Katie Mulholland

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes…Catherine.’

  ‘Who? This boy?’ His voice was grim.

  ‘No. But the boy loves her deeply, and the father, Catherine’s father, has beaten him up unmercifully. The poor lad didn’t know why he was being trounced. It’s awful. I…I think someone attacked her when she was crossing the salt grass. I’m going up now, Andy.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He pulled himself to his feet and again he shook his head. ‘Bring her back with you. Bring her here; we’ll look after her.’

  ‘I’ll try, Andy.’ As she went from the room he said, as if commenting to himself, ‘Catherine! Can’t believe it. Attacked? Why does this only happen to nice girls?’

  Going up the stairs she repeated the question: ‘Why?’

  It was years since Katie had been in this part of Jarrow. When she got off the tram with Tom and walked into the labyrinth of dismal streets, all looking alike and all sprinkled lavishly with running, screaming, playing, fighting children, she was thankful that she had been brought up in the pit village, because, in spite of its drawbacks, it was surrounded by open fells.

  Tom stopped opposite a dingy, brown, paint-peeling door and said quietly, ‘This is it. I’ll wait for you at the tram stop.’

  Katie nodded to him, then paused for a moment before knocking on the door.

  Katie had not seen Lucy for years, and she couldn’t believe that this was Lucy who had opened the door to her. She knew from Catherine that her mother was going downhill, but the woman confronting her, who was only in her early forties, looked old—older than she herself was; besides which, she didn’t look as if she’d had a drop of water on her face for days, nor a comb through her hair.

  It was Lucy who spoke first. Her head moving stiffly to the side, she said, ‘Oh, it’s you. Bad news travels fast, don’t it?’

  ‘Can I come in, Lucy?’

  Lucy pulled the door wider and Katie stepped up into what was the front room of the three-roomed downstairs house. The floor of the room was bare wood and dirty. There was a brass bed in one corner and a cupboard-bed in the other, the doors of which were half open and showed part of a tick mattress oozing out. There was no other sign of furniture in the room, not even a chair. The conditions under which her Catherine, as she always thought of Lucy’s daughter, had been brought up appalled her. Then she entered the kitchen and looked to where Catherine was coming into the room from the scullery. They stared at each other for a moment; then Catherine, bowing her head, turned away and made to go into the bedroom, but Lucy’s bark stopped her.

  ‘There’s no place in there to hide, madam. There’s no place for you to hide at all. You should have thought about some place to hide your head afore you got up to your pranks. Sit yourself down, madam; your Aunt Katie’s come to see you.’

  As Catherine, still with her head bowed, lowered herself on to a chair, Lucy, looking at Katie, said, ‘A waste of good money all you’ve done for her all these years. She’s spit in yer eye, that’s what she’s done, spit in yer eye.’

  Lucy now grabbed at a chair near the wall and, dragging it forward, muttered, ‘Sit yerself down. An’ you’ll have to excuse the mess; I haven’t been able to do anything since this hit me, it’s knocked all the gumption out of me. As for her da…well!’ Lucy closed her eyes, dropped her chin on to her chest, and moved her head as if words had failed her. Then, bringing her chin up sharply, she said, ‘I’d warned her, Aunt Katie, I’d warned her. I’ve said to her time and again, your da doesn’t want you to see that Tommy Mulholland. At first we didn’t know a damn thing about them getting together, ’cos he doesn’t darken these doors, but young Mike watched them night after night coming across the salt grass when she’d been down to see you. Night after night he’d meet her. It was all arranged.’

  Katie was looking at Lucy as she spoke, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Catherine raise her head; she saw the deathly whiteness of her face. She wanted to turn to her, take her in her arms, but she went on listening to Lucy, whose voice was rising now. ‘Come in here, she did, the night afore she went to college; in a state she was, saying a man had chased her. She must have known then she’d fallen and this was somethin’ they’d thought up. He put her up to it…’

  Before Lucy had finished speaking Catherine was on her feet and her chair had gone crashing backwards into the wall. Her voice almost a scream, she cried, ‘It wasn’t him! How many more times am I to tell you it wasn’t him. I swear by Almighty God it wasn’t…I told you it wasn’t him.’

