Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  He would talk about his army days in South Africa and the Middle East, until Bridie would come and scold them for staying up late.

  ‘Look at you yawning - big enough to swallow us all. Up to bed this minute, my girl. Major, you can sleep till noon but Miss McMullen must be up with the lark.’

  The major blustered with apologies and shut the lid of the gramophone. Catherine thought he was probably frightened of Bridie. Bridie certainly had as little time for him as Kate.

  ‘Shouldn’t let him keep you up to all hours,’ she fussed as they got into bed.

  ‘He doesn’t. I choose to sit in my own garden room and he happens to be there.’

  ‘Only when you are,’ Bridie sniffed. ‘He’s got his sights set on you - and this place, I wouldn’t wonder.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘Don’t be silly. He’s much too old.’

  ‘And you’re much too soft-hearted,’ Bridie declared. ‘I know he’s sometimes late with his rent and what do you do? Not a thing.’

  ‘Only the once,’ Catherine protested.

  ‘It’ll cause bad feeling if the others get to hear of it.’

  ‘Well, they won’t, will they? Not unless you tell them.’ Catherine gave her a warning look. ‘And what people pay and when they pay it is my concern.’

  ‘Well, that’s gratitude for you!’ Bridie cried. ‘And after I’ve worked my hands to the bone helping get this place nice for you. I’m just an unpaid maid in your eyes!’

  Catherine was quick to placate her. ‘Of course you’re not. You’re my best friend,’ she insisted. ‘This is your home as much as mine.’

  Bridie was soon mollified, but after that, Catherine was careful to avoid being left alone with the major. For some reason Bridie seemed jealous of the genial man and Catherine did not want to upset her friend. But soon her worries over Kate overshadowed any arguments over the major.

  Her mother’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic. Some days she was full of a manic energy, cleaning windows at six in the morning and singing at the top of her voice; on others she was listless and bad-tempered, and Catherine had to shake her awake.

  ‘They’re all waiting for their breakfast,’ Catherine cried.

  ‘You get it,’ Kate mumbled, and buried her head under the covers.

  Catherine left in exasperation, knowing that she would have to serve breakfast and be late for work. Mrs Fairy came to the rescue.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ the old cook offered. ‘I can whip up some scrambled eggs and young Maisie can help me.’

  Catherine gratefully accepted, even though she knew Kate would be indignant about it later in the day.

  As she walked to work with Bridie, her friend abruptly said, ‘I’m sure Kate’s drinking again. The way she’s acting.’

  Catherine was shocked by the suggestion. Yet Bridie was only voicing her own unspoken fear.

  ‘I haven’t seen her at it, have you?’ Catherine countered.

  ‘She’s sly - drinking after we’ve all gone to bed, I reckon. That’s why she’s like a bear with a sore head some mornings.’

  ‘But she can’t be,’ Catherine said wildly. ‘She doesn’t go out - I know that from Mrs Fairy. She hasn’t set foot in a pub since we moved. And I don’t give her any money.’

  Bridie just shrugged.

  Catherine’s heart sank. ‘Oh, Bridie, I hope you’re wrong. I don’t know what I’d do if she started all that again.’

  Unexpectedly, while Catherine was trying to work out how to confront her mother, Davie turned up on leave. At first, she welcomed his arrival. Kate’s humour improved and Davie was eager to help out doing odd jobs around the house. There was so much to be done: rotten window frames to replace, roof tiles to fix, gutters to clean. But after a week, Kate grew impatient.

  ‘He’s not here to mend your palace,’ she complained, ‘he’s here to see me. Haway, Davie lad, I’m ganin’ to show you the sights of Hastings.’

  Catherine felt leaden. She knew just what sights her mother had in mind. She tried to warn Davie.

  ‘She’s promised me she’s off the drink. Please don’t let her start again - don’t give her any money.’ But even as she pleaded with her stepfather, she knew he was not strong enough to keep Kate in check. By the way he looked at Kate, Catherine knew Davie still idolised his wife and would do anything to keep her happy.

  ‘I’m only here another week,’ he said with an apologetic glance. ‘A week won’t make a difference.’

