On Sundays Jo was in heaven. Gordon would pick her up away from the flat and they would leave town for the day and drive up the Tyne into the countryside or up the coast to the caravan. They would lie together for hours, making love to tapes of Red Serpent, smoking and drinking. On the way home they would stop for fish and chips or a bar meal and Jo would eat ravenously after their afternoons of passion.
Then, during the last few minutes of the ride, as the cranes of Wallsend poked into view, she would feel desolate and go quiet. Before she got out of the car, her craving to see him again would already have started. It amazed her that he could kiss her calmly and wave her away with a smile and a promise to come into the bar during the week. She did not like to think that he did not love her with the same intensity. Jo knew that he wanted her and enjoyed their trips, but did he need her in the same way that she needed him?
He would whisper his desire for her as they made love, and give her compliments, but he never spoke of love. When she asked him about it, he would laugh it off.
‘Love is for school bairns, Jo-Jo,’ he scoffed. ‘What we’ve got is pure lust.’
She did not like it when he said that, though she had to admit she felt it too. But she was sure it was more than just physical attraction. She loved him more than anyone else in the world and now could not bear to think of a life without him. She began to worry about what he did on the nights she did not see him, when she was tied up working in the pub. She became obsessed with wanting to know his every move, to be reassured he was seeing no one else. But her questions led to small rankling arguments, so she tried to curb her curiosity, knowing it only annoyed him.
‘We’re free spirits, you and me,’ Gordon told her with a warning glance. ‘That’s what I like about you. You get on with everyone − you’re out to enjoy yourself and so am I. Let’s just leave it at that.’
But Jo couldn’t. It was early August, and as they lay on the riverbank outside Hexham, Jo was thinking of her nineteenth birthday the following month. ‘Why don’t we have a big party at the pub for it?’ she suggested. ‘Then we can tell everyone about us. I’m getting tired of sneaking around as if we’ve got something to hide. Sod what our dads think!’ She gave him a challenging look.
‘It’s just a birthday. You make it sound like an engagement party or some’at.’ Gordon grunted and sat up. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ Jo demanded.
He gave her a sidelong look. ‘It’s over a month away. You might be sick of me by then,’ he joked.
‘I’ll never be sick of you,’ Jo insisted. ‘I love you!’
‘Haway,’ he said impatiently, ‘don’t say that. Anyways, you’ve got college in October; you’ll be living hundreds of miles away.’
‘Just Yorkshire,’ Jo said, dismayed at his reluctance.
‘Well, it’ll still not be the same once you’ve gone,’ Gordon pointed out. ‘You can’t expect me to hang around for months waiting for you to come back.’
Jo’s stomach felt leaden at his words. ‘I won’t go then,’ she said in panic.
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said sharply, ‘of course you must go. You’re going to be a teacher. It’s important you make something of your life − something to make your family proud of you. I might be a selfish bastard, but at least I can see what’s best for you and I’ll not be the one to spoil it.’
Jo felt wretched. She grabbed his arm. ‘We can still go on seeing each other after the summer. You can come and stay at weekends.’
The look he gave her was cool. ‘I thought you understood me better than that. I don’t go chasing lasses around the country. What we’ve got is a summer affair, Joanne, let’s just enjoy it while it lasts. You’re too young to go getting serious about me.’
She felt winded. ‘I’m not too young,’ she croaked, tears springing to her eyes.
‘You’ll probably meet someone else your first week at college. I’ve heard what students are like,’ he teased.
Tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks. ‘Don’t say that,’ she cried. ‘It’s you I want, just you!’
‘Hey, Jo-Jo,’ he said, suddenly softening and reaching over to wipe away her tears with a rough hand. ‘I’ve never seen you cry before.’ He gave her a cuddle. ‘You’re in too deep. I didn’t mean for you to get this bothered about me.’
‘What did you mean then?’ Jo accused.
Gordon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just go after lasses I fancy. And you were so sexy in your little lacy top standing behind the bar. I couldn’t resist you.’ He was grinning at her. Then he added, ‘And I must admit, I got a kick out of scoring with Mark’s childhood sweetheart an’ all.’
