The Harbour Girl

by Val Wood

  A sudden excited shout and squeal from the women braiders made her look up. Some of the younger women were dancing around another, whirling her about in their midst. Mary smiled. Alice! She had been walking out with a fisherman. He must have asked for her hand and the others had found out.

  Asked for. Not tell. Josh was not trying to tell her anything. He was plucking up courage to ask her something. Surely not! She slowed her steps as she considered. He wouldn’t. Why now? Because their children had flown the nest? But he knew how she valued her independence, her ability to cope with life on her own – and she would be completely alone when Tom married. She walked back to her stand and asked her neighbour, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Alice’s beau has asked for her at last,’ Lou said. ‘They’re to be married in the spring, God bless ’em.’ She sighed. ‘I wish them luck, for they’ll need it in these hard times.’

  ‘Time and life, they’re always hard,’ Mary answered. ‘No matter when.’ She lapsed into her own thoughts, while her fingers continued knotting and mending. She had done this work for so long that it was second nature to her and her mind could wander, but several times she had to undo what she had worked and redo it as she considered the implications of what she might do if her reasoning was correct.

  She watched Alice, flushed and trying to hide her delight. Mary smiled and waved at her, nodding her approval. Young bliss, she thought. There’s nothing to beat it, but is it the same a second time around? She gave herself a mental shake. It couldn’t possibly be. Yet it must be comforting to have someone sharing your fire, sitting across from you at table and – she paused in her thinking – to feel the contentment of a warm and loving body next to yours.

  Was that what her mother had missed after the death of Mary’s father? Was that why she chose to marry Andrew, to spend what was left of her life in companionship rather than alone? And do I miss that companionship too, and am I unwilling to admit it, even to myself?

  ‘I’m packing in now,’ she said after another hour. ‘I’m frozen. I’m going home to light my fire and thaw out my old bones.’

  ‘Not so old,’ Lou said. ‘Not as old as me.’ She looked up as Mary stood over her. ‘You’re a fine-looking woman, Mary. You should find a good man to warm your bones, never mind lighting a coal fire.’

  Mary laughed. ‘Find one for me then, Lou,’ she jested. ‘And make him rich and handsome.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll try.’ Lou grinned. ‘But if I do I’ll keep him for myself.’

  Mary walked towards home, but then on impulse continued walking, past her cottage, past her mother-in-law’s house and up towards the castle. She was warmer now and slightly out of breath when she reached the top of Castle Road, but she didn’t go through the castle entrance. Instead she leaned against the churchyard wall and looked down over the graveyard of the ancient St Mary’s church: the church where she and Jack were married.

  This would always be her favourite view of Scarborough. Beyond the church, the town and harbour and ships turning into it spread out before her; the sea, silent from up here, dashed frolicking waves against the harbour walls, whilst the dome-topped lighthouse stood out white and stark and reassuring as darkness descended, obliterating the last faint streaks of day. Yellow lamps glowed in house windows, and along the harbour side stallholders lit up their counters to catch any late customers before closing for the night.

  ‘What should I do, Jack?’ she breathed. ‘Just supposing I should be asked? I might be barking up the wrong tree, of course, but in case I’m not, what should I do?’

  She leaned her elbows on the wall, and propping her chin in her hands peered into the night. I’ve had a good marriage, she thought, even though a short one. I’ve got two bonny bairns and don’t need more, though I’m not too old to have another. She sighed. I think I’d say no. Faithful to you for ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  JEANNIE PUT MONEY aside for the rent and then, wrapping up as warm as she could, she tucked Jack under her shawl and went out shopping. It was raining hard and she became very wet; she bought a cheap cut of beef, begged a lump of suet from the butcher, and bought onions, potatoes and carrots. I’ll make a stew and dumplings, she thought. It’s nourishing and will smell good when Harry opens the door.

  He didn’t arrive home until after six o’clock and was well oiled by drink. Connie came in a few minutes later. She glanced at Harry and then at Jeannie as if assessing their mood, but didn’t speak. She looked down at Jack sleeping soundly in his drawer, and bent to pick him up.