  But by the end of Davie’s leave, Kate was in defiant mood. The day he left, Catherine found her openly swigging whisky from a teacup in the kitchen. Catherine seized it from her and dashed the dregs into the sink.

  ‘Where’s the rest of it?’ Catherine demanded angrily.

  ‘Drunk it,’ Kate slurred. ‘And why not? Me Davie’s gone; was drowning me sorrows. He’s the only one who cares.’

  ‘The only one who’ll buy you drink, you mean,’ Catherine said impatiently. ‘Well, the party’s over.’ She faced her mother. ‘There’s to be no more of it, do you hear?’

  Suddenly Kate burst into tears. ‘I cannot bear it,’ she sobbed. ‘Me own daughter hates me. You just want a skivvy, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Catherine said, trying to keep her temper. ‘I’ve given you a home, haven’t I? This place is costing me a fortune, but I did it for you. You’re the one wanted a job to do, remember?’

  ‘They all hate me,’ Kate whimpered. ‘Look down their posh noses. And you’re just the same now.’ She got up, swaying. ‘I’ll gan back to Jarrow. I’ll gan now.’ She took a few unsteady steps towards the door, banging into the kitchen table. Kate clutched her hip in pain.

  Catherine reached out. ‘Don’t talk daft. You’re going to bed to sleep it off.’

  Kate tried to push her away, but Catherine was stronger and marched her to the door. Mrs Fairy was in the corridor and came to help.

  ‘Banged her hip on the table,’ Catherine said briskly. ‘She’s going to lie down for a bit.’

  The stout cook asked no questions as she helped get Kate up the stairs and into her bedroom. Afterwards the woman said, ‘I’ll help with the Sunday tea. Let her sleep it off.’

  Catherine smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, but I can’t keep relying on you to come to the rescue.’

  ‘Why not? Cooking’s been my life, dearie,’ Mrs Fairy beamed.

  ‘Well, I’ll deduct some of your rent this month,’ Catherine offered quickly. The older woman gave a shrug of agreement. No doubt Bridie would scold her for her readiness to reduce the cook’s rent, but the arrangement was only fair.

  Catherine added more awkwardly, ‘And, Mrs Fairy, could you keep an eye on my mother - let me know if she - er - gets herself in a similar state again?’

  Mrs Fairy nodded. She was a Methodist and had texts on her bedroom wall urging temperance and godliness. She would be an ally in controlling Kate.

  But as the autumn wore on, Catherine’s worst fears were confirmed.

  ‘She drinks rum with Mr Wilkie in the summerhouse,’ Mrs Fairy reported.

  Catherine gawped in amazement. The retired merchant seaman was a keen gardener and was out in all weathers sweeping up leaves and clearing the flowerbeds.

  ‘She takes him out a cup of tea mid-afternoon,’ Mrs Fairy continued, ‘and doesn’t come back in for an hour. Leaves Maisie to mind the fire and the stove on her own. And that’s not all. She’s ordering alcohol with the groceries. Couldn’t work out where she was hiding it, till I came across a bottle of vodka in the drying room - down behind the pipes.’

  ‘With the groceries?’ Catherine cried in disbelief. ‘But I pay the bills. There’s never been any charge for vodka.’

  ‘Must have it down as something else,’ the old cook suggested.

  Catherine w
ent straight to her desk and riffled through the bills. When she looked closer, some of the amounts seemed excessive. One week there was a huge weight of flour ordered, the next enough boot polish to wax the footwear of a regiment. More recently there seemed to have been a large volume of cleaning gumption ordered twice weekly.

  A telephone call to the grocer’s confirmed that two bottles of whisky or vodka a week had been added to the bill in the guise of other groceries, under instruction from Mrs McDermott.

  ‘Sorry, missus,’ the clerk apologised, ‘but she said it was in case some of the teetotal residents signed for the packages and got offended. Said it was for medicinal purposes.’

  Catherine gave him short shrift. ‘In future you are to ignore any requests from Mrs McDermort. Either Mrs McKim or I will be ringing in the orders from now on. If there’s any alcohol delivered here again, I shall take my business elsewhere.’

