Kate Hannigan

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about her. Look’ - he pointed to his illuminated watch - ‘we’ve only fifteen minutes, my dear, and I’ve so much to say.’

  ‘Shall I come to Newcastle with you?’ Kate asked eagerly.

  He paused for a moment.

  ‘You know I would like nothing better. But Peter and Peggy Davidson are meeting the train at Jarrow. They were determined to see me off…I could hardly say no; they have been such wonderful friends to me. But if you wouldn’t mind…come, darling. They guess about you, anyway, I think.’

  Kate shook her head: ‘I won’t come…I’d better not.’

  For some seconds they sat quietly, peering at each other in the dimness, each aware of the other’s sadness.

  ‘You’ll write often?’ Rodney asked.

  She nodded dumbly.

  ‘Oh, I want to ask you such a lot of silly things…such as, that you won’t look at another fellow, or ever forget me.’

  ‘You don’t need to ask me,’ she said.

  ‘But you’re so lovely, and good. I’m afraid. Oh, I’m afraid…Put your arms tight round my neck and kiss me,’ he suddenly demanded.

  She laughed softly, and, as her lips touched his, he held himself still, not touching her…Then, ‘That’s what I’ll remember always,’ he said.

  Putting his arms about her and holding her tenderly, he asked, ‘What made you suddenly decide to marry Pat Delahunty, Kate, that Christmas Eve? I’ve always wanted to ask you, but kept putting it off, thinking you would tell me. It was something to do with me, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You know Pat’s dead?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I know, and I was really sorry. I liked him, in spite of him loving you.’

  ‘I sometimes think his death was my fault.’

  ‘Nonsense! He would have been called up in any case…But why were you going to marry him?’

  ‘To escape you…and because they were saying that I…was your mistress, and you were the father of Annie.’

  ‘Kate! No!’ He sprang up and drew her with him: ‘No!’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes…’ A goods train puffed by them and they stood silent during its passage, Rodney gazing at Kate with knitted brows.

  ‘Oh, darling…And you’ve had to put up with all this! No wonder you were afraid. Poor, poor dear…But what could have given them that idea?’

  ‘I don’t know; I can’t tell…only that you made a fuss of Annie.’

  Gently drawing her to him, he said, ‘If only I had been Annie’s father…I’ve always loved her. You see, I could love her when I couldn’t allow myself to love you…I sometimes used to imagine I was her father. How funny! When they must have been thinking that, saying that, and watching me. What a queer world! And now they’ll be saying, “What did I tell you! It’s been going on for years.” Oh, if only it had! Kate, I’ve such a lot to make up to you; life has been so hard for you.’

  ‘Not half as hard as for some. I’ve had the Tolmaches…now I’ve you.’

  ‘Oh, my love, you’re so brave.’

  ‘How much longer have we?’ she asked.

  ‘For ever…Don’t let’s look,’ he said, holding her close.

  Presently, taking two small packages from his pocket, he exclaimed, ‘I almost forgot: here’s your Christmas box, and Annie’s. They’re all I could get in the time. Now don’t open them until you reach home.’

  She stood looking down at them. ‘Oh, Rodney; and I’ve nothing to give you, not a thing.’ ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’

  ‘You know,’ she smiled at him, ‘if there were time I’d resent being told I talk nonsense, that I’m ridiculous and that I’m silly. You have a very arrogant manner, Doctor Prince!’

  ‘Oh, darling; do I sound arrogant?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Well then, do as I say, and I’ll be like a lamb when I get my own way…Let me arrange about the money.’

  She put her hand over his mouth: ‘Seriously, dear, don’t talk about it…the time is flying. Oh!’ she exclaimed, ‘I have something…but don’t laugh.’ Opening her handbag she took out a tiny, flat tin box which had once had an enamelled picture on its lid…‘It’s my rosary. I’ve had it since I was a child. Will you take it? I’m still superstitious about it; I haven’t done much praying lately, but I feel I must carry it with me. And, if you have it, it will still be with me.’

  He held the tiny rosary in his fingers: ‘Thanks, my dear. It will never leave me, because it is yours.’

  Then he smiled: ‘The only thing we want now is Father O’Malley’s blessing…what?’

