Lucy hugged her daughter and said how pleased she was to have her home at last. It was important, vital even, that she keep the girl sweet. All their futures depended on Bunty’s compliance so she made quite a fuss of her, making her sit beside her on the sofa set at the foot of her bed where they might talk in private.
Bunty drank in the unexpected attention with delight, along with the heady aroma of her mother’s scent, and thought that Lucy had grown much rounder, her cheeks and neck sagging just a little, showing her age, although not for a moment would she risk saying as much. She was devastated to learn what had occurred, could barely stop asking questions, wanting to hear all about the bankruptcy and viewing it as the disaster it undoubtedly was.
‘Indeed it has been a severe blow,’ Lucy admitted.
Bunty’s main concern was for Callum, not for how it might affect her own future. ‘How has Callum taken it? He must be so upset not to complete his apprenticeship. I know he loved working with shoes and wanted to make up for being disagreeable to Eliot by making his mother proud of him. He must be unemployed now, absolutely desolate. Oh, poor Callum.’
‘Never mind about that boy, he will survive as all these people do. He isn’t used to the affluence you are accustomed to. He isn’t a gentleman like Jack, so it will be less of a shock for him.’
‘Even so ...’
‘We must think about you, my darling, and your future. See what a fine young woman you’ve grown into! We need to take you shopping, to buy you some new clothes.’
Bunty was shocked. ‘Have we money for such things? I’m quite happy with what I’ve got, thank you all the same. Don’t worry about me, Mama.’
She longed to carry on talking about Callum, to say that she needed to see him, but couldn’t quite pluck up the courage. Her mother was still talking, rabbiting on about some smart function they’d been invited to on Friday evening and how they must choose what they were to wear with great care, just as if how they looked was the most important thing in the world.
Lucy conceded that it might be wise to exercise a little restraint and curb her spending until their situation improved, which it most certainly would if she had her way. Plans were proceeding well and she was really quite hopeful.
The darling girl had slimmed down and lost her puppy fat, and shot up an inch or two. Even her face was passing pretty, certainly attractive anyway. Her pale, once insipid complexion was now clear and smooth as porcelain, her young body firm and enticing, and her blue eyes sparkled with youth and vigour. Lucy foresaw no problems at all in arousing male interest in her daughter. She even had one or two of her old acquaintances nibbling at the bait already. But the enterprise must be carefully orchestrated so that it was the right kind of interest from the right person. Lucy meant to extract a high price for her daughter.
‘How very frugal of you, and so absolutely correct. I expect we could do a little refurbishment and retrimming here and there,’ she assured Bunty. ‘A touch of lace or a flower can make all the difference to a gown. Perhaps we could alter one of mine to fit you. It is absolutely vital that we maintain standards and not look down-at-heel, don’t you agree, dear? We need ... you need, because you are my darling girl and deserve the best ... to make a good impression.’
Feeling so relieved to be home, Bunty submitted herself to her mother’s ministrations and endless grooming with as much patience as she could muster, not giving the slightest consideration to what might lie behind it. Even the aunts were called upon to help with alterations, and did so with great goodwill, as always.
But Bunty’s mind was entirely fixed on how she was going to manage to sneak away and see Callum. She had so much to tell him, so many explanations and apologies to make. She could only hope and pray that he still loved her enough to forgive her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
They stayed with Millie for several weeks until Kate found them a house to rent just off Deansgate: small, admittedly damp in places, but it was a place of their own. It boasted a living kitchen and front parlour, two decent bedrooms on the first floor, plus one in the loft with a sloping ceiling and a high dormer window, which Callum could use whenever he came to visit.
Flora, ever optimistic and missing her brother badly, said. ‘Or if he changes his mind and comes to live with us properly, Mammy.’
