by Irene Carr
‘I’m sorry, really sorry, Matt.’ Joe was silent for a minute or two, just the sound of his laboured breathing filling the room, his eyes closed. Matt wondered if he was sleeping again but then Joe’s eyes opened once more and he wheezed, ‘We had some good times together, didn’t we, Matt?’
‘Great times.’ Matt remembered wryly that a lot of the time when they were in the Army they were cold, hungry or frightened — or all three. But he added with sincerity, ‘I wouldn’t have missed them for a fortune.’ Because the older man had been like a father to him.
‘Matt,’ said Joe, ‘will you promise me one thing, do me a last favour.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Joe.’
‘I’ve got to.’ His hand trembled in Matt’s. ‘Will you look after Bea for me? She’s all I’ve got and I’ve let her down as well. There’s nobody else who can take her because I’ve no relatives. Will you?’
‘I’ll do that, Joe,’ Matt assured him. ‘Put your mind at rest.’
‘Thanks.’ Joe sighed and lay quiet then, and after a time the hand lying in Matt’s stopped shaking. Joe slept. He woke twice more but said little, just a few murmured memories of old times, his young days. Mostly he lay fighting to draw breath, and in the night he died.
Matt arranged the funeral. He found an insurance policy in Joe’s papers that just covered the cost but that was the only good news. He found books not kept up to date and bills unpaid for months. All bore the names Docherty and Ballard. There was also evidence of Joe’s drinking in the form of empty bottles — a lot of them. Matt drew up a rough balance sheet that showed the profit from the business had been eaten up by Joe’s living expenses, the house, the nurse — and the drinking.
Matt gave up the house he had rented some months before and sold the furniture. Fleur was furious and reviewed her position. Had she made a mistake and should she cut loose from Matt? But then she remembered that the business was now all his — such as it was. She decided it would be wise not to act hastily. She wanted to wait and see if he recovered.
Matt also sold most of the furniture left in Joe’s house, keeping just enough to furnish the flat above the office. He paid off the nurse and Alice left weeping. Last of all, he sold off the lorry to a man out on the Newcastle road. Most of the bills were paid but a pile remained outstanding. Matt promised those creditors, ‘You’ll get your money, every penny of it.’ He was left almost penniless with five-year-old little Beatrice, and only the horse and cart to earn a living for them.
He sat in the swivel chair in the office on the night they moved into the yard, his rough statement of account on the desk before him. Matt stared into the future and found it bleak. The child was fractious, blonde and blue-eyed and spoiled by Joe and Alice. She complained, ‘I want to go home. I don’t like it here. It smells.’
Matt explained wearily, ‘That’s only petrol and oil —and the horse — that you can smell. They won’t hurt you.
And we’ll be living upstairs, not down here. It’s nice, you’ll see.’
‘I don’t care!’ Beatrice stamped her foot, ‘Take me home!’
‘You can’t go back there because we’ve given up that house.’
The child stared at him a moment, taking this in but refusing to believe him. ‘Why?’
‘Because we haven’t any money to pay for it.’
Beatrice did not understand this either. Her daddy had always had money when she wanted it. She fell back on the tactic which had served her so well in the past and screamed in rage and frustration.
Matt lifted her and carried her up the stairs to bed, shrieking all the way. He wondered how the hell could he cope with this?
*
As soon as Katy was well enough to go out she took Louise in her arms and looked for work. She knew it would be hard because employers were unused to a mother taking her child into the office, but she hoped she could persuade them that Louise would not interfere with her work. She tramped the winter streets in the bitter cold and biting wind coming off the river. In the beginning she went to employment agencies but it was soon made clear to her that there was no work for a young woman accompanied by a child. Katy was advised, ‘Leave her somewhere.’ But she could not bring herself to do that.
In casual conversation, long before Louise was born,
Mrs Gates had said, ‘I’m not one for looking after other people’s bairns. If they have them, then they should look after them.’ But anyway, Mrs Gates was too old and infirm to care for a child all day. And Katy could not hand her child over to a stranger. Besides, she was grimly certain that whatever work she obtained she would not earn enough to pay some respectable person to care for Louise and not some boozy crone seeking money for drink. But the advice was repeated more than once when she cast her net wider and carried Louise from one office to the next and then to a succession of factories: ‘You can’t bring the bairn with you. Get somebody to look after her.’
