by Annie Murray
Ann looked a bit disappointed, but didn’t argue. ‘She’s a bit of a tartar, your mom, isn’t she?’
Katie put on a bright smile. ‘Oh yes – a bit.’ She didn’t say any more. She never told anyone what it was really like. She smiled, looking round. It was a nice day, she’d had a good read on the bus coming in, her book tucked in her bag now, and it felt very nice to be out amid the bustle with someone of her own age.
The cafe was warm and steamy and, as they took their coats off, Ann said, ‘Ooh, look at you all dressed up as usual. Did your mom make that frock?’
‘No – I did,’ Katie said, looking down at her dress. ‘You must’ve seen it before? I’ve had it ages.’ It was a pretty, soft pink dress with buttons down the front and a white collar.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Ann sighed, sitting down. ‘You always look so nice.’
It was true, Katie did feel rather elegant compared to Ann, who today was wearing a rather hectic green-and-brown checked skirt and a tight jumper the colour of broad beans. Nothing ever seemed to fit right on her, but none of this made any difference to her social life. With her blonde, buxom good looks and big smile, she was never without invitations. Where do my nice clothes ever get me? Katie thought rather wistfully as she sat down. Even without her difficulties at home, she was so shy of men.
The girls settled with their drinks and had a good natter about their friends. Pat was engaged to a lad in the navy. Ann chatted on in a torrent about her big family, in which there was always some drama going on; about how her mom’s two sisters had had a years-long feud and then Iris, the oldest, was killed when a bomb hit the factory she was working in, and how the other one couldn’t get over it and her nerves had gone; and a gruesome story about a lad in the factory who’d got his index finger snapped off in one of the machines; and finally about the new lad she’d met called Gordon, who was a fireman. Katie was always amazed by the sheer number of Ann’s boyfriends, who seemed to come and go like buses.
‘Gordon says he’s going to take me out somewhere really nice for New Year’s,’ Ann said. She sat forward with her ample breasts resting with a resigned air on the table, and swinging a teaspoon between her finger and thumb. ‘Dancing and that.’ She gave one of her big grins. ‘You ought to find a nice bloke and come along with us, Katie – make up a foursome. You got anyone in the running?’
‘No, not at the moment,’ Katie said, thinking regretfully of Terence. It was months now since she’d even been out with him. She felt badly about ignoring him and had hoped she might run into him again somewhere, so that she could explain, but it had never happened. ‘What’s Gordon like?’ she asked, hoping to hear about romance and flowers and sentimental things – about all that she was missing.
‘Oh, he’s all right, I s’pose, Ann said. ‘A bit boring really, but he’ll do for now. He’s on the shop floor.’ Ann had also found work in a parts factory. ‘Is there any talent at yours?’
Katie made a face. ‘No – not really.’
‘Oh, there must be someone, surely?’
‘No. I spend most of my time stuck up there with smelly old Mr Graham, who’s about a hundred and ten. He stands there like this . . .’ Katie leaned back and did an imitation of Mr Graham stroking his portly tummy as he thought what to say next. She wanted to get Ann off the subject of New Year, her lack of a boyfriend, not to mention the impossibility of leaving her mother to see in the New Year alone. ‘Then he strokes his chin and sighs, and there’s a great big waft of tobacco breath, and then he says, “Right, Miss O’Neill, are you ready?” when I’ve been sitting there ready for him to stop puffing and blowing and get on with it!’
Ann giggled at Katie’s imitation. ‘You should’ve stayed in the pool – at least there’s the other girls.’
‘Pays better, though. We’re s’posed to be getting the boss’s son in our office after Christmas. All the women keep going on about him,’ and she mimicked Maureen’s reverential tones: “Young Mr Collinge – he’s been to the University . . .” So goodness knows what that’ll be like.’
‘Oh, blimey.’ Ann was not impressed. ‘’E’ll be a boring so-and-so, I’ll bet. He’ll think ’e’s God Almighty an’ all.’ But then she let out her infectious chuckle. ‘That’s blokes for yer in the main, isn’it!’
