Spargos. She also knew the scarcity of loads Matt could handle meant that, to earn a few shillings, he sometimes had to buy coal or vegetables at the market and sell them off the cart around the streets.

  Matt was impressed: ‘Aye. You’ve got the right of it.’ Now he went on, ‘When Joe and me had the Dennis — the lorry, that is — we could get the jobs that paid better.’ He was silent a moment, then sighed, ‘Thinking back, I can see where Joe went wrong. He took a long lease on this yard and it’s far too big, for me now and the pair of us when he was alive. He was planning to expand, had big ideas, but his illness put an end to that.’

  Katy tried to cheer him: ‘You can expand in the future — when you’ve paid off the debts.’

  Matt grimaced, ‘A long way in the future. My profit at present won’t allow me to clear them for months. And as for buying another lorry, that’s wishing for the moon.’ Then he looked at the clock and shoved back his chair. ‘I’m off out to see Fleur. I’ll be late back.’ Then he turned at the head of the stairs and grinned at Katy, ‘It was a good thing you got this job for me today. It will put food on the table for Beatrice and all of us.’ And he thought that now he might use a few shillings from his meagre savings to buy a Christmas present for Fleur. He clumped down the stairs.

  Talk of Fleur set Katy to clear up in silent bad temper, but then she told herself she didn’t care. When she had put the children to bed and then retired herself, she was more cheerful. It was clear now that she would be running the office. Despite their poverty she felt that she and Louise would be safe there. She was more optimistic than she had been for nearly a year.

  The next day dawned cold but bright with sunlight and a clear, blue sky. In the afternoon Katy took out the children, Louise in her arms and Beatrice dancing alongside. She walked through the ravine of Roker Park and so down to the beach. The big rollers came crashing in from the North Sea to pound the shore and Beatrice ran shrieking and laughing as they threatened to wash around her shoes. Katy showed her how to throw stones so they skipped across the waves.

  Beatrice shouted a dozen times, ‘I want to go plodging!’

  Katy always refused to let her paddle, shouting back, ‘It’s too cold!’

  They walked home in the dusk, Louise heavy on Katy’s arm and Beatrice with dragging feet.

  Katy was surprised to see the cart already in the shed and the Sergeant in his stable with his head poked enquiringly over the half-door. Matt was in the office, tossing a collection of tools back into their box. The pram stood beside him. Katy commented, ‘You’re early. Is anything wrong?’

  Matt closed the lid on the box. ‘No. I finished the day’s jobs quicker than I expected and found another spring in a scrap yard so I’ve mended the pram.’ He pushed it back and forth to show her: ‘There you are, runs smooth as. you like.’

  ‘Oh, Matt, thank you!’ That came from the heart. ‘This child is breaking my arm. We’ve had a lovely afternoon, but if only I could have taken her in the pram.’

  Matt laughed and took Louise from her: ‘From now on, you can.’

  That evening, Katy wrote to Winnie Teasdale in Malta, in her usual cheerful vein. She explained that she had not written recently because she had been on the move, but she was now settled. Katy paused for a moment then, to reflect wryly that she could not afford to go anywhere. But then she went on to write enthusiastically of her new home and work. She did not mention Louise, not wanting to shock Winnie. She described her new employer: He has a quick temper but he has been fair to me. He is certainly better than the Spargos.

  Katy spent a lot of time in the office in the week that followed. Once she had it cleaned and organised to her liking — and Matt’s — she sat in the swivel chair and knitted, with Beatrice and Louise for company. This paid dividends because three times in the first week there were callers looking for Matt to carry some load. Katy asked them, ‘If I hadn’t been here would you have come back later?’ All replied that they would have looked elsewhere, two of them mentioning Spargos.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Matt. ‘Those orders will keep me busy until the New Year. I’m pleased.’ So Katy was, too.

  Christmas was frugal — dinner was a bacon joint cooked by Katy — but a cheerful occasion. Matt brought in a bunch of flowers on Christmas Eve and gave them to Katy, saying awkwardly, ‘Happy Christmas.’ She thanked him and next day gave him a pair of woollen gloves. He was taken aback: ‘That’s very good of you, to remember I needed them.’ Then he added, embarrassed, ‘But you shouldn’t have spent your money.’

  Katy laughed, ‘I knitted them.’ From the old cardigan she had washed and unravelled.

  ‘Just the same . . ; Matt rubbed the gloves gently between his big hands, feeling their softness. ‘I think I can pay you some wages from now on. Not much, but

  something. You’re earning it and I’m making a little more now.’

