‘Stop it, Kate!’ Catherine said in sudden agitation. ‘Bridie doesn’t want to hear all that tittle-tattle from years ago.’
Bridie looked between the two of them, her face alert to the sudden change in mood. Catherine got up abruptly and went to fetch the second bottle of beer she had got in reserve. She put it in front of Kate with a warning look.
‘No more stories,’ she said lightly. Turning to Bridie she smiled. ‘That was a lovely dinner. How about we take Tuppence for a walk before it gets dark?’
‘What about the plum puddin’?’ Kate cried.
‘I’m too full for that just now,’ Catherine said. ‘Some fresh air will give us an appetite for the rest.’
‘That suits me,’ Bridie said, getting up quickly.
‘Well, me and Maisie will stay and play snap,’ Kate announced, ‘won’t we, hinny?’
‘Snap,’ Maisie repeated.
Catherine felt relief at the decision. What did it matter if Kate drank all the beer while they were out? It was only for one day in the year.
The two friends enjoyed a chill, bracing walk in the fading light down to the harbour. The warm lights from houses and the sound of a piano being played in an upstairs room gave Catherine a contented feeling, as she hung on to Tuppence’s new leather rein and hurried after him.
They paused by the harbour wall. The sea glinted bronze under the wintry setting sun.
‘What was all that about a boy called Billy?’ Bridie suddenly asked.
Catherine’s heart jolted. ‘Nothing,’ she said dismissively. ‘Just a prank that went wrong. Lad fell off the timbers and went into the Slake, nearly drowned. Us other bairns got a good hiding for it. That’s all.’
‘But it still upsets you?’ Bridie said quietly.
Catherine shrugged. ‘Haven’t thought of it for years. Just don’t like the way Kate keeps bringing up the past once she’s had a drink inside her. You never know what fanciful tales she’s going to come out with.’
Bridie put an arm about her. ‘She can say what she likes, it doesn’t change a thing. I’ll still think the best of you. Even if you were a bossy little madam,’ she teased.
‘I never was!’
Bridie gave a raucous laugh. ‘You couldn’t run a laundry if you didn’t have a little bit of the bossiness in you.’
Catherine laughed abruptly too. ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’
Somehow, her friend always managed to make her see the funny side, so her anxiety vanished. Together they returned with the panting dog, which flopped in happy exhaustion by the electric fire.
Drawing the curtains against the dark, they ate the plum pudding and the tea of scones and cake that Kate had baked the day before. Bridie turned on the wireless and they listened to an orchestra while playing cards and drinking tea.
Kate fell asleep by the fire and Catherine read a story to Maisie until they were all too sleepy to stay awake. On her way to bed, Catherine checked to see if the sherry bottle was still hidden at the bottom of her wardrobe. It was there, with half the sherry still untouched. Catherine lay down with Tuppence curled up at her feet, feeling full and drowsily contented. It had turned out to be the best Christmas she could remember for an age.
It was only much later, after Boxing Day and when they were back at work, did she think to check the sherry bottle more closely. Kate had drunk its contents and replaced them with cold tea.
Chapter 33
At first Kate managed to cover up her drinking. Catherine was pleased that her mother seemed to warm to their new dog, Tuppence, and offered to take him for walks in the short January afternoons.
‘Makes a purpose of ganin’ out,’ Kate said. ‘And Maisie’s taken a shine to him - keeps the lass from under me feet when I’m busy in the kitchen.’
So Catherine walked the boisterous puppy in the dark early mornings and then left him in Kate’s care. That winter was a busy one at the workhouse laundry, with an increase in destitute inmates and unemployed vagrants seeking a bed for the night. Catherine and Bridie worked long and hard, happy to return home to one of Kate’s hot meals and Tuppence’s frantic welcome.
Often Catherine was so exhausted, she went straight to bed after tea, Bridie and Kate vying to make the most fuss over her.
‘I’ll bring you in a cup of tea, hinny,’ Kate offered.
‘No, it’s rest she needs, not more of your tea.’ Bridie was adamant.
‘What’s wrong with me tea?’ Kate bristled.