  ‘Oh, Connie,’ Jeannie complained. ‘He’s only just gone off to sleep!’

  ‘He’s still asleep,’ Connie murmured, kissing his warm cheek. ‘Isn’t he ’best bairn ever, Harry?’ Her voice was deferential, yet possessive.

  Harry sat down and stretched his legs, making it awkward for Jeannie to reach the pan from the fire. ‘Dunno,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t know any others.’

  ‘Mebbe we could get him christened now that Harry’s home, Jeannie,’ Connie suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie replied vaguely, wondering about the we. ‘Could you put him down, Connie? I want to dish up and there’s barely any room.’

  Harry shifted his legs. ‘Shouldn’t have moved house then, should you?’

  Connie put Jack back, tucked him up, and then drawing in a breath said sulkily, ‘Well, if you want me to move out …’

  The remark, Jeannie thought, was aimed at her. She turned from the fire with a cloth in her hand. ‘I never said that. I never meant that.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to move, Connie,’ Harry grunted. ‘You’re fine here with us, never mind what anybody else says.’

  Jeannie stared, first at Harry and then at Connie. ‘I never said you should move! I’ve told you how much I appreciate your being here.’

  Connie shrugged and sat down at the table. ‘Well, let me know if you change your mind.’

  Jeannie shook her head in disbelief. Why were they taking things the wrong way? Had she ever implied that she didn’t want Connie here once Harry was at home? Surely she hadn’t. In fact she preferred her being here, in the hope that Harry would be more agreeable with other company in the house.

  They ate mostly in silence and Harry obviously had difficulty in keeping awake. His eyes were constantly closing and once or twice he swayed, abruptly rousing himself before crashing on to the table.

  He hiccuped when he’d finished. ‘I’m beat,’ he slurred. ‘Where’s ’bedroom?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ Jeannie declared flatly. ‘Usual place.’

  ‘How many beds have we got?’ He stood unsteadily, holding on to the chair.

  ‘Two,’ Jeannie told him. ‘They’re not as big as at the other house. Connie’s room is very small. We could hardly get the bed in.’

  He frowned. ‘How did you get ’beds upstairs?’

  ‘Oh, we managed,’ Connie interrupted. ‘We’re quite strong, aren’t we, Jeannie? And we borrowed a hoss and cart to get ’furniture here.’

  Harry slowly nodded his head. ‘Right. All right. I’m off up. Don’t be long, Jeannie.’

  Jeannie bit on her lip. ‘No. I won’t be. G’night.’

  ‘Phew,’ Connie whispered as they heard him stumbling up the stairs. ‘I thought he was going to ask who’d helped you with ’move. It wouldn’t do to tell him it was Mike Gardiner.’

  Jeannie pondered. What had brought that on? Harry had grumbled about Mike earlier and yet he’d given Harry his first chance of work; he’d proved to be a good friend. Why was he suddenly an undesirable person? It worried her, for Mike was the chief supplier of nets for her to work on.

  She turned to Connie. ‘Why did you think that I didn’t want you here, Connie? I’ve never said that you should move out when Harry came home.’

  Connie made a moue and shrugged. ‘Just thought you’d want Harry to yourself.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘You might not have wanted another woman in ’house.’

  ‘There’s no reason for you to t
hink that. I’m happy for you to be here.’

  Connie nodded and gazed into the fire. ‘That’s all right then.’

  Jeannie cleared away the dishes. She felt as if there was a leaden lump in her chest. The food she had eaten tasted sour in her mouth and she wanted to cry. This should be a happy time, she thought. Harry was home from the sea, they had a young baby, they were a proper family at last. But something was wrong. No, she reflected, not so much wrong as not quite right.

  Harry was home for a week before his ship was due to sail again. He generally spent the mornings in bed, awoke at midday, snatched whatever food Jeannie rustled up for him, and then went out, not returning until the evening in time for his next meal, after which he fell asleep in front of the fire. Bedtime was difficult for Jeannie for he was demanding sometimes, and uninterested in her at others. His tenderness had disappeared and she didn’t understand why.

