Catherine added desperately, ‘You will tell the choir master, Mr Rolland, that I cannot come to practice.’
Lily nodded. ‘Where will I find him?’ she whispered.
‘Tyne Dock, quarter past one,’ Catherine mouthed, fighting back tears of frustration.
It was three days before she was back on her feet and in the laundry. Lily could tell her little.
‘Aye, he was there,’ she told her hurriedly in the drying room. ‘Didn’t seem best pleased when I told him you were ill. Hardly said a word - didn’t even thank me for me trouble,’ she added indignantly.
Dismayed, Catherine put a hand on her arm. ‘Ta for going. You’re a good friend, Lily.’
Christmas Day came and Catherine saw Gerald at Mass. He gave her a searching look as he passed on the church steps and tipped his hat, but said nothing. Kate was standing beside her and did not miss the look or her daughter’s blushing.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ she said, staring at Gerald’s retreating back as if she had seen a ghost. ‘The man who took you to the pictures.’
Catherine shushed her and began walking away. Kate limped after her.
‘I know his type,’ she said with a bitter little laugh. ‘All posh clothes and syrupy words, but a heart of bell metal.’
Catherine was furious. ‘You don’t know anything about him,’ she hissed.
‘So why’s he ignoring you?’
‘He’s a shy and private man,’ Catherine defended.
Kate snorted. ‘Don’t fall for any lad who thinks he’s better than you. Doesn’t matter what they say - you can see it in their eyes. Look into their eyes, Kitty.’
They walked home in tense silence. What did Kate know? She was too embittered by her own mistakes with men to see good in any of them. Even Davie, who adored her, got the sharp end of her tongue when black moods took a-hold.
Catherine tried to shake off her anger at her mother and the disappointment that Gerald had not spoken to her on Christmas Day. While Kate took nips of whisky in the scullery, Catherine busied herself with preparing the lunch of pork, stuffing and vegetables. She was gladdened by John’s glee at the new pipe she had bought him, and even Davie seemed pleased with the tobacco pouch and lighter she gave him. But the mood changed abruptly with the opening of Kate’s present. Her mother burst into tears at the sight of the pearl hatpin and navy gloves.
‘You shouldn’t gan spending good money on me,’ she blubbered. ‘I don’t deserve it. I haven’t had gloves like this since . . . such a long time.’
‘Something smart for church,’ Catherine said awkwardly.
Kate shot her a look. ‘What d’you mean? You saying I don’t gan enough?’
‘No—’
All at once, she was belligerent. ‘When do I get the chance? I’ve a house full of lazy men demanding this and that.’
Davie said good-naturedly, ‘The lass didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘What would you know?’ Kate snapped. Catherine felt a familiar dread at the angry gleam in her mother’s eyes. She was itching for a fight.
‘It wasn’t always like this, you know. I remember when I was a lass, we’d go every Sunday to Saint Bede’s in Jarrow.’
‘Shurr-up and get the dinner served,’ John ordered.
‘What a grand place - built by the men themselves.’ Kate gave John a defiant look and Catherine tensed. She knew where this was leading. ‘Aye, me own da was one of them. William Fawcett.’
‘That’s enough,’ John growled, picking up the poker and clanging it on the fender. ‘Don’t you mention that name in my house!’
‘The Fawcetts were well respected round Jarrow,’ Kate goaded. ‘Good Catholic family - regular churchgoers - and we lived in a respectable part of town.’
‘Kate ...’ Davie warned.
‘Not like the McMullens. They lived in the cottages - like middens they were - not fit for pigs.’
John let out a roar. ‘Just let me at you!’
But Kate knew John was too unsteady on his legs these days to catch her. ‘Mam cursed the day she ever set eyes on you,’ she said savagely. ‘It was me real da she loved with all her heart, not you.’
‘No!’ John cried. ‘It was me saved her from the puddling mills, not bloody Fawcett.’
‘You killed her,’ Kate said, trembling, ‘with your drinkin’ and fightin’. You put us on the street, turned us into beggars.’