Her sight of the shipyards lining both banks of the Wear, and the vessels moored in the river and discharging their cargoes, gave her hope; here she would find work which she knew from her time at Ashleigh’s on the Tyne. But the work in the shipyards was for men only, and in the warehouses she received the same reply as she had in the town: ‘We’ll want a reference . . . it’s work for a single lass, not with a bairn. Can’t you leave her wi’ your granny?’ That lack of a reference from the Spargos often resulted in her being turned away before the question of Louise was discussed.
There came a day when Mrs Gates, becoming suspicious, asked when Katy’s sailor husband would be coming home. Katy had spent another week in her fruitless search — and her savings were running out. So in desperation she crossed the bridge over the River Wear into Monkwearmouth and began to search there. On that day of rain she walked the length and breadth of Monkwearmouth with
Louise in her arms and her cold feet squelching in her buttoned boots, but she failed to find work. Katy faced the fact: there were plenty of girls as well qualified as herself and without the encumbrance of a child to put off potential employers.
Katy was frightened now. She turned for home in the early dusk because the yards had shut down for the night and the warehouses closed their doors. She did so reluctantly because she had to pay her rent the next day and did not have the money. All she had now was the ring her mother had given her and she could not sell or pawn that. It would have shamed her before the world, a woman with a child and no ring on her finger. That was her badge of respectability. She needed work and a sub — an advance of pay — this day, or she would have to throw herself on the mercy of Mrs Gates, admit her shame and that she had lied and invented a sailor husband. But that would be only a brief period of succour because the old woman could not afford to keep her for nothing. And after that — the workhouse?
Katy shuddered, and only partly because of the cold and the rain that were chilling her to the bone. Louise was wrapped warmly in a thick woollen shawl, Katy’s arms shielding her from the dampness, as they walked along a terraced street close under the towering cranes of the shipyards. It was then she came to the gates that stood open. The legend on them was broken between the two leaves but she read it by the light of a street gaslight to be: Docherty and Ballard. Hauliers. Inside the gates was a yard and an office with a square of light that was a window.
Katy paused in the gateway. She told herself that she knew the work in the haulage business. But she remembered the name Docherty and how Ivor had cheated the young man from that firm. She could picture him now, standing in the doorway of the office and announcing, ‘I’m Matt Ballard.’ Suppose he was in the office? And would Docherty’s be any different from the other employers with whom she had pleaded for work? Then she reasoned that none of this mattered because she had to try. She had to put a roof over her child’s head and care for her, had to. So she walked across the muddy yard and tapped at the door of the office.
‘Somebody knocking! A startled Katy heard the high voice of a child come from inside t
he office, then the swift patter of flying feet. The door was opened by a small girl, blue-eyed with blonde hair hanging down her back. She stared, thumb in mouth, at Katy.
Another voice, deep and male, demanded, ‘Who is it?’ The thumb came out of the mouth and the child called, ‘It’s a lady.’
‘Stand aside and let her in, then.’
The little girl obeyed, eyes still curious, and she said as Katy entered, ‘You’re all wet.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Katy was well aware of how she looked, knew the rain had soaked through her hat and her hair clung wetly to her neck, could feel the cold dampness inside her buttoned boots, her skirts sticking to her legs. She found a smile for the girl then confronted the young man who had risen from an ancient swivel chair behind a desk. With a sinking heart she recognised him. He had stormed into Spargo’s office in search of Ivor and frightened her: Matt Ballard. Did he remember her?
For a time he did not. Matt, hoping for business, asked, ‘Do you want something moving, ma’am?’ He had spent the day shifting light furniture between several houses in Monkwearmouth, time taking, poorly paid work as the owners only used him because they could not carry it on a hand barrow. Beatrice had gone with him and he had rigged the small tarpaulin shelter on the cart to keep her — and the furniture — dry. She had grizzled and whined because she wanted to play at home, repeatedly thrown her toys out of the cart and finally was rude to some of the customers. They told Matt, ‘That bairn wants her backside warmed.’ Beatrice had pulled a face and thrust out her tongue. Matt, patience exhausted, smacked her and drove back to the yard, with Beatrice in sullen silence and Matt grimly aware that he had barely made a profit on the day.