  Billy Norman called round after work early one evening to ask if Harry was in and was he coming out for a drink. ‘I’ve not seen him since he came home,’ he said. ‘Where’s he hiding himself?’

  Jeannie invited him in; it was sleeting down, icy sharp needles which bounced off the ground, and he was very wet. She shook her head. ‘Hasn’t he been at the Wassand?’ she asked. ‘I thought that was his favourite place.’

  ‘I’ve not seen him there, though I don’t go in as much now that I’ve got a shore job. Don’t feel ’need.’ He must have seen something in her expression, for he enquired, ‘Nowt wrong, is there?’

  When she didn’t answer but put her fingers to her mouth, he looked down at his boots and murmured, ‘You know, when you’ve been at sea, it’s a relief to have a drink wi’ your mates. You can talk to ’em about what’s happened on board, about what might have happened if such and such hadn’t done this or that, or have a jaw about ’weather an’ how many fish boxes an’ whether ’skipper would get a bonus an’ that …’ His voice tailed away as Jeannie opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘I know that, Billy. But he could tell me all of that. I’m a fisher girl after all. I do understand. I was brought up with fishing.’

  ‘Aye, an’ so are many of ’other wives on Hessle Road,’ he said. ‘An’ that’s one reason why I nivver settled down wi’ anybody. It didn’t seem fair somehow, when women are virtual widows when their men are at sea, for them not to have their company when they get home. Not all men are like that though,’ he added hastily. ‘Some of ’em don’t move from their fireside till they go back to sea again. They just want to stop wi’ their wives an’ bairns.’

  Jeannie blinked away the tears that had started to form. How different Billy seemed now that she knew him better. When she’d first met him on that fateful day in Scarborough, he’d grinned at her and she’d thought he was assuming she was like the loose women who were seeing the men off at the station. Now she realized that he was a decent and considerate man.

  ‘An’ being married is new to Harry,’ he added. ‘He just had Nan before.’ He laughed. ‘An’ Nan wouldn’t have wanted him under her feet all day.’ His laugh was so infectious that she smiled back.

  Poor Harry, she thought as she waved goodbye to Billy. He wasn’t ready for marriage, any more than I was. And now he has the responsibility of a wife and child when previously he was single and carefree. But as she closed the door, she also thought that Harry probably hadn’t been all that satisfied with his life before he met her. He hadn’t any work; Nan was keeping him with her pittance; and coming to Scarborough and meeting her was a bright interlude in his life. He hadn’t intended it to continue, she thought. He was just imagining how it would be to have a different life.

  She looked down at Jack, who was wide awake and contemplating her from his sea blue eyes. She gently touched his cheek and he opened his mouth and sought her fingers. ‘But I have you,’ she murmured. ‘And that makes up for everything else.’

  ‘This is your last day at home, Harry,’ she said to him the next morning. It was ten o’clock and she’d brought him a cup of tea in bed. ‘Shall we go out for a walk? It’s cold but not wet. I haven’t been into the town yet. I thought you could show me round.’

  He grunted. ‘What d’ya want to do that for? There’s everything you want on ’road.’

  ‘I – I know,’ she stammered. ‘But it’d be nice to see other parts of the town.’

  He took the cup from her and had a drink. ‘No. I don’t think so. There’s nowt much to see. Onny shops and – well, ’pier’s all right, I suppose.’ He finished the tea in one huge slurp, and handing the cup back to her he slid back down into bed.

  She turned away, disappointed, but looked back when he said, ‘You can come back to bed though.’ He leaned on one elbow. ‘Like you said. It’s my last day.’

  * * *

  That was a big mistake, she reflected two months later as she retched into the privy. On that particular day she had thought it would give them a fresh start. A chance to put things right between them. They had had little time together since they were married, first because of living with Nan, then the birth of Jack, and now living in the small house with Connie as a constant companion.

  Harry had done another long trip, but on returning home had once more slipped into the habit of spending most of his shore days at the Wassand Arms, arriving home for supper and then bed. Connie had started to go out after work, meeting some of her work mates, she’d said, ‘It’ll give you and Harry some time to yourselves,’ she’d added.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that and increasingly Jeannie found herself spending her evenings alone. Now he was away again and not due back for several weeks, and she felt obliged to tell Connie about her pregnancy.