The house was empty when they took it over, the previous incumbent leaving nothing but an old tin tea-caddy that stood on the high mantelshelf. It had been the first thing Kate had reached for when they first saw the house, that and the small pencilled note beside it. The writer said that she hoped they’d be as happy in her old home as she had been, and the caddy never get empty. Inside were a few tea leaves, enough for a couple of pots of good strong Lancashire tea. This thoughtful gesture seemed to instil a sense of warmth into the house, new hope for the future, and it soon became their dearly loved home, albeit a very different one from Tyson Lodge.
The tea caddy reminded her of the aunts. Kate had loved to watch them serve tea, the ritual of it all: cakes on a tiered stand, toast in a silver rack, gentleman’s relish; trying to coax the methylated burner into life beneath the silver kettle, the warming of the pot, the straining and serving of Earl Grey or Indian, whatever their choice of the day, in the best Sèvre china. You were sorely in need of a cuppa by the time it was actually ready.
More often than not these days, she and Flora brewed their tea in a brown teapot Kate had picked up at the Iron Market, and they always drank the good strong variety out of thick white everyday crockery. Kate kept her favourite blue and white Willow Pattern displayed on the dresser she’d bought from a little second-hand shop on Oldham Street, and only took it down on a Sunday to mark that special day.
Kate and Flora had together cleaned the house, given the walls a fresh coat of limewash to keep back the bugs, scrubbed the floors and put down clean pegged rugs. They’d gone round the markets and second-hand shops, picking up odd pieces of furniture here and there which Kate had waxed and polished till they shone. They included a couple of beds, a large mahogany wardrobe, a few chairs and a table as well as the dresser.
To these she added her best Irish linen, a few clothes and other personal treasures they’d managed to bring with them from Kendal.
‘Won’t we be grand here?’ Kate said, proudly viewing the result of their labours.
‘I don’t care where I live, Mammy, a pig sty would do so long as we’re together.’
‘Isn’t that the truth, m’cushla? A pig sty once saved yer daddy’s life when he was in the war, so I’ll not hear a word said against them. Even so, we’ve done a bit better than that, I’m glad to say.’
Kate felt content to settle here in Manchester, for a while at least. She was free from the asylum, and from Lucy. She had some savings, some of Eliot’s legacy that she’d managed to keep out of the hands of the bailiffs, and surely she possessed sufficient skills to find herself a new job. Though she wouldn’t rush into anything. She still needed a little more time to recover, and to adjust to her new surroundings. Flora was settling happily into the local council school, so all Kate had to do now was to relax and see if Mother Fortune would smile on her again.
The dinner party on the Friday evening was every bit as dreadful as Bunty had anticipated. It comprised, to her eyes, mainly of old people, and certainly very silly ones who seemed intent on drinking and eating just as much as they possibly could. Their host, plump with pink veins threaded through his cheeks, must have been older even than her mother. He had ginger hairs growing out of his ears and nostrils, and kept resting his hot, sweaty palm on her knee.
Bunty had been placed next to him at table, and once he actually chucked her under the chin and called her his sweetie-pie. She was forced to keep making excuses to leave the room.
At one point Lucy followed her, rapping on the bathroom door and demanding to know if there was a problem.
‘Yes,’ Bunty said, rushing out to confront her mother. ‘I hate it here. These are your friends,
not mine. I want to go home.’
‘Nonsense! Where is the evidence of the etiquette and good manners I have so expensively procured for you? Evan Hayton is our host and you are behaving with dreadful rudeness towards him. Now get back in there and smile.’
After the meal there was dancing, and, to her absolute horror Bunty found that Evan Hayton insisted on partnering her in the waltz, and then the shimmy.
‘Topping fun, what?’ he kept saying while Bunty pressed back hard against his hot, sticky hand in order to keep as much space as possible between them. ‘Care for a turn about the garden? Dashed hot in here.’
‘No, thank you. I think I’ll sit this next dance out.’
‘Nonsense, this is tophole entertainment. Love it! Love it! Young thing like you must have barrels of energy, what?’
Why wasn’t her mother content with simpler pleasures, such as tapestry work, embroidery, or sewing for the poor as other mothers did? Why did she insist on this foolish round of endless parties? Desperate to leave early, Bunty feigned a headache, thinking this would force Lucy to take her home. It turned out to be the worst possible thing she could have done.