Now he looked at the girl holding the baby and thought there might be a removal job to be done. But then Katy asked, ‘Are you needing any help, please? I’ve done a lot of this sort of work.’
Matt shook his head, ‘Sorry, but I don’t.’
Katy pressed him, ‘I’ve three years experience of keeping books, pricing jobs, invoicing .Her voice trailed away then because Matt now looked at her sharply.
The mention of her experience had triggered a memory and now he accused her, ‘You’re one of the Spargos. You were there that day I was looking for Ivor and you
shielded him.’ Worry and anger gave a harsh edge to his voice.
Katy winced but defended herself: ‘I’m not a Spargo. I worked for them, that’s all. And I didn’t shield Ivor, he just hid behind me. The Spargos sacked me because I had a row with them.’ She felt a pressure against her leg, looked down and saw the small girl craning her neck to peer at Louise. Katy whispered, ‘Do you want to see the baby?’ When Beatrice nodded, Katy lifted the shawl so Louise’s face showed and stooped so the child could see it.
Matt’s anger ebbed and he shrugged off the past, but he said, ‘Anyway, I can’t take anybody on.’
Katy persisted, ‘Is Mr Docherty about?’ She thought that, possibly, this young man had no authority to engage staff, so she would appeal to the senior partner.
Matt sighed, ‘Mr Docherty died a couple of weeks back. I run the business now and I can’t take you on.’
Katy felt a tug at her skirt and Beatrice asked, ‘Can I hold her?’
Katy prompted automatically, ‘Please.’
‘Please.’
The baby was transferred to the arms of Beatrice but Katy maintained a steadying hand. She smiled down at the two children then up at Matt: ‘Your little girl is quite taken by my daughter.’
‘She’s not my little girl,’ Matt disclaimed. ‘That’s Joe Docherty’s Beatrice. I promised him I’d look after her.’ And he had found it trying.
Katy smoothed a hand over Beatrice’s hair. She noted that it needed brushing — badly — also that Beatrice’s face had not been washed since her last meal. Remembering her own feelings when her mother died, she sympathised with the child: ‘How awful for her. But she’s lucky to have you.’
Matt replied drily, ‘She doesn’t think so.’
Katy heard the wry humour in his voice, could guess at his difficulty with Beatrice but also thought there was kindness. She pressed her case, because she had to: ‘I need a job where I can keep the baby with me because I’ve no one I can leave her with. My husband is at sea and I don’t know when he’ll be home. I haven’t had any money from him for a month now.’ Matt shook his head unhappily but she went on, desperate now, ‘I could look after the little girl, Beatrice, for you. As well as working in here.’
‘One of the reasons I’m in this mess is because my partner was paying the wages of a nurse.’ Matt could hide his poverty no longer and admitted, in a voice savage with anger and bitterness, ‘It’s no good! I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to pay you. I haven’t the cash. I was left this yard but it’s on a long lease, I don’t own it. I’ve sold everything I can and I’m still left with a pile of debts. So will you get out of here and leave me alone.’
Katy flinched but could not obey. Louise was there to remind her of that. For her sake . . . She said, ‘You don’t have to pay me.’ She let the shawl fall from her shoulders and shook out her hair. ‘Give us a roof over our heads, board and — and bed, and I’ll — I’ll do anything you want.’
Matt whispered, ‘Dear God! You’re not that sort o’ lass.’
Katy whispered in her turn, ‘Please!
He stared at her, then said, ‘Come up here.’ He started up the stairs leading to the floor above. Katy took the child from Beatrice and followed him.
Chapter Eleven
MONKWEARMOUTH. DECEMBER 1910.