  Connie stared at her, her mouth dropping open. ‘I didn’t think—’

  ‘What?’ Jeannie said. ‘Didn’t think what?’

  ‘Erm – that you could get caught so quickly after ’first bairn.’ Connie seemed baffled, peeved almost, as the frown on her forehead showed. ‘Bet Harry won’t be pleased. It’ll be more expense wi’ another bairn.’

  He should have thought about that at the time, Jeannie considered, but she too was perplexed and went to see Mrs Norman. ‘I thought you couldn’t get pregnant if you were still breastfeeding,’ she confessed. ‘It’s going to be hard with two young bairns.’

  Mrs Norman nodded sagely. ‘A fair number of mothers get caught out wi’ that old wives’ tale. But you’ll manage, I expect. You’ll have to, anyway. There’s no way round it, unless … You wouldn’t want—’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Jeannie said hastily. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Mrs Norman agreed. ‘They’re a gift when all’s said an’ done.’

  A gift, Jeannie thought as she walked back. A gift that will surely cost us.

  Jack wriggled in her arms. He was thriving and getting heavier to carry. How would she manage in seven months’ time? Jack would be crawling by then and how would she carry him when she was pregnant? A perambulator, or bassinet as she had sometimes heard them called, would be all right, like those that nursemaids used when they pushed their charges along Westborough or by the Scarborough sands.

  She sighed. No chance of that, not for the likes of us. A box on wheels, more like. A box on wheels! A fish box. I could scrub one out – where could I get some wheels, and how would I fix them? What did Ma use for me and Tom? She kept on working: she must have put us in something.

  The next day she sought out Mrs Norman again. She always seemed pleased to see her, and was never too busy for a word. Jeannie was grateful for that. Since Nan’s death she missed having someone to talk to.

  ‘Mrs Norman,’ she said, having found her washing her front windows, ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance, but could I ask you something?’

  ‘Ask away, m’dear.’ Mrs Norman gazed at her. ‘Summat bothering you?’

  ‘Yes. I was wondering how I’ll manage as time goes on and Jack gets heavier, carrying him, you know. I’ve never noticed what other mothers do.�
� If only Ma were here, she thought. She’d know.

  ‘Ah, you poor bairn.’ Mrs Norman shook her cloth. ‘Come on in and tek ’weight off your feet and we’ll have a little chat.’

  Jeannie burst into tears. ‘I’m so s-sorry,’ she wept. ‘I don’t know who to talk to about things and I can’t keep writing to my ma cos I don’t want to worry her.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she’d mind,’ Mrs Norman said practically, leading the way inside her house. ‘But don’t you worry your head about it. I’ll get our Billy to make you a pushcart. He’s done ’em afore. It’s quite handy having a son who’s a carpenter. He’ll mek you one out of a fish box or an orange box. If it’s fish, bairn’ll grow up sick of ’smell of fish and if it’s orange he’ll want to travel to exotic countries to recapture ’smell. So what do you think? Which shall it be?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  HARRY ARRIVED HOME on the same day as Billy brought the pushcart. ‘What’s this?’ he said when he saw his friend trundling it up the terrace.

  ‘It’s for your bairn,’ Billy said. ‘He’s getting too heavy for Jeannie to carry.’ He stopped abruptly, almost as if he was about to say more but had thought better of it.

  Harry frowned. ‘How much?’ he demanded.

  ‘What? Aw, come on, mate.’ Billy looked astonished. ‘I don’t charge a pal for a bit o’ wood and a few nails, now do I? You can buy me a drink if you like.’

  ‘Right,’ Harry muttered. ‘Have you seen her? How d’ya know she needs one?’

  Billy stared at him. ‘What’s up wi’ you? My ma told me. It was her that suggested it.’

  ‘Ah! Sorry, mate. I’ve had a rough trip. Not in ’best o’ tempers.’

  ‘Well don’t tek it out on me,’ Billy admonished him. ‘And don’t tek it out on your missis either. She’s got enough on her plate.’