They parted in New Street afterwards, wishing each other a happy Christmas.
‘Have a good New Year’s!’ Katie said cheerfully, as if she wasn’t bothered. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’
‘Oh, I s’pect I’ll see you before then,’ Ann said. ‘I’d better get off and get a couple of presents for my sister’s kids, the little buggers! Tara, Katie!’
Fondly, Katie watched her walk away. Ann’s busy, highly populated life made her feel very lonely.
Katie was dreading Christmas. It had been bad enough before, but since Uncle Patrick had died, everything seemed far bleaker. At least when he was alive she knew they would always go to Midnight Mass, and sometimes her mother even came too. And Patrick had got them playing games – cards and dominoes and guessing games. He had been used to jollying children along and had ideas up his sleeve. But each year since seemed to have become more difficult, and a few days ago Katie had had an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
‘Mother, shall we ask Enid over to share Christmas dinner with us this year? Otherwise she’ll be all on her own, won’t she?’
‘Yes, all right,’ Vera agreed. ‘And knowing Enid, she’ll bring some of her rations over too.’
On Christmas Eve Katie said, ‘I think I’d like to go to Mass this year. Will you come with me?’
‘You do know I’m not a Catholic, don’t you?’ Vera replied harshly.
‘But you . . .’
‘Yes – I was one all right. A lot of good it did me too!’
But she did go, in the end. They stood side by side, warmed on this cold night by the congregation packed in side by side. Katie listened to the Latin words and watched the priest and altar boys at the front, remembering how Uncle Patrick had always stood beside her like a thin shadow, his head humbly bowed and hands clasped. Tears slid down her cheeks and she quietly wiped them away. That night, more than any other she could remember, she felt her lack of family. All the questions that she knew never to ask began to surface in her mind. Where are my grandparents? And what about aunts and uncles and cousins? Why are we so alone in the world? She had asked questions when she was a little girl, and had been palmed off with answers that she had had to make do with. Her Irish grandparents were dead, she was told, and her other grandparents had moved far away. Even her one set of English cousins was abroad.
Her mother seemed stonily calm, yet forbidding, and as they walked home in the darkness, Katie knew that this was not the time to raise the subject.
Thanks to Enid, they got through Christmas quite enjoyably. Enid had made a little cake with dried egg and a few bits of fruit she’d saved up, and she brought a few of her rations to share – tea and butter. They had a very small beef joint and, later in the afternoon, they went out for a nice airing round Sparkhill.
‘Thanks ever so much for inviting me, Vee,’ Enid said as they put the kettle on, on their return home. ‘It would’ve been a long, slow day on my own.’
‘Oh, it’s good to have you,’ Vera said, setting out cups. ‘Isn’t it, Katie?’
But on New Year’s Eve they were on their own, and it felt as if the evening would never end. Vera was going down with a cold and was feeling tired and sorry for herself. Katie thought about Ann, out dancing with Gordon, and her resentment built up. Was she going to be shut in here with her mother’s moods for the rest of her life, while everyone else her age had a jolly time and met men and got married?
Once they’d had a bit of supper she settled down by the fire and, as usual, hid her nose in a book: Gone With the Wind. She had read it before and it was an old favourite. Her mother had started off some knitting with a few balls of pretty cherry-coloured wool that Katie had
managed to get hold of as a Christmas present. Vera had made her a little blouse. The room was cosy with the blackout curtains drawn, the fire well stoked and the lamps on. For a time they listened to the wireless.
After a while Vera reached across and clicked it off, without saying anything, and went back to her knitting. A horrible tension grew in the room.
Katie got up and made them each a cup of tea, then sat down, tucking her feet under her, and tried to lose herself in Scarlett and Rhett, enjoying the feel of the heavy book in her hands, the smell of yellowed paper, but it was no good. Unable to bear her mother’s mood any longer, she dared to break into the silence.
‘Mother?’
Vera looked across at her with a strange, almost hostile look, and Katie nearly lost her courage. But she forced herself on.
