She stopped in astonishment as a young man with reddish hair and moustache appeared from behind a pile of boxes, grinning.
‘Frank Pearson,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘Got a supply of soap for you.’ He patted the top box. ‘Anyone told you what a bonny voice you’ve got, miss?’
‘Are you from Proctor’s?’ Catherine asked, hesitating to shake his hand.
‘Lumley’s, miss. Best soap this side of the Atlantic. Powder for the heavy wash, bars for those collars and cuffs. Better smelling than that carbolic you’re using. Just take a look.’
He had the top box open before she could answer. ‘Can offer you cracking terms as well. Better than Proctor’s. Why don’t you just try it for a month?’
‘It’s not my decision,’ Catherine said.
‘But I can see you’re an officer - and a young woman who knows her own mind,’ he persisted, ‘so maybe if you suggested it?’ He had very blue eyes. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ he asked.
Catherine felt a twist of anxiety. In childhood that question was usually followed by a derogatory snort: ‘Aye, you’re that Kitty McMullen from the New Buildings.’
‘I’ve never seen you before,’ Catherine blushed.
He clicked his fingers. ‘I’ve got it - the Palace, last week. You’re the double of Clara Bow.’
Catherine burst out laughing. ‘By, you’ve swallowed a tin of treacle.’
He stepped forward and she caught a pleasant waft of cologne.
‘Forget the soap. Can I take you to the pictures on Saturday? They’re showing Rudolph Valentino at the Essoldo.’
Catherine liked him at once. How did he know that her earliest passion had been Saturday matinees at the flicks with a stick of liquorice and no errands for a whole afternoon?
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she smiled. Holding out her hand, she added, ‘I’m Kitty, by the way.’
He took it and held on to it longer than was necessary for a handshake.
Frank failed to get his soap order, though Catherine assured him he would if she became head laundress. But he got his afternoon with her, and several Saturdays after. She found his fresh looks and cheerful chatter just the tonic she needed after months without male company. She had forgotten the fun of flirtatious conversation and the feel of a man’s hand holding hers in the dark of a picture house. Frank was uncomplicated and out to enjoy life. He worked hard and lived across the river in Percy Main.
Lily seemed a touch jealous of Catherine’s new romance.
‘You never have time for your friends any more,’ she chided.
‘I only see him Saturdays,’ Catherine pointed out. ‘He plays in the Sally Army band on Sundays, so you and me can do things together then.’
‘Bet your grandda doesn’t know he’s in the Salvation Army.’
‘No, and I’m not ganin’ to tell him. We’re just having a bit of a laugh, nothing serious.’
‘It’s all right for some,’ Lily said. ‘Can you find me one like that, an’ all?’
***
Catherine’s new-found happiness was blunted by a setback at Harton.
‘They’ve passed me over!’ she railed tearfully at Frank one week in late May. ‘Matron’s given the job to some lass from Gateshead. Can you believe it? And after all the hours of hard work I’ve put in over the years. That job should’ve been mine.’
‘Course it should. They can’t see quality when it stares them in the face. Something else will come along - don’t you worry.’
Frank took her to the pictures. In the back stalls he soothed her with soft words, murmuring in her ear, ‘I think the world of you, Kitty.’ Slipping a hand around her waist, he pulled her close and kissed her full on the lips.
They did not see much of that day’s film, as they cuddled and kissed and Catherine forgot her bruised pride for a while. Afterwards, they walked around the town, glancing into shop windows. She had a feeling Frank was trying to say something. He kept looking at her and smiling and shaking his head.
‘You’re a grand lass. I’m the luckiest man on the Tyne, eh?’
A few days later, Lily waylaid Catherine in the drying room.
‘Kitty, don’t go light with me, but I’ve heard some’at about Frank.’ She looked nervous, twisting her hands in her apron pocket.
Catherine, still morose from her lack of promotion, felt a stirring of apprehension.
‘What about him?’
‘It’s just gossip I’ve heard among the lasses - one of them comes from Percy Main.’