  She told Bridie the whole story that night. ‘What shall I do? I don’t trust her. And I can’t ask Mrs Fairy to watch her all hours of the day. She’s already helping out in the kitchen more than she should, Kate’s getting that unreliable with the meals.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Bridie agreed. ‘She can’t be trusted. Leaving my Maisie to put coal on the fire - she could have us up in flames.’ Bridie was indignant. ‘The only answer is for one of us to be here all the time.’

  Catherine was dismayed. ‘But I can’t. We need every penny of my salary to keep this roof over our heads.’

  ‘Then it’ll have to be me,’ Bridie said in resignation. ‘The money we save on Kate’s drinking will probably cover the loss of my wages,’ she added with a weak laugh.

  When they confronted Kate, she went on the attack.

  ‘It’s all lies! Me and Wilkie drink tea, that’s all. That fat old cook, sticking her nose in - she’s just jealous ‘cos he’s friendly with me and not her.’

  ‘I know how you’re getting it,’ Catherine said. ‘I’ve spoken to the grocer.’

  Kate flushed. “Twas just the odd half-bottle now and then. For me aches and pains. Am I not allowed a bit medicine? You work us that hard.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be necessary from now on,’ Catherine told her sharply. ‘Bridie’s giving up her job to help you run The Hurst. She’s in charge from now on - and that includes the ordering.’

  Kate banged her fist on the kitchen table, making Maisie jump.

  ‘That’s not fair! This is my job.’

  ‘It’s too much for you,’ Catherine said, trying to keep calm.

  ‘That’s right,’ Bridie smiled. ‘It’s a huge weight on your shoulders. Together we’ll get on grand - make this the best boarding house in Hastings, eh?’

  Kate glared at them. ‘You’re both against me, the pair of you. You want me out.’

  ‘No we don’t—’

  ‘Aye, you do. She wants me out!’ Kate jabbed a finger at Bridie. ‘Wants you all for hersel’. Pretends to be all sweetness and light, till your back’s turned.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Catherine ordered. ‘There’s no need to be nasty to Bridie. It’s my decision. I want her here to keep an eye on things - and I want you to stop drinking.’

  Kate clenched her fists, her face contorted suddenly into a mask of hate. Catherine stepped backwards, fearful that her mother would hit her. Maddened, Kate whirled round, picked up a pretty milk jug from the table and dashed it on to the stone hearth. Maisie screamed as it shattered into a dozen shards.

  With a roar of anger, Kate barged past them and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her so that the windows shook. Catherine clutched the back of a chair, her heart pounding with fear and relief.

  Maisie began to wail, ‘Auntie Kate’s angry with Maisie.’

  ‘No, pet,’ Catherine tried to reassure her, ‘just with me.’

  Bridie cuddled her daughter. ‘There’s no need for tears, girl. It’s all right. Auntie Kate’s in a mood. It’ll blow over like the rain.’ She went to Catherine and hugged her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort your mother out.’

  Catherine could not stop shaking. ‘This is what it was always like,’ she whispered, ‘rages and fighting. That’s what I came here to get away from. I can’t stand all that again.’ She gave Bridie a desperate look.

  ‘You won’t have to,’ Bridie said stoutly. ‘I’ll see to that.’ She kissed Catherine on the forehead like a child. ‘Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Catherine said, feeling comforted.

  ‘And I always will,’ Bridie promised.

  Chapter 36

  For a time, tempers settled down at The Hurst and Bridie did seem to manage Kate. With a combination of breezy charm and bullying, the Irish woman won Kate’s co-operation. Together they were conspirators in thwarting Mrs Fairy’s interference in the kitchen. Bridie resented the woman for fussing over Maisie and relaying gossip to Catherine.

  ‘Miss McMullen doesn’t need to be bothered with petty problems, Mrs Fairy,’ Catherine overheard her friend say one day. ‘Me and Mrs McDermott are in charge here, so don’t you worry about a thing. Off you go and enjoy a walk to the park while the weather holds.’