‘Poor darling,’ Lucy said, all soft concern. ‘Why don’t you slip upstairs and lie down for half an hour? Dear Evan won’t mind.’
‘Not a bit of it, old thing. You take her up and let the little cherub rest.’
‘Mother!’
But Lucy was not to be gainsaid. Gathering her daughter in a solicitous embrace, she led her gently up the stairs and into a spare bedroom where she quietly closed the door before turning upon Bunty, her face like stone.
‘You are behaving like a silly, spoiled child. Embarrassingly so. Take half and hour’s rest, if you must, but use it to consider your options. It’s either the poorhouse for us, or you start to grow up and face reality. I want you to be nice to Evan. He owns three hotels and a large mansion on Lake Windermere.’
Bunty gasped. ‘What is this? Are you trying to sell me off to the highest bidder?’
‘I’m trying to make sure that we survive.’ Lucy pushed her face up so close that Bunty’s own was flecked with spittle. ‘Play your cards right, girl, and he may well prove to be our salvation.’
She left Bunty reeling with shock. What was happening to her? She saw all too clearly now that she’d been duped. She’d hurried home with hope high in her heart that her mother had relented and forgiven her, that she would agree to Bunty’s seeing Callum at last. A futile dream when all the time she had other plans in mind. Surely she didn’t seriously expect her own daughter to marry this old codger?
Bunty was trying to work out if there was some way she could slip out of the house unseen and somehow get herself back to Heversham when the door creaked open.
‘Coo-ee! Thought you might lack a bit of company.’
To her horror, Bunty recognised the unmistakable, plump figure of her host and her heart began to race. She curled herself up tight in a protective little ball. ‘I’d prefer to be left alone for a bit, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not in need of a bit of a cuddle then?’
‘Not at all. Of course not.’ Bunty was appalled by the suggestion but he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, his fat, podgy hand stroking her hair, her cheek. She cringed back against the pillow. Why did she have to be cursed with such a mother? Why did Lucy have this need to control everything, to meddle in other people’s lives?
‘Poor little pipkin, I think a cuddle will make you feel so much better.’ Then somehow his mouth was on her cheek, his tongue pushing against her ear, and his hand - dear God – his hand was squeezing her breast!
Gathering all her strength, Bunty shoved him away and almost fell off the bed, quickly scrambling to her feet and confronting him with outrage sharp in her tone. ‘I can’t believe you did that! What gives you the right to touch me in that way?’
The smile slid from his face and his expression soured to a puzzled scowl. ‘Thought that was the whole idea. Headache just an excuse for us to be alone, don’t you know.’
‘I’d like to go home. Now!’
He looked annoyed rather than ashamed, disappointed not apologetic. ‘Only having a bit of fun, pipkin. No harm in that, eh?’
‘There is every harm. Don’t you realise that I’m only nineteen, and engaged to be married? Did my mother not mention that by any chance?’
‘Engaged, you say? Stuff and nonsense. You mean that Callum boy? Lucy explained how he was your childhood sweetheart once, but you’re a big girl now, pipkin. Nineteen is perfectly old enough to taste the fruits of love, in the right hands, don’t you know.’
Bunty felt sickened, thought she might actually vomit all over his patent leather shoes and spats. ‘May I have my coat? At once, if you please.’
Somehow, Lucy managed to maintain both silence and dignity as they were escorted to their vehicle. Bunty did not expect either to last very long once they were alone.
Kate got into the habit of rising early every morning, happily pottering about the house, cleaning and sweeping, polishing and titivating, since at first there was a great deal to be done. Monday was washday, of course, ironing on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays she gave the bedrooms a good clean, tackled the brasses, and the shopping on a Thursday. On Fridays she would turn out the kitchen so that it was nice and clean for the weekend. But as time went by, these domestic chores began to pall. She’d done all that was needed to the little house and Kate grew bored.