Catherine eyed her warily.
‘They say he’s got a lass - across the river.’
‘Don’t be daft, I know he hasn’t,’ Catherine dismissed the idea at once. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip - specially round here. You know they’re always trying to bring me down.’
She walked away from Lily, offended that her friend should even think of trying to spoil things between her and Frank. Since losing out on advancement, being in love with him kept her going through the long hot days in the laundry.
But as Saturday approached, she felt a familiar sense of unease at seeing him. Surely he could not have deceived her as Gerald had?
The open smile on his face and the kiss with which he greeted her gave reassurance. The early summer day was too hot for the cinema and they caught a tram to the promenade. As they bought ice creams from a barrow and walked arm in arm, the desire to know the truth was overwhelming.
Catherine blurted out, ‘The lasses at the laundry are saying things about you - bad things.’
Frank stopped and gave her a quizzical look.
‘They say you’ve got another lass over the river.’
His fair face reddened. ‘They say what? I hope you don’t believe them.’ His look was so wounded, she felt terrible for even mentioning it.
‘No, course not, but. . .’
He threw down his ice cream and grabbed her so suddenly that she dropped hers. ‘Kitty, I’m daft about you. There’s no other lass for me. You must know that? Don’t listen to what anyone says.’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Listen, Kitty, will you marry me?’
She blinked at him as if she had misheard. ‘Marry?’ She gave a nervous laugh.
But his look was urgent. ‘I mean it, lass. Marry me now. We’ll get a special licence. We could gan anywhere, you and me.’
Catherine’s surprise gave way to alarm. ‘It’s too soon. We hardly know each other.’
‘We know enough. You’re the only lass I ever want to be with,’ Frank insisted. ‘I love you. Don’t you love me, Kitty?’
‘Y-yes—’
‘Then show it. Say you’ll marry me. Say it!’
Catherine was aware of passers-by staring at them. She pulled away from his grip.
‘I can’t. It’s too quick.’
‘It’s not,’ Frank said, with a pleading look. She had never seen him so agitated. ‘We love each other and that’s all that matters. It has to be now or never, Kitty.’
Catherine felt a ridiculous desire to laugh. He sounded like a hero from one of the new talkies. But she could see from his face that he was completely serious. It did not make sense. Why so sudden? Why was he so on edge after her questioning?
Catherine’s insides clenched.
‘There is another lass, isn’t there?’ she whispered.
Frank looked cross. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me again.’ He turned away, plunging his hands in his pockets and began to walk off.
Catherine, embarrassed to be left standing alone, hurried after him. ‘Frank, stop. I didn’t mean it. I just don’t see what all the hurry’s about. Can’t we just carry on seeing each other for a bit? I’ve been hurt before, you see . . .’
He stopped and faced her. After a long moment he smiled, though his blue eyes looked sad.
‘Aye, course we can.’
With relief, she slipped her arm through his and they walked back into town. Although they spoke now and again, Catheri
ne felt weighed down by the failure of the afternoon. She swallowed her disappointment when he left for the ferry without making a date for the following week.
When Saturday came, Catherine was not surprised when Frank did not. She knew something had gone badly wrong between them, though she was not clear quite what. Should she have said yes to marrying him? How different her life would be. No more laundry, no more snide remarks about her morals or her background. A clean start. Mrs Francis Pearson. A married woman’s name to bear like a badge of honour. Catherine wandered around town aimlessly, heart lurching to see figures in the distance that looked like Frank but were not. All weekend she wished she had said yes, cursed herself for her caution.
At the end of the next week, she entered the staff room to splutters of laughter. Half a dozen women stopped and stared at her.
‘Want to share the joke?’ she asked.
There were embarrassed glances among her workmates. Then Hettie picked up the newspaper they had been leaning over.
‘What’s the name of that boyfriend of yours?’
Catherine knew from the glee in her voice that it was bad news. Her stomach knotted.