  A gale of laughter assailed them; they rocked helplessly with it.

  ‘Well, we’ve travelled some distance when we can laugh at the old fellow…What do you say, darling?’

  Kate didn’t answer. Suddenly he felt her face wet…‘Oh, my dear, don’t…don’t!’ he begged. ‘Look, only three more minutes. Come, smile. I want to remember you smiling and those eyes playing their tricks with me…Tell me you’ll never forget me, darling. Say it.’

  ‘I’ll never forget you…Oh, Rodney, take care!’

  He dried her face gently with his handkerchief. ‘Good heavens, you’ll be in much more danger than I shall be, stuck miles behind the lines!’

  She turned swiftly: ‘Here’s the train! Oh, it can’t be! It’s early, but it won’t stop a minute. Oh, my darling!…Oh, you can’t go! I have so much to say…I love you, I love you.’

  They held together as the train slowed down. Doors opened. Rodney dragged himself away, his face stiff and showing grey in the dim light from the carriages.

  ‘Keep on loving me, dearest, always. There’ll never be anyone but you. Goodbye, my love.’

  He got into the carriage, the door closed and the train moved, and she was left on the platform, alone. It was as if it had been a dream and he had never really been there.

  As the red light disappeared into the tunnel, she moved away, thinking, I never thanked him for the presents…such footling thoughts!

  She walked all the way home in a maze of numbed pain, she was back where she was an hour ago, with anxiety lying heavy on her.

  When she entered the kitchen Tim was sitting before the fire, his leg resting on a chair. The fire was blazing up the chimney, glowing bright with coal. She went straight upstairs, anger, for the moment, blotting out her anxiety…That would be the last of the coal which she had been keeping to light the fires with…There was nothing she could do about it, nothing she could say…no word ever passed between them now.

  Passing Sarah’s door, she called softly, ‘I’ll be in in a minute, ma, when I’ve taken my things off.’

  She sat on her bed and opened the little parcel Rodney had given her for Annie. It was a silver bangle, hung with tiny charms. Then she opened her own…She lifted out the gold wristlet watch. The face was small and exquisite, the strap of flat plaited gold. She put it on her wrist and held up her hand, but she could barely see it for the swimming of her eyes…How beautiful! how beautiful! but when could she wear it? In a few hours, Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve, she’d be sitting on the tip.

  Tears began to choke her…Rodney! Rodney! Why must life be like this?…She lay across the bed, sobbing, pressing the patched quilt against her mouth to still the sound…

  ‘Oh, Rodney, Rodney, come back!

  9

  The Fieldcard

  Annie and Rosie stood one on each side of the clothes-basket as Kate put the things in: first, the sheets and pillow cases and towels, then the tablecloths, then the shirts and pants, the petticoats and pinafores, and, lastly, three silk blouses. She covered the whole with a cloth. ‘Be careful how you carry them,’ she said.

  ‘How much have I got to say they are?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Three shillings.’

  Rosie looked from one to the other. She wished Kate would smile or laugh like she used to, then Annie would be different. But whatever Kate did Annie seemed to do. Perhaps Kate’d stopped laughing because she had to take in washing, �
��cos old Tim wouldn’t work. Her da said old Tim was a lazy swine who should be hung, drawn and quartered. Sometimes he said that he wanted kicking from here to Hell and back again, for that was too good a place for him to stay…Oh, by heck, she was glad old Tim wasn’t her granda!

  ‘Hurry back,’ said Kate to Annie; ‘I want you to stay with grandma, I’ve got to go into Shields.’

  Annie and Rosie picked up the basket and went out. The ground was hard with frozen snow and they walked warily, the basket swinging between them.

  ‘Where’s this lot going?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘To Mrs Beckett’s at Simonside.’

  ‘Coo! She’s the one that gives you cake and sometimes a ha’penny, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, sometimes,’ said Annie.

  ‘By, it’s a long way though! Let’s count our steps from here to Simonside bank, eh? It’ll make the time go.’

  ‘I can manage the basket myself if you don’t want to come.’

  ‘Lord, what’s up with you?’ demanded Rosie, her small eyes snapping. ‘Who said I didn’t want to come? What’s the matter with you, anyway? You’ve got a face like the back of a tram smash.’