Jo gaped at him, the words wounding her more deeply than his trivialising of their relationship. Was this whole affair just a petty game to get back at his brother? she thought, quite stunned. Was she really nothing more than a casual victim of Gordon’s jealousy of Mark? Did their rivalry go that deep? Jo was appalled. She would not believe he could be so callous.
‘I was never his sweetheart,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Please tell me I mean more to you than that.’ Her green eyes were pleading.
Gordon gave her a hard look as he drew away. ‘You’re bonny and I like having sex with you,’ he answered brutally, ‘but that’s all. I don’t love you, Joanne.’
Jo forced herself not to cry as they drove home in a tense silence, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. She had ruined everything with her childish idea of wanting a big birthday party. If she had only kept quiet, they would still be enjoying each other’s company in Hexham, but she had opened her big mouth once too often. She should have given him more time to do it his way, for she was sure he would have come to feel just as strongly about her, given time. Instead, as they cut short their day out, he had suggested they cool it off for a bit, see other people. See other people! Jo agonised. She could not bear the thought of letting someone else touch her, let alone not being with Gordon again. And the thought of him going with other girls made her mad with jealousy.
But bursting into tears on their arrival back to Wallsend just seemed to annoy him more. ‘You see what I mean? I don’t want you seeing me if it’s going to upset you all the time. We’ll give it a break for a couple of weeks and see how we both feel, eh?’
By his look she knew that he thought her immature and not old enough to be taken seriously. She was devastated by the sudden reality. She had been his summer fling, nothing more; a little act of spite against his brother. She stumbled out of the car, blind with tears, and watched him drive away up the road with an impatient acceleration. She hardly remembered the walk home, where she locked herself in the bathroom and wept for hours until exhausted, cauterising the pain of his rejection.
When her father came in from having tea with Ivy, she had already put herself to bed, mumbling at him in the darkened room that she had a splitting headache. She slept for hours, waking with the dawn and the rattle of a milk float outside her window. And then the pain came, relentless and all-consuming. Gordon had finished with her and she did not know how she would ever get over it.
Chapter Nine
For several days Jo felt completely numb. Somehow she managed to drag herself to work and force a happy appearance for a few hours. But it was a facade, for underneath she felt as fragile as a china doll. Marilyn guessed before she was told and tried to shield her from Nancy’s inquisitive questioning. ‘Why’s she looking so peaky all of a sudden? Not getting to bed early enough? Boy trouble?’
‘She’s worrying about her brother in Northern Ireland,’ Marilyn replied, and, ‘It’s that time of the month,’ in a low voice so Ted didn’t hear.
‘How can I face him again after the things he said?’ Jo confided weepily round at Marilyn’s house. ‘He’s just used me. I never meant anything more to him than a roll in the sack.’ She hung her head. ‘I feel so ashamed.’
‘You’ve got nothing to be ashamed about,’ her friend insisted, passin
g her another wodge of tissues.
Jo tried to smile. ‘Ta. I wish I had shares in Kleenex.’
‘You just ignore him when he comes in the bar; I’ll serve him. You deserve better than his type. The way he made you keep it all hush-hush, it wasn’t right. I bet he’s been seeing someone else all the time.’
Jo shuddered. ‘Oh, don’t say that! I still love him.’
‘Jo!’ Marilyn protested.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. I wish I could just forget him, but I’m aching all the time.’
‘I’m taking you out this weekend,’ her friend declared. ‘I’ll get some of the gang together. You’re going to stop making yourself ill over that Duggan lad.’
It was the last thing Jo felt like doing, but she allowed Marilyn to bully her into it. They negotiated Saturday night off, thankful that they would miss Gordon’s band, and went into Newcastle. Jo got very drunk and collapsed on the disco floor of the Mayfair, and they all taxied home. She stayed at Marilyn’s and in the morning found Skippy on the settee downstairs.
‘I didn’t say anything daft last night, did I?’ Jo winced at the pain in her head.
‘Nothing in English,’ Skippy joked. ‘A lot in Gibberish.’