‘Frank Pearson, wasn’t it?’ Hettie goaded. ‘From Percy Main. Plays cornet in the Salvation Anny band.’
‘What if he does?’
‘Got himself wed last Saturday.’
Catherine stared in disbelief. The stuffy room seemed to hold its breath. The words buzzed in her ears as if she was about to faint. She struggled not to show her shock, clutching the back of a chair.
‘Aye, and that’s not all,’ Hettie added, with a triumphant look. ‘His missus gave birth to a bairn on Monday!’
‘Liar!’ Catherine cried.
‘It’s here in black and white,’ Hettie said, brandishing the paper. ‘Didn’t we tell you he was a bad’un?’
Catherine clamped a hand to her mouth and wheeled around. She rushed from the room, not pausing till she reached the toilet. Head spinning, she vomited into the bowl.
Chapter 21
Worn out from a string of sleepless nights, Catherine went storming round to see Father O’Neill.
‘I want to become a nun,’ she demanded. ‘I’ve thought about it long and hard and it’s all I ever wanted to do. I’m not made for marriage, Father.’
The old priest surveyed her from under iron-grey eyebrows and shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t have you,’ he said bluntly.
Catherine flushed. ‘Let me try, please, Father. I hate it at Harton.’
‘Kitty,’ he said firmly, ‘I’ve watched you grow up. I know you well enough to say you’re certainly not made for a life of silent obedience and contemplation.’
‘But I am!’ she protested.
He held up his hand. ‘See what I mean?’ He allowed himself a half-smile. ‘No, Kitty, go away and work hard. I’ll have a word with Matron Hatch about you.’ With that he dismissed her.
Catherine was still railing at his rejection when she visited William Black Street the following Saturday.
‘I’m finished with Jarrow!’ she cried at Kate, pacing beside the hearth. ‘There’s nowt here for me now.’
Her mother shooed her out of the way of the oven door and rammed in a tray of stottie cake. ‘You’ve a grand job at Harton,’ Kate puffed, slamming the heavy iron door shut. ‘Divn’t gan chucking it in ‘cos some lad’s given you the run-around.’
‘I’m sick of the laundry. They make me life a misery - even worse since Frank Pearson . . .’ Catherine felt tears of anger sting her eyes again. She had cried all week, astonished that anyone could possess so many tears.
Kate eyed her, hands on hips. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this Frank?’
‘I would’ve done in time ...’ Catherine looked morose.
Kate let out a long sigh. ‘Well, what’s done’s done.’ She wiped her floury hands on her apron. ‘A hard day’s graft gets rid o’ heartache, I always find. Work it out, lass, that’s the best remedy.’
Catherine could not help a bleak smile at this homespun advice. It would take more than a day’s work to scrub away all her unhappiness.
‘That’s it, hinny,’ Kate encouraged. ‘Now get that tea poured and we’ll have a cuppa before your grandda wakes up and starts his rantin’.’
As they sat around the worn kitchen table, sipping at hot sweet tea, Catherine told her about pleading to Father O’Neill.
‘A nun?’ Kate spluttered over her teacup. Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. ‘A nun!’
‘Stop laughin’,’ Catherine chided.
But Kate could not. She howled and rocked on her chair, until tears rolled down her puffy cheeks. Catherine scraped back her chair, offended.
‘Well, if you’re going to be like that—’
‘Eeh, sit doon, hinny,’ Kate cried, wiping away tears with her pinny. ‘Don’t mind me. That’s the best laugh I’ve had in ages.’ She looked at her daughter, her laughter subsiding. ‘You have to look on the funny side. I mean, haven’t the poor nuns got enough problems? You’d not give them a minute’s peace.’
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. She let out a snort of amusement. ‘Aye, maybes you’re right.’
‘And you’d hate the clothes.’ Kate giggled again. ‘How many nuns do you see with high heels and a fancy hat like you?’
Catherine could not help laughing too.
‘No, lass,’ Kate declared, ‘God’s got different plans for you, I’m sure of it.’