  Katy was grateful, but for a moment was unsure whether to accept. She knew how much money he made and how little he spent on himself. After providing her with housekeeping and setting aside a sum towards settling the remaining debts, he was left with only a few shillings — and these he spent on Fleur. From casual comments he had made, Katy knew that when he went to see his fiancée at the weekend it was only to take her to the modestly priced seats at a theatre or picture palace. And if the weather was fine he took her strolling in Mowbray Park. Katy gathered that Fleur liked to be seen. Now she thought that she could find a use for these wages and said, ‘Thank you.’

  That was a happy day, at least until the evening, when Matt left with a carefully wrapped parcel under his arm, on his way to eat another Christmas dinner with Fleur and her mother in their apartment. Katy lay in bed listening to the breathing of the children with their occasional catch of breath and little sigh. Her thoughts drifted idly between Matt and the business. The latter because of the problem facing Matt — and therefore herself, because the sanctuary she had found there was fragile. If the business should fail . . . So she wondered how she could help and determined on certain lines of action. And she wondered if this Fleur was the right girl for him . . .

  *

  They were well into the New Year when Matt returned to the yard late on a wet evening. Katy helped him to stable the Sergeant, then as they entered the office she warned, ‘Dinner is ready.’

  ‘I’ll just write up my book, then I’ll be up.’ Matt shrugged out of his wet jacket and went to hang it on the end of the counter. He paused, staring, then called after Katy who had run up the stairs, ‘Hey! Where did this come from?’

  Katy feigned ignorance: What?’

  ‘The bed.’ Because now there was a proper mattress under the counter with Matt’s bedding laid on it.

  Oh, that!’ Katy smiled to herself. ‘That’s just a “thank you”. I bought it out of the money you paid me.’

  Matt could not believe that. ‘It must have cost all I paid you.’

  ‘No, it didn’t.’ But she had spent all of it, one way or another. ‘You need a decent bed and I’d taken yours so I’m just paying you back.’ Then changing the subject, ‘I have an idea that might help you find more business. I’ll show you when you come up.’

  The next day Katy went shopping in Dundas Street.

  ‘Now then, bonny lass, what can I get you today?’ The butcher, burly and florid, grinned across his counter at Katy. She was one of the regular customers at his shop. What she had left of the money Matt had paid her she had ploughed back into the housekeeping. She was intent on building up a reserve of food, rather than living from day to day as Matt had done. Then he had been struggling to survive on his own and at the same time caring for Beatrice. Now she was at the National School by S
t Peter’s church while Louise lay in her pram outside the shop door. Katy could see, from the corner of her eye, the back of a woman bending over the pram.

  But the butcher was waiting so Katy asked, ‘I’d like a piece of rib for roasting, please.’ And when she had paid the shilling for her meat, she asked, ‘Will you put this in your window, please?’ She passed him the handbill she had carefully printed herself, advertising: ‘MATT BALLARD. Removals and haulage.’ And it showed the address of the yard.

  The butcher wiped his hands on his apron and took it, eyebrows raised. ‘Oh?’

  Katy smiled at him, ‘Mr Ballard will give you ten per cent discount on any work he does for you.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Yes. Two shillings in the pound. And you don’t have to do anything.’

  He grinned at her. ‘For you, bonny lass, why aye. Jimmy!’ He called his boy and gave him the handbill: ‘Get a bit o’ stamp edging out o’ the office and put that in the window.’

  Katy left the shop. The woman was still stooped over the pram, cooing at the wide-eyed, gurgling Louise. She straightened when she became aware of Katy’s presence and started to say, ‘I was just admiring—’ Then she stopped with her mouth open, and gasped, ‘Katy Merrick!’

  Katy recognised her old friend from the days when she worked at Ashleigh’s in Newcastle: ‘Annie!’

  Annie Scanlon was ruddy-faced as ever but greyer now.

  She shook her head in disbelief, ‘Where did you spring from? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m working for Mr Ballard.’ Katy nodded at the sign going up in the butcher’s window.

  Annie read it: ‘Ballard — that’s Docherty and Ballard as was, he’s just round the corner from where I live.’ She changed tack: ‘I thought this was your baby.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘She’s lovely.’ Annie’s smile shifted from Louise to Katy, ‘So it’s not Katy Merrick any more.’

  Katy said softly, ‘It is.’

  There was an awkward pause while Annie took this in. Then she put a hand on Katy’s arm: ‘It’s been — what? About four years since I last saw you. Come on home with me and we’ll have a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’