They all went for a walk along the Burn. ‘You did burst into tears when I told you Mark was coming home next week,’ Skippy told her. ‘That’ll be a canny welcome for him.’
Jo exchanged glances with Marilyn. ‘I don’t remember you saying that.’ Jo was not sure she could bear to see Mark so soon. He would be a painful reminder of her failure with Gordon. She had made such a fool of herself over him! she agonised.
But there was no escaping either Duggan for long. Gordon seemed to be avoiding the Coach and Eight, but one afternoon she saw his car on the high street and her stomach lurched to see a woman in the passenger seat. As he sped past, Gordon waved to her. Jo was left with her heart thumping painfully, wondering who the woman was. It did not look like Christine.
When she mentioned it to Marilyn, her friend was cagey. ‘Who do you think it was?’ Jo fretted.
‘Does it matter?’ Marilyn replied.
‘You know, don’t you?’ Jo accused.
Marilyn shrugged. ‘It’s just something Mam said. She said Mrs Thornton was in the store on Saturday.’
‘Mrs Thornton?’ Jo was baffled.
‘You know. Barbara’s mam.’
‘Barbara who used to work at the laundry?’
‘Yes,’ Marilyn said, ‘but she hasn’t worked there for years. She’s been down London, nannying or something.’ She gave Jo a pitying look. ‘But now she’s back.’
Jo felt her stomach twist. ‘And she’s seeing Gordon.’
Marilyn nodded. ‘That’s what her mam told mine.’ Something about her awkwardness made Jo persist.
‘What else did she say? There’s something else, isn’t there? You’ve got to tell me!’
Marilyn said in a quiet voice, ‘Mrs Thornton says Barbara’s been courting Gordon for six months; every time she comes home she sees him.’
Jo was stunned. ‘Six months! It’s not possible…’ She felt seized with a sudden rage. ‘All the time he was having his way with me!’ She clasped her head and started to howl.
‘Stop it, man!’ Marilyn said in alarm, glancing around them in the park where they had gone for a smoke. People were staring.
But Jo took the can of Coke she was drinking and crushed it under her foot. ‘I hate him! The bastard!’ she yelled, stamping on the can until its contents spewed and frothed all over the ground. ‘The lying, cheating…!’ Then she burst into tears.
Marilyn looked on in dismay, not knowing what to say to this new, emotional Jo whom she did not recognise. She produced tissues and waited for her friend to calm down.
‘Well, it just proves he wasn’t worth bothering about,’ Marilyn concluded. ‘You should get yourself out with other lads and show him you don’t give a toss.’
Jo nodded, her eyes sore and swollen from too much crying. ‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll show him.’
That evening, Jo went round to the theatre for the first time in a month. She had neglected her friends there and refused a part in the summer musical so as to be around for Gordon. Now she worked behind the scenes and helped people learn their lines, filling every waking hour with activity so that she did not dwell on her foolish affair. When she wasn’t working or helping at the theatre, she would go out partying with her friends, stifling any craving she felt for Gordon. On band night, she steeled herself to act coolly towards him, as if their brief passion had never been. She was polite but aloof, so that no one should guess they had ever been more than on nodding terms. Jo even managed to be civil to Barbara when she came in to listen to Red Serpent, noticing with a pang how mature and sophisticated she was in her linen trouser suit and with her shoulder-length permed hair.
The night Mark came home, he came into the bar with Skippy and Brenda and Jo’s spirits lifted to see his grinning face and hear his cheerful banter. He was full of his time away and the trips ashore in American ports.
‘Makes a change to see you lasses on that side of the bar,’ he teased. ‘Not drinking all Ted’s profits, are you?’
‘Not if you offer to buy us drinks,’ Jo quipped back.
‘You’re looking well on it, anyways,’ Mark smiled, and Jo’s insides twisted at the fleeting likeness to Gordon.
‘I am,’ she lied, thankful at what a bit of make-up could hide.
‘We thought we’d head down to the coast tomorrow,’ Brenda shouted over Mark’s shoulder in the jostle. ‘Want to come?’