John hurled the poker at his stepdaughter. It gave Kate a glancing blow on her shoulder and smashed on to the table, toppling the jug of gravy. Kate grabbed at the poker, revenge in her look.
‘No, Kate!’ Davie pleaded.
Catherine barged at her mother, wresting the poker from her grip and shoving her towards the door. Davie pushed the struggling, cursing John back into his seat. Out in the yard, Catherine stood blocking the back door until her mother calmed down, praying none of the neighbours had heard the commotion. The back lane was deserted.
Kate stood panting with rage for several minutes. Abruptly, her shoulders crumpled and she began to sob hysterically. Catherine felt a strong mix of anger and pity and shame for the woman. What had possessed her to rake up the past like that and cause such a scene? There was nothing to be gained by riling old John.
‘Ta for ruining Christmas,’ Catherine muttered, upset by her mother’s excessive tears. This was what whisky did to her, turned her into a howling, unpredictable monster. It reminded her of how Kate had wailed over Grandma Rose’s grave, sodden with drink, shaming them all, while she had clutched at her grandda’s hand for comfort. He had been stoical and dignified, while Kate’s wild grief had been terrifying.
‘I-I’m s-sorry,’ Kate wept.
Catherine turned away, peering into the kitchen where the shouting had subsided. Gravy dripped from the tablecloth and she wondered if the meal could be salvaged.
‘Don’t go,’ Kate sobbed, ‘please don’t go. I need you, Kitty.’
‘No you don’t,’ Catherine said in irritation. ‘You just want someone to clear up the mess you make.’
‘Don’t speak to your mam like that.’ Kate looked wounded. ‘I don’t know what came over me. It was just seeing him - today at church.’
‘Seeing who?’
‘Your man. He just reminded me of. . .’ She hung her head.
Catherine’s heart squeezed. ‘Of who?’ she whispered. ‘Me da?’
‘Aye,’ Kate said hoarsely. She looked up with bleary, desolate eyes. ‘It made me think how different things would’ve been if I’d still been a Fawcett and not a McMullen.’
Catherine held her breath, not wanting to stop her mother’s confiding.
‘How would it have been different?’ she asked softly.
Kate’s voice shook. ‘He loved me as Kate Fawcett - the daughter of William Fawcett, a friend of the Liddells. He knew me da - knew him for a gentleman.’ Kate’s tone hardened. ‘But when he discovered I was a common McMullen, he couldn’t get away quick enough.’
Catherine’s mind spun. Alexander had known her grandfather, William Fawcett. William was a friend of the Liddells! Did she mean the Liddells of Ravensworth, and was Alexander one of them? If so, Aunt Mary’s story of her aristocratic father could really be true. The blood hammered in her head.
Kate took a step forward, swayed and steadied herself against the brick wall. She looked worried, as if she had said too much.
‘Don’t make the same mistake I did, Kitty,’ she urged. ‘Don’t pretend you’re someone you’re not. ‘Cos sooner or later you’ll be found out.’
Chapter 12
The raw January winds came along with growing stagnation at the yards. The nearby pits were working on short time and the steel mills were mothballed. Davie had managed to get a job on a coal boat between Newcastle and Gothenburg, and Kate was morose without him. But Catherine’s biggest upset was that Gerald had disappeared without trace.
She threw herself into her work and her reading, redoubling her efforts to improve herself. Her mo
ther was wrong; it was possible to change and become someone else. Her words of warning on Christmas Day had only served to make Catherine the more determined to break free of her shameful past. Perhaps Gerald had somehow learnt of it. Or maybe he thought her too ill-educated and ignorant to be his lifelong companion. An assistant head laundress might be a huge step up for Kitty McMullen of the New Buildings, but it was only the first rung on the ladder that would take her up and out of the unskilled classes.
She would become a nurse. Nursing was a respectable profession that recruited from the middle classes too. Catherine scoured the public library for books on anatomy and studied late into the night.
One evening Matron surprised her with a visit. Catherine leapt up and closed her books.
‘Sit down Miss McMullen. Your light’s on very late,’ Matron observed.