Gently, as if talking to a child, she said, ‘You’ve never really told me much about Daddy . . . You see, I can’t really remember anything. And I’d like to know a bit more, if you don’t mind.’
Vera flinched visibly, but as Katie went on speaking her face changed and a soft smile appeared on her lips. When she spoke it was in the sing-song tone that she sometimes put on when talking about the past.
‘You know, Katie, it’s strange that you should bring that up now, because every day you look more like him. Oh! He was a handsome man – and from a good family, never think otherwise. People can be so rude about the Irish, but he was no navvy, your father. You know he was an engineer. When I met him he was just coming to the end of his apprenticeship at the Wolseley works, all set for a really top working life.’
‘The first thing I noticed about him when we met was how tall he was, and his eyes – those deep-blue eyes that seemed only for me, twinkling with laughter. I’d never met anyone like him. Of course my own family were very prim and were not keen on the Irish, and Catholics of course – oh!’ She made a gesture which implied that, for her parents and their ilk, this was beyond anything. ‘He completely changed my mind about all that. He was so intelligent – like your Uncle Patrick was, of course – and so lively. We laughed all evening, and by the end I knew I’d fallen in love with him and he with me. It was as sudden and magical as that. Oh, I hope you have that feeling one day, Katie, that you meet a man who you can look up to, who just sweeps you away! My Michael, I used to call him . . .’
She reached for her cup and saucer and took a few sips, holding it up close to her chest. Katie realized how much she loved hearing this story, only a little of which she’d heard before. It made her feel that she had been conceived in love, and that such a perfect marriage was possible.
‘Whatever obstacles my family put in the way, I would have done anything then to be with Michael. His mother had died when he was quite young, and his father had passed away just before we met. So he only had Patrick, who was away on the missions, and a sister, your Auntie Mary, who was already married – she was the eldest. We never heard a word out of her. I think she has a good many children. So our wedding was a very quiet affair – just Michael and me and a few friends. And then you came along. We had our lovely little house and life was a dream . . . We were devoted to one another. And then . . .’ She leaned round to put her cup down, face darkening. ‘Then he was taken from me, in the very cruellest way . . .’
Her face started to crumple.
Oh heavens, I should never have asked, Katie thought. Now Vera was going to go off into one of her weeping fits. The grief never seemed to be far away, waiting to jump out.
Hoping to distract her back to the good memories, Katie asked childishly, ‘So where did you meet my daddy?’
Vera was visibly trying to control herself, but barely succeeding.
‘It was at a party in Hall Green. Exactly twenty-one years ago. Nineteen twenty-one. By the time we parted that night – it was so hard to let him go, let him out of my sight – it was nineteen twenty-two.’ Her tears started coming then. ‘It was a New Year’s Eve party. The happiest day of my life.’
Ten
1943
Katie wished desperately that she’d never mentioned her father that night. It had set Vera off into a fit of tears, and in her distress she had taken to bed without ever seeing the New Year in, leaving Katie sitting up with only Rhett and Scarlett for company, trying to block out the sound of her mother’s inconsolable weeping through the floor. The next day Vera had reverted to the silent, stony manner that she had quite often adopted when Katie was young, as if nothing and no one could get through to her or make any difference. Katie knew there was nothing she could do or say that would help, and she spent the day tiptoeing round her mother.
So going back to work at Collinge’s, amid the bustle of production schedules and letters to be typed, with the busy works humming away beneath them, felt like going back into life. She found herself looking forward to seeing the other typists, just to have a normal, friendly conversation with someone.
I’ve got to get out of home, she thought, as she sat on the bus the first day back. I can’t just stay walled up there forever. For the first time she was furiously angry with her mother, without feeling guilty about it. Yes, Vera carried a terrible grief, but why should she, Katie, give up her whole life over something that wasn’t her fault, and all of which had happened before she could even remember?
‘Talk about a face as long as Livery Street,’ Maureen said when she walked into the works to clock in. ‘You all right, Katie?’