  Annie did not answer.

  ‘Aw…w! Come on, Annie,’ Rosie coaxed. ‘Let’s have a singsong, eh. Let’s sing “Sam! Sam!” Come on.’

  Breaking into a surprisingly strong, contralto voice she sang:

  ‘Sam! Sam! The dirty man,

  Washed himself in the frying-pan,

  Combed his hair with a donkey’s tail,

  Scratched his belly with his big toenail.’

  ‘Look,’ she encouraged the still silent Annie, ‘I’ll sing “Sam! Sam!” and you sing “the dirty man”. Then I’ll sing, “Washed himself in the frying-pan,” eh?’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Annie. She had no liking for ‘Sam! Sam!’ at any time, but today he was revolting. Not wishing to hurt Rosie’s feelings, however, she added, ‘But you sing, I like to hear you. Sing “Venite adoremus” or the “O Salutaria”.’

  ‘Oh, all right:

  ‘Venite adoremus, venite adoremus.

  Venite adore…emus…’

  Her voice rang out into the frosty air with power, causing passersby to smile at her. She smiled back, still singing.

  As Rosie sang, Annie thought, If only the letters would come again; then Kate would be different. But they wouldn’t come again, not now. For weeks there had been no letters. They had stopped when her pretty postcards, with the roses and mandolins worked in silk on them, had stopped…The cards had come from the doctor…the letters too had come from the doctor. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she did. The doctor had been missing a long time…weeks. People said that when you were missing you were as good as dead…Kate didn’t laugh any more, she hardly spoke. She said, ‘Do this,’ or, ‘Don’t do that.’ But Annie thought Kate wouldn’t have cared if she hadn’t done this…or did do that. The only thing she wouldn’t let her do was to go on the tip. But they bought less coal than ever now, because her granda sat with his leg on the chair most of the time. And, when he did go to work, he nearly always came home drunk. She had noticed, too, that he had taken to standing near Kate. Not to hit her, but just standing near looking at her, with his hand moving up and down his trouser leg. To see him thus had filled her with a nameless horror…Last night he had said, ‘Go to the shop and get me half an ounce of baccy,’ and Kate had come out of the house with her and stood at the back door until she came back.

  But if only the letter would come again everything would be all right, she felt sure. Because there had always been her granda, and Kate had been taking in washing for a long time, but she had always seemed happy…But now she got tired when she was doing the washing, and sometimes stood, leaning her head against the wall. And also she seemed openly afraid of her granda; not that he’d hit her, but…well…Annie shook her head in perplexity, the term ‘Bad things’ coming into her mind…Oh, she wished her granda was dead…or missing!

  Annie was recalled to Rosie’s entertainment by a shake of the basket.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve been listening to a thing.’ ‘Oh yes I have.’

  ‘Well, I’ve a new one,’ said Rosie. ‘Now listen.’

  She performed her next number in two voices; one as near Father O’Malley’s as she could contrive, and the other a squeaky treble:

  ‘Pray, Father, I’ve killed the cat.

  Ah, my child, you’ll suffer for that!

  But, pray, Father, it was a Protestant cat.

  Oh! Then, my child, doesn’t matter about that.’

  ‘Isn’t it funny?’ Rosie looked at Annie, hoping for a laugh, at least a broad grin. But when she was confronted with a weak smile, she said to herself, ‘Oh, ta pot!’

  When they returned to the fifteen streets Rosie left Annie with the empty basket, in disgust…No ha’penny, no piece of cake! Annie hadn’t even got the money for the washing; the woman was out and it had to be left next door…Annie had been worse company coming back than going.

  Annie put the basket in the washhouse and went reluctantly into the house.

  ‘What? you didn’t get the money?’ said Kate, when Annie had told her the woman wasn’t in. She sat down heavily on a chair and slowly tapped her fingers on the table; Annie sat on the carpet and looked into the fire.

  I won’t ask him, Kate thought. I’ll do anything, anything rather than ask him. She knew she was afraid, and she did not seem to have the strength to fight against her fear.

  Whatever money Tim had contributed to the household he had been in the habit of throwing on the bed to Sarah, but these past two weeks he had stopped this procedure and when Sarah had asked him for the money he had replied, ‘What’ja want it for?…Who’s keeping house?’ and had gone and stood near Kate, handing her the money without a word, but with his eyes playing over her.