Last Sunday Jo had spent moping at home, thinking back to the week before and the terrible trip to Hexham. Looking at her friends’ enthusiasm, she determined she was never going to waste her day off like that again. ‘Count me in,’ she smiled.
‘And me,’ Marilyn nodded.
‘Champion!’ Mark replied. ‘We’ll all go in Skippy’s car. Come round to Nana’s for breakfast; she’s complaining she never sees you.’
‘Aye, I’d like that,’ Jo agreed, feeling guilty that Ivy was yet another old friend she had neglected over the past month.
She was up early the next day, packing for the beach and pulling on her denims as it was blustery and threatening rain. Jack seemed pleased that she was going to Ivy’s. He had begun to go down to Nile Street regularly at weekends since Pearl had been away such a long stretch. He said it reminded him of Jericho Street, and he and Ivy liked to chat about the old days without the young complaining. Jo wondered if they ever discussed Gordon or his parents. She knew Ivy tried to keep in touch with Matty, but there had been a stand-off since Mark had gone to live with her and she was largely snubbed by her son and his wife. To Ivy’s distress, Gordon made no effort to see her either. Jo knew this was because of his jealousy over Mark and the way he saw his grandmother favouring the younger grandson, but Ivy would not understand.
‘She’s always asking after you,’ Jack said pointedly.
‘I know,’ Jo said, giving him a quick kiss. ‘I’m going to make up for it now,’ she promised. Meeting Marilyn on the way, they hurried to Ivy’s, Jo feeling more like her old self for the first time in two weeks. Ivy had bacon and eggs, toast and tea ready for them and sent them off in Skippy’s car with a picnic of ham sandwiches and crisps, ordering them to return for their tea if it poured with rain.
‘I like nothing better than having you bairns around again,’ she beamed from behind her steamed-up glasses.
‘You’ll be calling us bairns when we’re turning grey,’ Mark teased his grandmother, and gave her a smacking kiss.
With David Bowie blaring out of Skippy’s battered Vauxhall Viva, the five friends rattled off towards Whitley Bay. They walked along the prom to St Mary’s lighthouse and clambered around the rocks. Almost missing the tide, they waded back across the causeway, soaking their shoes and jeans, and headed back to the funfair at Spanish City. They went to a pub for lunchtime last orders and then took
their sandwiches to the beach, where they buried Skippy in the sand when he dozed off. Later, it began to rain, so they sheltered in a cafe eating chips and playing noughts and crosses on the steamed-up window.
Jo realised she had not been so relaxed or enjoyed a day out as much all summer. It was just like past summers when they had hung around together; only Colin was missing from the group. She could tell how the others missed his company by their constant reference to past things he had done or said, and she felt suddenly ashamed that she had thought so little about her brother these past weeks. When Mark asked her for news, she tried to remember what her father had told her. There was Colin facing danger every day in Northern Ireland, while she had been too consumed with her own selfish passion for Gordon to care. By the end of the day, when they had returned to Ivy’s for tea and then gone for a drink on the high street, Jo began to wonder what madness had gripped her these past few weeks. It was as if she was waking from a trance, a spell that Gordon had put on her. Now she could see how blinkered she had been about him, too eager to overlook his faults and ignore the casual way he treated her and others. Looking at Mark, with his unfashionably short hair and the lively warmth of his eyes, she saw how different the brothers were. She had always thought of Mark as the wild, dangerous one, but she was wrong. Despite all the bad treatment he had received in the past, he was not bitter like Gordon. He was kind and funny and good to be with, just like he had always been when they were children.
Mark caught her staring at him and gave her a quizzical look. Jo blushed and glanced away, but he put out a friendly hand.
‘Haven’t grown another head while I’ve been at sea, have I?’ he joked.
Jo laughed. ‘No, it’s just good to see you again, that’s all,’ she answered, wondering why she felt so bashful.
He gave her knee a quick squeeze. ‘You too,’ he smiled, and Jo felt a warmth creep through her like the comforting glow from a fire. Not the passion she had felt for Gordon, but a deep feeling of well-being that came from years of friendship.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 95