‘It’s so strong it’ll keep her awake till the small hours.’
‘I’ve always made it like that - the lass likes it that way, don’t you, Kitty?’
Catherine felt tired just listening to them. ‘I don’t need anything, thank you. I just want to sleep.’
‘There you are!’ Bridie said with satisfaction. ‘Leave the girl be. We don’t want her wearing herself out and bringing on one of those bleeds.’
‘I know more about them than you do,’ Kate snorted.
Catherine shot Bridie a pleading look and her friend swallowed a retort.
Suddenly she smiled. ‘Of course you do,’ Bridie agreed. ‘You’re her mother, aren’t you? We both want what’s best for the girl.’ She turned to Catherine. ‘You get yourself to bed. Kate and I will sit by the fire and finish the pot of tea together and maybe have a wee game of cards. Won’t we, Kate?’
Kate was quite disarmed by the sudden charm, and meekly agreed. It occurred to Catherine, as she lay in bed listening to them chatting in the next room, that it suited Bridie to keep in with Kate. How else would Maisie be able to stay with her? If Kate withdrew her co-operation, Maisie would have to go back to Ireland.
So Catherine ignored the small telltale signs that something was wrong at home: a carelessly broken plate blamed on Maisie, scorched ironing, milk put away in the cupboard instead of the pantry. At times Kate seemed absent-minded, but she never smelt of drink, just strongly of lily of the valley given to her for Christmas.
It was a Saturday in February, when Catherine was taking the dog for a walk around the old town with Maisie, that Tuppence pulled her into the doorway of a public house.
‘Not in there,’ Catherine said, pulling him away. The dog barked at the door. Maisie stood waiting. ‘Come on, Tuppence,’ Catherine urged, but he barked louder.
Just then the door swung open and a small, stout man in a mustard-coloured waistcoat came out.
‘Hello, old fellow,’ he chuckled, patting Tuppence fondly. ‘Didn’t expect you here today. Haven’t got your bone.’ He glanced up. ‘Hello, Maisie.’ He gave Catherine a quizzical look. ‘You walking the old boy for Kate, are you?’
Catherine gawped at him. ‘This is my dog,’ she stuttered.
The man looked disbelieving but shrugged. ‘Well, you’re welcome to come in, miss. Any friend of Tuppence is a friend of mine,’ he joked.
Catherine looked at him indignantly. ‘I most certainly won’t be coming in.’ She yanked on the dog’s lead and dragged him off down the lane, calling sharply to Maisie to follow.
By the time they got to the harbour wall, she was seething with anger. She turned on Maisie.
‘How many times have you been to the Penny Luck with Kate?’
Maisie stared at the fishing boats as if she had not heard.
‘Do you go in there with her?’ Catherine demanded. When the girl said nothing, Catherine seized her by the arm and shook her. ‘Answer me! Do you and Kate go drinking together?’
Maisie met her look, her eyes wide with terror. She pulled away whimpering and began to cry out for her mother. Catherine tried to calm her down.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be cross with you. You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s Kate I’m mad with.’ She stroked the girl’s hair as Bridie did to soothe her, but Maisie would not stop wailing.
‘Come on,’ Catherine said quickly, ‘we’ll go to the sweetshop on the way home, get some pear drops.’ They were Maisie’s favourite. The crying subsided a little and Catherine
linked arms with the girl and set off briskly.
By the time they reached the sweetshop, Maisie was quiet again. As they drew near to home, Catherine felt sick with dread at confronting her mother.
On the steps, Maisie said between sucks of her sweet, ‘Just a wee nip to keep out the cold. A wee nip for Kate and a poke of sweets for Maisie. Our little secret.’
Bridie, who had been out at the hairdresser’s, was sitting at the table sewing. Catherine went barging into Kate’s bedroom, where she was resting, and began pulling out drawers. Tuppence raced in, barking.
‘Where do you hide it?’ she demanded, searching through her clothes.
‘What you doing?’ Kate asked in alarm. ‘You’ve no right—’
‘You’re drinking again,’ Catherine accused, ‘buying whisky with my money! How could you? And taking that poor lass into that terrible place, an’ all. Not to mention my dog!’