‘I’m studying,’ Catherine said proudly.
‘Can I see?’
Catherine handed over a textbook. Matron flicked through it and looked up in surprise. ‘Why such an interest in the human body?’
Catherine flushed. ‘I-I want to become a nurse,’ she stammered.
Matron raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve never mentioned this before.’
‘No.’
‘Do you have a young man?’ Matron’s look was sharp.
Catherine blushed deeper in confusion. ‘No, Matron.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ Mrs Hatch closed the book and handed it back. ‘And there has been concern that your interest in such matters is - a little - unhealthy. I wouldn’t want you to do anything to sully the reputation of the workhouse staff. So perhaps you should limit the number of books of this type you leave lying about the staffroom.’
She went, leaving Catherine gawping in stupefaction. She didn’t leave them lying around; someone had been poking about in her room. Hettie and Gert, more than likely, trying to get her into trouble! What else had they been telling Matron? How dare they spread lies about her. Was she never to escape their poisonous whisperings? How could Matron Hatch have believed them? Catherine flung herself on the bed and wept in fury.
That Saturday evening, she went to church to find comfort among the flickering shadows and the calm patient face of the Madonna. Halfway through benediction, she was struck by a familiar deep voice. Glancing round, she caught sight of Gerald and could not help a broad smile of joy. Briefly he returned it.
Afterwards, they walked into Shields as if there had been no hiatus in their courtship.
‘I’ve been working in Newcastle - my mother hasn’t been well,’ he explained.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Catherine said in concern. ‘Is she better now?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ The wind buffeted them. ‘Let’s go to a cafe for a hot drink,’ he suggested.
Warming themselves over cups of hot chocolate, Catherine blurted out, ‘I was so worried that you’d gone for good.’
He eyed her. ‘I thought you’d made excuses not to come with me to Newcastle. I was annoyed that you’d sent your friend, as if you couldn’t face me.’
Catherine reached out and seized his hand. ‘No, I was ill - I had a terrible nosebleed and could hardly lift my head off the pillow. I so wanted to go with you to the concert. And then when you ignored me outside church at Mass - I was that miserable.’
Gerald gave his quizzical smile that made her insides twist with longing.
‘So you’ve really missed me, Kitty?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she blushed. ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I’ve missed you too. But I’m back now and we can carry on seeing each other again - on Saturdays - maybe other times when you’re not working.’
Catherine thrilled at his words. ‘That’s grand!’
‘But one thing, Kitty,’ he cautioned, ‘I don’t want you telling everything to that friend of yours - or gossiping about us to anyone else. This is private between us.’
Catherine had a moment of doubt. Lily’s words about him being married suddenly came back to her.
‘What’s wrong, Kitty?’
She had to ask him. ‘You’re not married, are you?’
He recoiled as if she had slapped him. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’ he asked in offence.
‘I mean, you’ve never been married in the past, have you?’ Catherine said wildly. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you were a widower or anything. I just wondered. . .’
The look he gave her made her hot with shame. How could she have suspected such a thing?
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.
He surveyed her with sorrowful dark eyes. ‘I forgive you, Kitty. I don’t blame you for thinking it possible that a man of my age might have already been married.’ He took hold of her hand again. ‘But I can assure you I never have been. I’ve never found the right woman.’
The way he looked at her and the touch of his hand made Catherine’s heart race with excitement and hope.
***
They began to see each other regularly on Saturday evenings and as spring arrived and the days grew longer, Gerald would suggest evening walks in the countryside around South Shields, away from the busy streets. She delighted in his company, eager to learn from him about everything from music to insurance. He took her to concerts and encouraged her to take up the piano again. Kate had tried to make her learn as a child, but Catherine had been paralysed by the fear of how much debt was being amassed in unpaid lessons and a beautiful piano bought on tick. She had rebelled by being determined to fail and refusing to learn.