  ‘You can swear by the archangel and all your bloody saints, girl; you can swear by Father Mackin, King Street Charlie, or who the hell you like; you can swear till you’re black and blue in the face and nobody in this house is goin’ to believe you.’

  The mother and daughter glared at each other and their hate was mutual. Then of a sudden the fight seemed to go out of Catherine, and her body slumped as she turned about and stood leaning on the kitchen table, her hand gripping the edge of it.

  And now Lucy, sitting down, folded her arms over her dirty pinny and, rocking herself in small movements, looked at Katie, and in a voice that was almost a whine she said, ‘What’s goin’ to happen when it comes, and no-one to father it, and another mouth to feed? I’ve told her it’s Harton for her ’cos we can’t do with it, not with a squad of seven we can’t. And it isn’t likely that after what she’s done you’ll go on helping us; it isn’t to be expected.’ Lucy’s head came forward in wide sweeps now. ‘Fair’s fair, as I’ve said to Pat. It wouldn’t be fair, not after she’s spat in yer eye.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Lucy.’ Katie’s voice was sharp. It was the first time she had spoken since she had entered the house, and the sound of her voice seemed to hunch Catherine’s shoulders even more. Katie watched her head droop downwards until her face was almost lost from sight.

  ‘But the fact is, Aunt Katie, whatever you’d do she’s havin’ none of it.’ Lucy brought Katie’s attention to her again. ‘Apart from what you might think about this business, and what your kind heart would let you do for her, she’s made up her mind she’s going to have none of it. I told her yesterday to come down and see you, but no! No! She wasn’t going to her Aunt Katie’s, after all you’ve done for her. If you’d been her own mother you couldn’t have done more. I’ve always said that, Aunt Katie. You can ask Pat. I’ve always said that if you’d been her own mother you couldn’t have done more. And now me fine lady is not going to go to her Aunt Katie’s.’

  Katie got slowly to her feet and, going to Catherine’s side, she touched her arm gently, and she said, just as gently, ‘Come down for a while, Catherine; just for a while so we can talk.’

  Catherine turned her head as far away as possible from Katie as she muttered, ‘No, Aunt Katie, I can’t.’

  Katie now went to Lucy and, bending down to her, whispered, ‘Can you leave us for a minute or so?’

  Lucy nodded conspiratorially; then, lifting her forefinger up to her nose, she went into the scullery. A minute later Katie saw her pass the window and go down the yard to the closet.

  ‘Catherine.’ Katie, taking a firm hold of Catherine’s arm, brought her round to face her, but she could only see the top of her head. Nevertheless, she talked to it. Her voice low and rapid, she said, ‘Listen to me, Catherine. I know all about it. I know who did this to you. You must come down and stay with us. You won’t see him; I promise you that, you won’t see him. But I must talk to you; we can’t talk here.’

  Slowly Catherine raised her head. Her mouth was agape; her eyes, dry and bright, stared into Katie’s and she whispered, ‘How?’

  ‘I can’t tell you now—only this, that I know you have kept quiet because you thought it would hurt me and Uncle. Isn’t that so?’

  Katie watched the head droop again; and now she said briskly, ‘Go and get your coat on. Bring what things you want, for if I get my way you’ll never darken these doors again.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Katie.’ Catherine’s face began to twitch and her body to trem
ble, and Katie, gripping her arms, cried, ‘Not now. Go and get your things, quickly.’

  Catherine was in the bedroom when Lucy returned to the kitchen and she raised her brows questioningly at Katie, and Katie replied softly, ‘She’ll come’; then added, ‘but I don’t know for how long.’ At this she turned and picked up her handbag from where she had laid it at the side of the chair, and, looking at it, she said, ‘As long as she stays you can send the children down on a Saturday.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Auntie. You know, I don’t know where I’d be without you. I’ve said it afore, an’ I’ll say it again. But I’d better tell you, you’d better not expect thanks for what you’re doing for her, because she’s turned out a thankless sod if ever there was one. She’s me own girl an’ I shouldn’t say it, but she is. An’ what will happen when the bairn comes God knows, an’ it being born without a name; ’cos if she did own up to that young scut being the father, Pat wouldn’t stand for her marrying him, not for a minute. Not only is he her cousin but there’s the religion. He would sooner see her marry an Arab from Costorphine Town than a ranter. Anyway, it isn’t right for cousins to marry.’ She had been looking at Katie when she said this, and now her eyes flicked sideways as she remembered that this woman’s daughter had married her half-brother. She had been at the Charltons when it happened, but she hadn’t understood what it was all about until years after. But she didn’t wish at this moment to do anything to upset Katie and jeopardise her source of income, so she added quickly, ‘But it’s happenin’ all the time. You never know, do you? But it’s the religion, you see; it’s the religion with Pat. Not that I would mind, ’cos, as you know, me da brought us up in the Church of England, but it’s Pat. But, as I say to him, we’re all headin’ for the same place…Yet’—she sighed—‘you can’t convince him but that the Catholics’ll have detached houses in heaven while the rest will be herded into cattle pens.’