‘Oh, sorry, yes!’ Katie said, pushing her lips into a smile. She hadn’t realized she was walking around with a frown on her face.
‘That’s better,’ Maureen said. She was always rather motherly towards Katie. ‘By the way,’ she leaned closer, ‘today’s the day he starts, isn’t it?’
Katie had forgotten about the arrival of Mr Collinge junior, but when she got upstairs to Mr Graham’s office, it was to find that things had already changed. Pushing open the door, she saw Mr Graham and another slender, athletically powerful man, both with their backs to her, bent over the table under the window. At another desk opposite hers, she noticed that a second shorthand typist had been ensconced in the office as well. They certainly hadn’t wasted any time.
In those seconds she felt the eyes of the typist boring into her, and took in that she was a thin person with honey-blonde, wavy hair and sharp features. Her gaze did not look in the least friendly. Then the two men straightened up and turned round. Mr Graham was looking his usual unkempt self, and made the young man beside him stand out even more in contrast. Katie took in that, as the other women in the factory had said, young Simon Collinge was the image of his father. He was tall with dark-brown hair and a healthy-looking face, which would one day fall into lines resembling those of Mr Collinge senior, attractively shaped lips and grey eyes that had a quizzical light in them, as if he found life in general rather amusing. Though he was smartly dressed, his tie was already slightly adrift, which made him look appealingly absent-minded, rather like an artist who forgets about his clothes.
‘Oh,’ Mr Graham said in his usual unexcited tone. ‘This is Miss O’Neill, who works for me.’
‘Morning!’ Simon Collinge greeted her cheerfully, but then, seeming unsure what to do next, held out his hand. Katie, blushing, reached forward to take it. Her hand was held in a surprisingly strong grip. ‘How d’you do?’
‘As you can see, Mr Collinge has joined our department,’ Mr Graham said. Katie could tell he was not best pleased about this, though it was always rather hard to tell when Mr Graham was pleased about anything. ‘He’s been at Herbert’s in Coventry after leaving the University . . . ’ This last word was uttered with barely disguised contempt. ‘And now he’s come back to join those of us who’ve been scholars at the University of Life and Hard Knocks.’
Simon Collinge laughed at this, which was the only thing to do, even though the words had been laced with sarcasm, and Katie joined in, enjoying his infectious chuckle. Mr Graham didn’t laugh, instead looking even more fed up, as if the arrival of Coll
inge junior was the cross he had to bear. He waved his hand towards the other typist.
‘And this is Mrs Crosby.’
The blonde woman nodded, turning her lips up insincerely.
What the hell’s eating her? Katie thought, as she slid onto the chair behind her desk. She doesn’t need to look so flaming mardy with me when she’s never even met me before.
But Katie couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Crosby must have been at least ten years older than her, and looked as if she didn’t like coming up here to find that she was on a par with someone so young.
Oh dear, Katie thought, picking up her shorthand notebook amid all the bad humour of the room. This is going to be jolly. All she could do was keep her head down and get on with her work.
‘You could cut the air with a knife in our office,’ Katie said to Ann when they met up for a coffee that weekend. ‘There’s Lena Crosby looking daggers across at me all day, because I have the cheek to have a job in the department office when I’m younger than her. And then there’s old grumpy Graham and that Mr Collinge – I mean, they’re like a pair of those . . . What d’you call them?’ She made a gesture, fingers poking up from her head.
‘Reindeer?’ Ann suggested, and they both laughed.
‘Something like that, yes! Both trying to make out they’ve got the biggest whatsits – antlers. It’s been the same all week – especially Mr Graham. If you even mention that Mr Collinge has been to the university, he starts to swell up . . . And I get home and Mom’s not well and she’s feeling sorry for herself. I can tell you, it’s good to get out!’
‘It sounds it,’ Ann laughed.
But Katie’s joking complaints were the nearest she ever got to telling the truth about things – especially about her mother. She had been so conditioned never to say anything about her home life that she would have felt disloyal even hinting at how things really were.