  Catherine was thankful for Bridie’s firm hand. She had enough to cope with at work with turnover of staff and taking on the laundering of a nearby children’s home. It was a relief to come home and find the evening meal ready and not be in fear of what else she might find. Often, she was so tired she ate swiftly and went straight to bed. Later, Bridie would come up with a cup of cocoa and relay the gossip of the day to make Catherine laugh. If there was any trouble with Kate, Bridie kept it to herself.

  ‘Sober as a judge,’ Bridie laughed, when Catherine asked.

  Kate did appear to be off the drink. With Catherine she was wary, keeping out of her way as if she feared another outburst. Only occasionally did Kate let slip a reproachful remark.

  When making pastry one evening and supervising Maisie’s cutting, she said to the girl, ‘Used to do this with Kitty once upon a time. Made pastry-men together. Long ago, before she got too grand for such things.’ She shot Catherine a look. ‘Not that she’d remember.’

  Catherine was stung. ‘Course I remember.’

  Kate’s look was disbelieving.

  ‘I do,’ Catherine insisted. ‘There was only ever enough pastry left over for one and a half men. You used to say he’d lost his leg in the Boer War.’

  A half-smile flickered across Kate’s flushed face, then she turned to Maisie. ‘See, she only ever remembers the bad things - never enough pastry for madam. Listen to Kitty, you’d think she’d had the worst childhood in the world. She should’ve had a taste of mine.’

  Catherine had left before Kate saw the tears of hurt welling in her eyes and thought she had got the better of her.

  Christmas came and most of the residents went to spend it with relations. Only the major, Harold the poet and Mrs Fairy stayed. Catherine was looking forward to a quiet, cosy holiday, when Davie hove back from sea.

  ‘Got a month’s leave,’ he grinned. ‘I can have a proper go at fixing that roof this time.’

  But the winds were too wild and Kate forbade him to clamber on any ladders. Torrential rain set in for days and leaks sprung in half a dozen new places. Harold’s bed was soaked and he had to move out of the turret into a lower room, which caused him to resume his night rambles. Kate and Davie went out on Christmas Eve morning to fetch chestnuts to roast on the fire and did not return until dark.

  They came back drunk, Kate singing at the top of her voice and Davie swirling her around the kitchen in a crazy dance and laughing at nothing in particular. She ordered the major to carry in his gramophone and put on one of his two dance records. Every time it ended, Kate would lurch over to wind it up again.

  Mrs Fairy stalked out in disapproval, but Kate was oblivious. Sh
e pulled Maisie up and made her dance too. Catherine watched nervously, but Bridie winked at her.

  ‘It’s Christmas, she’s doing no harm,’ her friend whispered, as Kate burst into song again.

  Catherine went off to serve supper to the three remaining lodgers, the sound of her mother’s raucous singing carrying along the corridor.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a nice Christmas dinner all together,’ Catherine smiled, hiding her dismay.

  ‘Sounds like some have celebrated enough already,’ Mrs Fairy sniffed.

  Major Holloway chuckled. ‘Like a bit of song and dance myself, now and again.’ He looked shyly at Catherine. ‘In fact, there’s a dance on at The Imperial on Boxing Day. Wondered if you’d like to go?’

  Catherine’s spirits lifted. She had not been dancing for so long. The Hurst had consumed all her energies.

  ‘How kind,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll ask Bridie if she’d like to come too.’

  His smile faltered. ‘Course, Mrs McKim’s most welcome,’ he mumbled, and dropped his gaze.

  Catherine hid her amusement at his invitation. She had no intention of becoming romantically attached to the old soldier. Bridie would be a perfect chaperone.

  Christmas Day came. Catherine, Bridie and Maisie trooped off to Mass, unable to rouse Kate or Davie from sleep. When they returned, Kate was bustling about the kitchen, red-eyed but defiantly cheerful. Davie stamped in from the wet with a full hod for the kitchen fire. The damp coal hissed and spat as he shovelled it on.

  ‘You get yourselves along to the sitting room,’ Kate ordered. ‘I’ll see to the dinner.’ She refused any help, so Catherine went to join the other guests in a glass of ginger wine. As a Christmas present to each other, she and Bridie had decided on a second-hand piano. It had been delivered in a downpour the day before and Tom Hobbs had tuned it before catching a train to his sister’s in London.