  Lucy stopped her prattle as Catherine came out of the bedroom. She was wearing a navy-blue hat and coat and carried a brown suitcase, and Katie’s heart ached as she looked at her. Catherine was only eighteen, but youth had fled from her as it had fled from herself the day she married Bunting. But, please God, there was no such fate awaiting Catherine. Her way would be made as smooth as money and love could achieve.

  Catherine did not give any farewell to her mother, and Lucy, preceding them through the front room, said, ‘You want to go down on your bended knees this night, me girl, and thank God for your Auntie Katie.’ And at the door she smiled at Katie, saying, ‘Goodbye, Aunt Katie. And thanks. Pat’ll be relieved.’

  Katie said nothing; she only nodded. Then she joined Catherine and together they walked down the street, past the gaping women at their doors who gave Catherine no word, and through a group of children who followed them shouting: ‘Got a ha’penny dodger, missus?’

  As a hand grabbed at Katie’s coat and a voice high above the rest cried, ‘She’s me auntie. Ain’t yer me Auntie Katie?’ Catherine, with a sudden lift of her hand, struck at her brother Shane and ground out in a ferocious voice, ‘Get yourself away, you dirty devil, you.’

  The children stopped dead for a moment, somewhat taken aback by this attack, then Shane shouted after them, ‘Aa’m glad me da bashed Tom Mulholland’s face in. He’ll bash yours in an’ all, ya stingy bitch, you.’

  When Catherine caught sight of Tom at the tram stop her step slowed and it was only Katie’s hand on her back that urged her forward. But she stood between them until the tram came, and in it she sat between them, and all three were silent. They remained silent while they changed trams at the dock gates and got into another which took them to Westoe. They remained silent as they walked through the village and to the house.

  After letting herself in Katie went straight towards the breakfast room and, making sure there was no-one inside, she beckoned Catherine towards her and into the room. Presently she came out and motioned Tom to join Catherine and then she closed the door on them.

  She still had her outdoor things on, and as she stood in the hall unpinning her hat she heard Betty’s voice coming from upstairs, from the direction of the bedroom, then Andrée’s voice, shouting, ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss, that’s all you do, woman. Get out of my way.’ She pulled her coat off quickly and threw it over a chair, and she was hurrying towards the foot of the stairs when the drawing-room door opened and, turning her head, she saw Nils standing there.

  She didn’t remember how she got from the stairs into the drawing room, but within a second she was standing with her back to the door, facing him, grinding out between her teeth, ‘You devil, you.’

  He stood before her, tall, still handsome, arrogant, and pursing his lips into a long low whistle as he said, ‘Ooh! Ah-ha! So that’s it. That’s why the scurry. I watched you mothering them in. So I’ve given your little duckling a bellyful, have I? Well, well. Now fancy that. Tell me, how does she like it?’

  ‘You evil swine, you!’

  He wagged his hand in front of her face now, saying, ‘I’m not asking your opinion of me, my dear Katie, I’m asking you how she likes it.’

  ‘Do you want to know something?’ Her body arched forward. ‘If it wasn’t for what it would do to Andy I would kill you; before God, I would kill you this minute.’

  ‘Huh!’ The look in his eyes changed slightly and the lips twisted as he said, ‘I seem to remember you saying that before.’

  ‘You’re a filthy, stinking animal. You always have been.’