Suddenly she found it, an almost empty half-bottle of whisky, pushed inside a slipper under the bed. She brandished it at Kate.
‘How long have you been back on the bottle? I must be green as grass to think you’d got over it. You lied to me - and Bridie. You promised . . .!’
Kate heaved herself off the bed. ‘Don’t go all holy,’ she said scornfully. ‘You’re hardly little miss perfect with your lady friend here.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Catherine demanded.
‘You and her - grown lasses sharing a bed. It’s not natural.’ Kate shot Bridie a withering look as she stood behind Catherine, open-mouthed at the argument.
Catherine went puce with indignation. ‘You and your filthy mind. We used to share a bed, remember? It’s no different.’
Kate snapped, ‘There’s a world of difference. I’m your mam.’
‘And that’s what Bridie is to me,’ Catherine retorted, ‘like a mother. So don’t bring her into this. You’re the one at fault.’
‘Oh, am I?’ Kate blazed back. ‘And is it my fault I’m stuck here on me own all day with daft Maisie and having to clean up after that wild dog?’ She shoved Tuppence out of the way. ‘You’d never have noticed if the lass hadn’t told you. Never says a word all day long, then spills the beans about our little drink.’
Bridie cried, ‘You’ve been taking my girl into pubs? You wicked woman!’
‘She enjoys herself,’ Kate defended. ‘At least the folk in there pay her some attention - more than she gets round here.’
‘How dare you?’ Bridie raged, barging past Catherine. But Catherine caught her arm.
‘No, I’ll deal with her, you see to Maisie.’
She could hear the girl whimpering in the background. She pushed Bridie towards the door and shut it behind her. She faced Kate as calmly as she could.
‘This can’t go on. It’s my house you’re living in, remember. I’m the one paying for it all, and I’ll not have you drinking away my wages like Grandda did yours.’
At this, Kate capitulated, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
‘I’m sorry, lass, I cannot help it. I need a little bit of comfort to get me through the day.’ She gave a bleak look. ‘I’m fifty with nowt to me name. I never see me husband - I’m a fish out of water here, yet I’ve nowt to gan back for. I need some’at to do, Kitty, not just making the tea for you and your friend. I need to work. I’m better when I’m graftin’. Find me some’at to do, hinny,’ she pleaded.
Catherine leant against the door, at a loss as to what to do. A moment ago, she had been ready to throw her mother out, force her back north. She was Davie’s problem, not hers. But looking at the forlorn woman hunched on the bed, she knew she could not wash her hands of Kate. She would give her another chance.
‘Give me a few days to think it over,’ Catherine sighed.
‘You’ll not send me back to Jarrow?’ Kate whispered.
Catherine shook her head.
Kate gave a trembling smile. ‘Ta, Kitty, you’re a good lass.’
Catherine braced herself. ‘But you and Maisie aren’t to go anywhere near the Penny Luck again. Promise?’
‘Aye,’ Kate agreed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
Catherine saw from the earnest look on Kate’s face that she meant to try, but deep down she doubted whether her mother could ever keep such a promise.
Chapter 34
‘Beautiful house, isn’t it?’ said a woman in passing. ‘Shame to see it go to rack and ruin like that.’
Catherine looked round, startled out of her reverie and embarrassed to have been caught peering through the railings at the neglected gardens and house beyond. She had first noticed it on her way to work months ago, when the falling autumn leaves had revealed a red-brick mansion with a quaint turret and large shuttered windows. It looked mysterious and beckoning with its ‘For Sale’ sign at the gate, as if challenging her to explore further.
‘Yes, a shame,’ Catherine murmured. ‘Surprised no one’s bought it yet.’
The woman shook her head. ‘My uncle used to deliver tea there,’ she confided. ‘Belonged to a man who’d made his money in India - had foreign servants, Uncle Vic said. That’s the trouble, you see. House that size needs plenty servants and no one wants to do that sort of work now, do they?’
Catherine nodded at the woman and made to move off.