She took to walking about the city, exploring the shops and markets, Deansgate, St Anne’s Square, Oldham Street, taking a tram home again when she grew tired or confused. Kate knew she should start asking around for a job, but she kept putting it off a little longer, needing this time to recuperate. The headaches weren’t quite so debilitating as before but Kate would still find herself standing in her own kitchen, wondering what she’d come in for, not even able to recall what day it was. There were times when she feared that Lucy might have succeeded in turning her mind.
One day she lost her way and found herself in a district that was quite unknown to her. She grew confused and muddled, wandering down byways and dark alleys by the canal, trying to find the right one to lead her home. It was far less salubrious than her own street and she soon regretted her mistake.
A youth suddenly shot out from an alleyway, snatched her bag and ran.
‘Come here, you nasty little ...‘ She got no further as another youth thumped her in the back, knocking her over and leaving her lying in the filthy gutter, gasping for breath. It was a lesson learned. A woman alone really couldn’t afford to take chances.
The incident unnerved her for a while, knocked back her confidence and Kate didn’t go out again for over a week. Millie was there to help, bolstering her courage, as always.
‘Aw, don’t let it bother you. The little tykes were no doubt starving so yer money will be put to good use. But next time you go on the wander, don’t carry a bag. Asking for it, that is. You need to keep your wits about you, Kate O’Connor. Carry nowt, walk fast, and always stay in the centre of the pavement. Look like you know where you’re going, even if you don’t. Only it would help if you got yerself a map and learned.’
Kate acted on Millie’s wise advice and resolved not to allow the incident to spoil her efforts to rebuild her life. She spent hours reading in the public library, would sometimes go to a picture house which she thoroughly enjoyed. Once she saw Lillian Gish in Way down East. Another time she went to the theatre to see Richard II, though didn’t entirely understand it, and at the opera she didn’t have the first idea what they were singing about but enjoyed the music.
She much preferred the Gaiety and loved to go there with Millie, Maisie, Sal and Flora. Afterwards, they’d eat fish and chips out of paper on their way home, singing at the tops of their voices as if they were all silly young girls and two of them not sensible mothers supposed to be setting a good example to their daughters.
Kate had her hair Marcel-waved at Kendal Milne, tried o
ut all the free samples of face cream and scent, once treating herself to some Parma Violet perfume to go with the artificial violets she’d pinned on to the lapel of her grey coat. Her hair was growing, forming a halo of red curls all about her head so that she didn’t look quite the freak she had before, which was a relief. And if her cheeks had lost some of their country freshness, then at least they’d filled out a bit and were no longer quite so hollow and gaunt. She was beginning to feel almost human again.
What was more wonderful still, deep inside her a flame had been rekindled, that core of energy Kate had once taken so much for granted had again started to burn within her. It spread its radiance outward, warming her, feeding her spirit with new hope.
Although she was having fun and enjoyed pottering about her cottage or exploring the city, her little nest egg was beginning to slip away at an alarming rate. Something must be done about that. Kate felt ready now to find a job, to take on the world and start living again.
‘I’m getting to be as bad as Lucy. Spend, spend, spend! If I don’t start work soon I’ll end up in Queer Street,’ she announced to Millie one day.
‘What would you want to do?’
‘Anything. I’m not proud.’
Millie frowned. ‘You don’t have no references, which could be a problem. You’ll mebbe need to explain that you’ve been running your own business for the last few years.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. Folk would think I was too grand to work for them, or that I was incompetent since I didn’t manage to hold on to it.’
‘That wasn’t your fault.’
‘No, but I can’t go into all that happened, now can I? To be sure, I’d say, in me best Irish brogue, I’ve really spent most of the last twelve months in a lunatic asylum.’
Millie was thoughtful. ‘I agree, that could make matters a good deal worse. You might just have to settle for summat a bit – well, below your status.’
Kate chuckled. ‘And what status would a girl from Poor House Lane have, I wonder?’
The Woman From Heartbreak House Page 21