  ‘Shut up! Don’t you dare call me filthy, or stinking. You! You to call anybody stinking, the dregs of the waterfront.’ His face was dark now with fury. ‘I might have known he would find you in a brothel. You’re a pair, like to like. Do you know why my mother wouldn’t live with him? Because of his women, any type, any colour. The streets of our town were sprinkled with little blond Fraenkels. Now it’s my turn. Your dear Catherine will give him a grandchild—that should please him…’

  At this point Katie found herself pushed violently forward as the door was burst open and she turned to see Andrée looking past her to his son. As the two men stared at each other she put her hands to her face and whimpered, ‘Andy, Andy. Don’t.’ But she was powerless to move towards him before, with a roar like that of an angry beast, he leapt on Nils. Like two giants they grappled together, their heavy breathing and curses lost under Katie’s screams, and as her arms went round Andrée’s back in an effort to pull him away she saw Nils’ fist upraised to strike, but it never reached his father, for with a sound like air escaping from a balloon, and in much the manner of a deflated balloon, Andrée slumped in her arms, and such was his weight that she was borne to the ground with him. And there she remained moaning aloud as she cradled his head, and oblivious to those about her. Oblivious to Nils walking slowly from the room, while Catherine, her face turned from him, pressed herself against Tom as she begged him, ‘Please. Please. Not here. Not now. Don’t. Don’t. Not now.’

  Andrée was dying hard. Such was his inherent stamina and the deep conscious desire not to part from this woman who had been his life for so long, he waged a fight against death that surprised the doctors.

  For four days Katie had kept constant watch by his bed. She was sitting close to it now, his limp hand held lovingly in hers. Betty came into the room and went out again, and Catherine came into the room and went out again, and the tick of the grandfather clock on the landing got louder and louder until the pendulum swung in her head, and with each swing it said, ‘Andy! Andy! Andy! Andy!’

  For forty-five years there had been no other name in her mind but that of Andy, no other thought in her mind really but of him. And for forty-five years she had been his Kaa-tee, his beloved Kaa-tee. She doubted if there had ever been a love like hers. Now it was ending.

  The pendulum stopped swinging abruptly in her head as the hand in hers moved; then she saw his lips part, and his voice, as if already coming from another planet, whispered once again, ‘Kaa-tee.’

  ‘Yes, darling, I’
m here. I’m here.’

  ‘Kaa-tee.’ The heavily veined lids moved up and the eyes, still surprisingly blue, looked at her with recognition, and for a moment she was so overcome that her tears blurred his face from her view.

  ‘Kaa-tee.’

  ‘Yes, darling, what is it?’

  ‘Sorry, Kaa-tee, sorry.’

  ‘Oh, Andy!’

  ‘My son…Bad. Didn’t…didn’t know, only sometimes puz-puzzled…The look in your…eyes.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling. Don’t talk, just rest.’

  ‘No time, Kaa-tee; long rest, long rest.’

  He was quiet for a time, his eyes closed; then, his lids lifting once again, he whispered, ‘Lies, lies, Kaa-tee.’

  ‘Yes, darling, all lies. Don’t worry, I understand. All lies.’

  ‘Love you, Kaa-tee.’

  ‘And I love you, darling. And I you. Always. Always.’

  His eyes widened, and as they had done of old they began to move round her face and, his voice taking on a peculiar strength, he said, ‘She’s coming in, Kaa-tee, sails all set. She’s coming in.’

  And his ship came in, sails all set. His hand went limp in hers; his eyes still gazed at her, but fixedly now, and she put her arms around him and gathered him to her…

  BOOK FIVE

  DANIEL THE THIRD, 1936

  Chapter One

  The tall, thin, dark young man got out of the train at Jarrow, walked towards the barrier, and put down his tan leather suitcase, handed the porter his ticket and said, ‘Would you by any chance know of a place called Greenwall Manor?’

  The ticket collector pushed his peaked cap farther up on his brow, surveyed the evident American for a moment, then replied, ‘Greenwall Manor? Aye, well now. I know Greenwall Manor all right, but it’s a tidy walk from here; it’s right beyond the new estate. A bus goes along the main road that way, but you’ve got another good mile-and-a-half tramp into the country from here. Old house it is, used to scare the daylights out of me when I was a bairn. Used to go blackberrying there; the place is a wilderness.’