They smiled at each other and carried on drinking tea until the pot was empty. For once, Kate seemed in no rush to get on with chores. It was good to laugh again, and Catherine went away feeling better. If only it could always be that easy with Kate. Instead, these snatches of time alone when her mother was sober were like breaks in a storm.
As summer came, Catherine’s restlessness at her situation grew. Despite the priest’s promise, nothing appeared to change at Harton. Davie came home from sea and Kate no longer had time for her. There was money again for whisky, and her mother grew loud and aggressive if Catherine dared to criticise her drinking.
‘Hark at Sister Catherine,’ Kate would ridicule, ‘the first nun in high heels! Don’t give me that look. I’ll tak a sip in me own home if I want to. You and your twisty face - I’ve had enough of it!’
On a whim, Catherine went out and had her hair bobbed and permed, in an attempt to make herself feel better. Kate was immediately critical, as if she had done it to spite her.
‘Where’s all your bonny hair?’ she shrieked. ‘You look like a lad! And to think of all them hours I spent puttin’ in ringlets when you were a bairn.’
Catherine did remember. The humiliation of a spiteful school mistress pulling out her ringlets and yanking her hair into plaits had been a daily source of torture when she was young.
‘Well, I’m not a bairn now,’ she replied, stalking out before her mother saw how upset she was.
Catherine’s only happiness came in escaping for a few hours by bicycle with Lily.
‘If you could wish to be somewhere else,’ Catherine asked her friend as they picnicked beside a hayrick, ‘where would it be?’
Lily shrugged.
‘Go on, choose,’ Catherine insisted.
‘Durham, maybes. Aye, Durham’s canny.’
Catherine was disappointed. ‘No, somewhere we’ve never been before. A South Sea island or the heart of London.’
Lily looked anxious. ‘Eeh, I wouldn’t want to gan anywhere foreign.’
Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘I’d like to go somewhere that doesn’t smell of the gasworks, where you can see the stars at night, where the sea’s clean.’
Lily joined in. ‘Aye, as long as it was next to the sea.’
‘And the houses are grand and standing in their own gardens,’ Catherine enthused.
‘And inside toilets,’ Lily laughed. ‘And canny lads with nice manners.’
‘Lads,’ Catherine snorted. ‘As long as we’re together, I don’
t give tuppence for any lads.’
Shortly afterwards, she went to Matron and declared, ‘Me and Lily want to work away. Please could you help us, Matron? I know you sometimes hear of jobs at other institutions.’
To her surprise Matron Hatch did not dismiss her request out of hand. The older woman nodded.
‘Father O’Neill has been speaking to me about you. I think it might be good for you to get away - but I’m surprised Lily wants to go too.’
‘Oh, she does,’ Catherine was adamant, ‘where I go, she goes.’
Matron nodded. ‘Let me look into it.’
A couple of weeks later, just after Catherine’s twenty-third birthday, Matron called her in to her office.
‘There’s a position as head laundress at Tendring in Essex. I think you would have a very good chance. It’s smaller than Harton, but there’s work for Lily too as a checker. Would you like me to help you apply?’
Catherine nodded quickly. She was unsure where Essex was, but it sounded historic and a little exotic.
Lily was taken aback when told about the vacancies. ‘Essex? That sounds very far away.’
‘Matron says it’s near London - so we’ll spend our free time looking round the sights.’
‘Still, it’s a long way from the Tyne.’ Lily was dubious.
‘Haway, Lily, it’s what we’ve always wanted - get away from here and see a bit of the world before we’re old maids. Maybes you’ll find a rich lad down there. Say you’ll come if we get offered the jobs, please! I couldn’t go on me own.’
Lily agreed. ‘Course I wouldn’t let you gan on your own.’
Quite unexpectedly, two days later, Catherine ran into Gerald Rolland. The shock of seeing his handsome figure striding towards her left her winded.
‘My dear Kitty,’ he cried, as if she was the person he most wanted to see in the world. ‘How are you? You look so pretty and grown up with your bobbed hair.’
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