Katy numbly followed Matt’s broad back up the stairs and into the room at the head of them. She saw, in the glow from a heap of embers in the grate, that it was a small kitchen-cum-sitting-room with space for just a table at its centre and four straight-backed chairs set around it. Two sagging armchairs stood either side of a black kitchen range where the fire glowed. Katy did not see more because Matt led on to the room beyond. He pushed the door wide and gestured to her to precede him. She entered and saw in the dimness a room no bigger than the kitchen, with two single beds and a chest of drawers. His shoulders now framed in the doorway behind her blocked out what little light spilled into the room from the kitchen. She could sense his presence, close to her.
He said, ‘You can stay up here with the two bairns. I’ll be all right downstairs. When do you want to move in?’
That was an easy decision to make, but first Katy drew a deep breath of relief as she realised she was grasping salvation not straws. She had found a home of sorts for her child. She could have shed tears of gratitude but she held them in and said, ‘Thank you.’ She had not known what to expect at the hands of this stranger, but just to confirm what she believed now she asked: ‘You only want me to work in the office?’
‘No!’ Matt stumbled over the words, embarrassed. ‘I mean yes! I mean, I don’t want you messing about in the office. I do all that. You just live up here.’ He finished vaguely, ‘You can keep the place tidy and maybe cook me some grub.’
Katy saw he did not trust her to ‘mess about’ in his precious office, but she only asked, ‘Can I move in tonight?’ Then she admitted, ‘My rent is due to be paid tomorrow and I haven’t the money. If I leave tonight I won’t be owing anything.’ And making light of the task: ‘It will take me about an hour or so. I only have to fetch a pram and a suitcase from where I live now, in Bishopwearmouth.’
Matt stared at her and tried to picture her shoving the pram, probably with the baby inside and a suitcase balanced on top. Instinctively he offered, ‘You can’t cope with all that lot. Go back and pack your things. I’ll get something to eat then come over with the cart and fetch you.’
So it was arranged and Katy set off for her lodgings. Matt heated up some broth left over from the previous day. As he and Bea ate and she complained he watched the
rain rattling on the window panes. The meal over, he dumped the dirty dishes in a bowl of water and told Bea, ‘Get your coat.
We’re going out.’
She pouted, ‘I don’t want to go out. It’s raining. I want to stay in and play with my dollies.’
‘We have to go out. Bring one of your dolls with you.’ ‘We’ll get wet. My dollie will get wet.’ Bea started to wail.
‘No, you won’t. Get your coat or I’ll—’ Matt bit off the threat as he remembered Bea’s absorption not so long ago. ‘We’re going to fetch that lady.’ And he coaxed, ‘Do you want to see the baby?’
‘Can I?’ The tears ceased and Bea moved to wipe her nose on the back of her hand.
Matt used his grubby handkerchief instead and promised, ‘You will. Now get your coat — and the dollie.’ As he led Bea through the rain across the muddy, pool-bespattered yard he cursed himself for his soft-heartedness. The strange woman was proving to be a bloody nuisance already.
Katy broke the news to Mrs Gates as soon as she entered the house. She had prevaricated too long and thought the old lady deserved the truth. ‘I’m leaving tonight, Mrs Gates . . .’ She explained that she had lied about having a husband and had done so because of the child. Katy told the whole story, too tired to be ashamed or defiant, as she sat by the fire, her rain-soaked skirts steaming, and fed Louise.
Mrs Gates listened as she prepared a meal for Katy and herself. It was what she called ‘Panacklety’, bacon, onions and sliced potatoes, cooked in a frying pan on the fire. At the end of Katy’s tale she said slowly, ‘Well, you’re not the first lass to be caught like that and you won’t be the last. And that’s a bonny little bairn you’ve got there, anyway. You’re right that I couldn’t cope with her all day long at my age, or afford to keep the pair o’ you, but I wouldn’t have turned you out because of the rent. We’d have managed somehow.’
Katy ate and packed her case. She had barely finished when someone knocked on the street door and she opened it to find a drenched Matt standing on the pavement. He loaded the pram and the case into the tarpaulin shelter on the cart where Bea sat clutching her dollie. She asked eagerly, ‘Is the baby coming?’