‘Course, you could run it as a boarding house, I suppose,’ the stranger commented.
Catherine looked at her startled, then realised the woman had not meant her in particular. But all that day at work she could not rid her thoughts of the idea. She was drawn to the place’s fading grandeur. The house of a wealthy gentleman. It was crying out to be loved and nurtured back to life. A mansion so similar to the ones in her childish daydreams that it almost seemed as if fate had led her to its gates.
Stop being so fanciful! Such a house was far out of her reach. But a little later she was speculating again as to how many bedrooms it had and how many lodgers it could take. Kate could look after the place and there would be residents to keep her company. It was too far out of the town centre for her to sneak out to the pub as she could now, and Catherine knew she was still nipping into the Penny Luck.
Only yesterday she had found a cough medicine bottle filled with whisky in the kitchen cupboard. When confronted, Kate had denied it was hers and gone into a rant about Bridie, saying she had done it to get her into trouble.
‘All lies, you old soak,’ Bridie had scoffed, only riling Kate the more.
Catherine knew she had to get her mother away from town and out from under Bridie’s feet as soon as possible, if their household was to survive. Before the day was out, she rang the estate agent’s office and made an appointment to see The Hurst.
On the Saturday, she took Bridie with her to look around. Catherine was captivated by its sweep of daffodils up the drive and its mature trees that would make it secluded in summer.
‘Look, it’s got a tennis court,’ Bridie exclaimed. ‘Think of the tennis parties we could have!’
The agent led them through a series of grand rooms on the ground floor.
‘Smells a bit musty,’ Catherine said cautiously, peering into the gloom of the drawing room, with its gaping fireplace.
‘Just needs a bit of a spring-clean,’ Bridie declared.
‘Quite so,’ said the agent. ‘It’s been empty for over a year. This is the way to the billiard room.’
‘Billiard room?’ Bridie squealed. ‘More parties!’
‘How many rooms altogether?’ Catherine gulped, as they followed him back into the hall. Two large china urns depicting exotic birds still stood either side of the large central staircase.
‘Fifteen. It’s what you’d expect of a gentleman’s residence,’ the agent said, ushering them upstairs.
Catherine could imagine how grand it must once have been. It still smelt of faded cigar smoke and vinegar polish; of dried roses. She half expected to see one of the Indian servants dressed in a vivid turban, emerging with a silver tray and tea set. In mounting exc
itement, she followed the agent, clutching Bridie’s arm.
They lost count of the bedrooms. The kitchen was antiquated, with a huge old black range, but there was a separate butler’s pantry, a cook’s sitting room and a system of bells to call for service, which still worked.
‘We can ring for Kate to bring us up tea and toast in the morning,’ Bridie joked.
‘If you want it poured over your head, you mean,’ Catherine snorted.
‘Oh, Catherine, it’s a dream house, so it is. Maisie will love the gardens - and so will Tuppence. Say you’ll buy it!’
Catherine tried to quell her own excitement. There seemed so much work to be done. Panes of glass were missing or broken in half a dozen windows, and at least three of the rooms had pails and saucepans catching drips from the leaking roof.
‘And finally, the garden room.’ The agent led them into the glass-domed conservatory to the side of the house.
As they entered, a wall of warmth enveloped them and a pungent smell of plants. Some hothouse blooms had survived - someone must have come in to tend them - and they were already flowering in the early spring sunshine. The room led on to the small terrace and a lawn with a sagging tennis net. Beyond was a bank of rhododendrons and mature trees.
For a brief instant, Catherine was reminded of the view from Ravensworth Castle, the sweep of lawns and bushes rolling away from the aristocratic mansion. A Ravensworth in miniature. She blinked hard. A ridiculous comparison, of course, but how she longed to possess such a place! At that moment, she desired it more than anything she had ever wanted before. Kitty McMullen, owner of a gentleman’s residence. She would pay for a busload of her old neighbours and school friends to come from Jarrow just to see it! Then there would be no more scoffing and turning up their noses. How they would regret ever excluding her from their games . . .
Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow Page 25