  She had taken it in amazement, and, seeing his look, a new fear of him had come into being, making her sick with shame and terror.

  Then, last week, he had waited for her to ask for the money, and when she hadn’t he had gone out and drunk it. He was waiting again, and she hadn’t a penny in the house!

  She went upstairs to her room and, opening the bottom drawer of the chest, she took out a small box. The wristlet watch was all she had of Rodney beside his letters. She had hung on to it these months past, pawning everything belonging to herself except what she stood up in…and now it would have to go.

  She touched it tenderly with her fingers…Rodney, Rodney, you’re not dead, are you?…You can’t be dead. You mustn’t die.

  Abruptly, she turned and took her coat and hat from the back of the door and went out of the room. If she began to think again she would be unable to go on, something would snap. And there was her mother and Annie to see to.

  She put the box resolutely into the pocket of her coat, and went into Sarah’s room.

  ‘I’m going down to Shields, ma. I won’t be long. Annie’s downstairs, I’ll send her up.’

  Sarah nodded, speaking no word. Speech seemed to have dried up in her; the thing that was in the house now, stalking her Kate, had paralysed every emotion but fear. It stared out of her eyes continually; it was ever in her twitching tongue and plucking fingers.

  When Kate had gone Annie went upstairs and sat near the window. Her grandma was asleep. She looked at the houses opposite with the grubby lace curtains and the rail of a brass bedstead showing between them. She looked up into the sky and down into the backyard with its sheet of grey ice strewn with cinders. Everything was grey and dull; there seemed nothing to smile or laugh about any more; nothing made you feel nice inside; there was a deadness in her and all around. Why had things changed so suddenly? Her grandma had been ill a long time, her granda had always been a bad man, Kate had always had to work, the houses opposite had never been different from what they were now. All these things had been happening when the doctor was alive, and she hadn’t noticed them very much…But now he was dead they all s
eemed to matter.

  She unplaited and replaited her hair. He used to like her hair, saying it was ‘Fairy Queen’s hair’. She examined it. The silver had turned to a pale gold. Sometimes she thought it was funny hair, no-one else seemed to have hair this colour. She looked at the bracelet he had sent her last Christmas. She was twirling it round her wrist when the door opened, startling her. Dorrie Clarke, in a bonnet and bead cape, her face red and bloated, tiptoed ponderously in.

  ‘Couldn’t make anyone hear,’ she whispered, ‘so I popped up…How is she?’ She went and stood near the bed, looking down on Sarah.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ said Annie.

  ‘Ah, so she is! I’ll sit me self here for a while till she wakes.’

  Dorrie Clarke seated herself on a chair by the bed. Annie stood looking at her, stiff with apprehension.

  ‘Growin’, aren’t you?’ said Dorrie.

  ‘Yes,’ Annie said.

  ‘Kate out?’

  ‘Yes.’ Annie thought, she knows Kate’s out, or she wouldn’t be here.

  I’ll not be able to do much with that young bitch watching me, Dorrie told herself. And I’ll never have as good a chance as this again.

  ‘Would you run a message, hinny?’ she asked. ‘Me leg’s bothering me. Yer granny isn’t the only one with bad legs, you know. Look, run round to the shop and get me a quarter stone of taties and twopennorth o’ pot stuff. And there’s a penny for yerself.’

  Annie hesitated.

  ‘Go on, hinny,’ urged Dorrie. ‘It won’t take you a minute…Surely you don’t mind going to the shop for me. You, with good legs on yer, and me, in the state I am.’

  Annie took the money and the bag and hurried out.

  ‘That bitch is as cute as a box O’ monkeys,’ Dorrie muttered to herself.

  She listened until she heard the back door close, then she glanced down at Sarah…Not long for the top, she’s not. No trouble from her…Now!

  Hurrying out as softly as a cat, she made her way to Kate’s room…Not much place to hide owt here…She made straight for the chest of drawers, and went through them. In the bottom one she found what she wanted…By God, there weren’t ’alf some of them, too. Bundles of them, done up in ribbons…Well, well! Split yer sides, yer could.