But Gerald rekindled a love of the piano and a thirst for classical music. She had grown up with traditional singsongs and Irish tunes passed down from John. Kate could sing like a bird and once had brought tears to Catherine’s eyes with a bitter-sweet rendering of ‘Thora’, about a wintry landscape and a child lost. But too often Kate’s singing degenerated into raucousness and ribald songs that made Catherine blush.
Gerald’s love of music was noble and pure, and she begged him to teach her all he knew. He was patient and considerate. Most of all, he did not scoff at her attempts at self-improvement as her workmates did.
‘Don’t listen to them, Kitty,’ he said dismissively, ‘they’re only jealous. You have a sweetness and refinement that they will never have - and an eagerness to learn. You must carry on with your studies. You’re too good for a workhouse laundry - a nurse’s training would be just the thing.’
As summer came, Catherine’s dissatisfaction with her job grew. After Matron’s warning, she felt wary of confiding in her employer, so plucked up courage to approach Father O’Neill for help.
‘Nursing?’ he barked at her in astonishment.
‘Yes, Father, it’s what I’ve set me heart on.’
The priest shook his head. ‘They’d never take you on,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’ve not got the education. It’s a hard training, Kitty; you wouldn’t cope. Be thankful for what you’ve got. You’re getting on well at the laundry - it’s a great achievement for a girl with no learning.’
Catherine wanted to run out of the church hall screaming. She was deeply hurt by his dismissal of her ambition. A girl with no learning. She hated him for belittling her. She would show them all! Stubbornly, Catherine continued to borrow heavy medical books and ploughed through them, making notes in her rough scrawl.
In moments of self-doubt, she surveyed her notes and thought Father O’Neill was right. She could draw competently, but knew her writing was jumbled and the words misspelt. She did not have the learning to write long essays or put her thoughts into grammatical English. Her mind was a wilderness, untended, and she was bowed down with the effort of improving it.
Only being with Gerald made her feel better. With him, she could practise speaking in a genteel way and talk of art and music without feeling self-conscious. Sometimes she wished he would be more demonstrative, do more than walk arm in arm along quiet lanes or kiss her hand at the end of the evening. She dreamt of him holding
her tight and kissing her lips like they did in films, but there was always a reserve about him that she could not breach.
But soon Catherine would be twenty-one and an adult. No longer would she be bound by Kate’s rule. She would be a fully-grown woman, free to marry. Perhaps this was the moment Gerald was waiting for too.
It was Kate’s suggestion to throw a party.
‘You must do some’at to mark your comin’ of age,’ she declared. ‘Me and Mary’ll put on a grand tea - have our Sarah and your cousins over from Birtley. And you can have your friends round, eh? We’ll have a right good party - Uncle Alec on the fiddle - push back the furniture and have a bit dance.’
Catherine eyed her mother with caution. The last thing she wanted was Kate making a spectacle of herself in front of all her friends. And which friends would she invite? Lily and Amelia, of course, and Tommy and Peter and cousin Ida. But what about Gerald? This would be a golden opportunity to introduce him to the family - as long as Kate did not get drunk.
‘Gan on, Kitty,’ Kate urged, ‘you like a party as much as I do. And don’t give me that look. I’ll not show you up. Promise I’ll not touch a drop.’
Catherine smiled in relief and nodded. ‘I’d like a party.’
‘If it’s canny weather we can tak the tables outside and have a street party - like after the war,’ Kate enthused. ‘All the more room for dancin’. And some of the neighbours can join in - like Bella and her mam.’
Catherine’s insides clenched. She might have been only eight when Bella and the other girls had shut her out of their birthday party, but the shock and humiliation would stay with her for ever. She felt the hurt like a raw wound as if it had happened yesterday.
Kate saw her look. ‘Maybes not Bella. But the McGraths - they’ve got a piano - we could pull it outside.’
Catherine felt dizzy at her mother’s plans; the whole of Jarrow would be turning up for her birthday at this rate.
‘Could we have it round at Aunt Mary’s?’ Catherine asked. ‘She’s got more room.’
Kate looked wounded. ‘You mean she’s more posh. I’ll not have her lording it over us on such a day. You’re my bairn and we’re having the party here.’
Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow Page 9