‘That’s not fair! This is my job.’
‘It’s too much for you,’ Catherine said, trying to keep calm.
‘That’s right,’ Bridie smiled. ‘It’s a huge weight on your shoulders. Together we’ll get on grand - make this the best boarding house in Hastings, eh?’
Kate glared at them. ‘You’re both against me, the pair of you. You want me out.’
‘No we don’t—’
‘Aye, you do. She wants me out!’ Kate jabbed a finger at Bridie. ‘Wants you all for hersel’. Pretends to be all sweetness and light, till your back’s turned.’
‘Stop it,’ Catherine ordered. ‘There’s no need to be nasty to Bridie. It’s my decision. I want her here to keep an eye on things - and I want you to stop drinking.’
Kate clenched her fists, her face contorted suddenly into a mask of hate. Catherine stepped backwards, fearful that her mother would hit her. Maddened, Kate whirled round, picked up a pretty milk jug from the table and dashed it on to the stone hearth. Maisie screamed as it shattered into a dozen shards.
With a roar of anger, Kate barged past them and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her so that the windows shook. Catherine clutched the back of a chair, her heart pounding with fear and relief.
Maisie began to wail, ‘Auntie Kate’s angry with Maisie.’
‘No, pet,’ Catherine tried to reassure her, ‘just with me.’
Bridie cuddled her daughter. ‘There’s no need for tears, girl. It’s all right. Auntie Kate’s in a mood. It’ll blow over like the rain.’ She went to Catherine and hugged her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort your mother out.’
Catherine could not stop shaking. ‘This is what it was always like,’ she whispered, ‘rages and fighting. That’s what I came here to get away from. I can’t stand all that again.’ She gave Bridie a desperate look.
‘You won’t have to,’ Bridie said stoutly. ‘I’ll see to that.’ She kissed Catherine on the forehead like a child. ‘Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?’
‘Yes,’ Catherine said, feeling comforted.
‘And I always will,’ Bridie promised.
Chapter 36
For a time, tempers settled down at The Hurst and Bridie did seem to manage Kate. With a combination of breezy charm and bullying, the Irish woman won Kate’s co-operation. Together they were conspirators in thwarting Mrs Fairy’s interference in the kitchen. Bridie resented the woman for fussing over Maisie and relaying gossip to Catherine.
‘Miss McMullen doesn’t need to be bothered with petty problems, Mrs Fairy,’ Catherine overheard her friend say one day. ‘Me and Mrs McDermott are in charge here, so don’t you worry about a thing. Off you go and enjoy a walk to the park while the weather holds.’
Catherine was thankful for Bridie’s firm hand. She had enough to cope with at work with turnover of staff and taking on the laundering of a nearby children’s home. It was a relief to come home and find the evening meal ready and not be in fear of what else she might find. Often, she was so tired she ate swiftly and went straight to bed. Later, Bridie would come up with a cup of cocoa and relay the gossip of the day to make Catherine laugh. If there was any trouble with Kate, Bridie kept it to herself.
‘Sober as a judge,’ Bridie laughed, when Catherine asked.
Kate did appear to be off the drink. With Catherine she was wary, keeping out of her way as if she feared another outburst. Only occasionally did Kate let slip a reproachful remark.
When making pastry one evening and supervising Maisie’s cutting, she said to the girl, ‘Used to do this with Kitty once upon a time. Made pastry-men together. Long ago, before she got too grand for such things.’ She shot Catherine a look. ‘Not that she’d remember.’
Catherine was stung. ‘Course I remember.’
Kate’s look was disbelieving.
‘I do,’ Catherine insisted. ‘There was only ever enough pastry left over for one and a half men. You used to say he’d lost his leg in the Boer War.’
A half-smile flickered across Kate’s flushed face, then she turned to Maisie. ‘See, she only ever remembers the bad things - never enough pastry for madam. Listen to Kitty, you’d think she’d had the worst childhood in the world. She should’ve had a taste of mine.’
Catherine had left before Kate saw the tears of hurt welling in her eyes and thought she had got the better of her.
Christmas came and most of the residents went to spend it with relations. Only the major, Harold the poet and Mrs Fairy stayed. Catherine was looking forward to a quiet, cosy holiday, when Davie hove back from sea.
‘Got a month’s leave,’ he grinned. ‘I can have a proper go at fixing that roof this time.’
But the winds were too wild and Kate forbade him to clamber on any ladders. Torrential rain set in for days and leaks sprung in half a dozen new places. Harold’s bed was soaked and he had to move out of the turret into a lower room, which caused him to resume his night rambles. Kate and Davie went out on Christmas Eve morning to fetch chestnuts to roast on the fire and did not return until dark.
They came back drunk, Kate singing at the top of her voice and Davie swirling her around the kitchen in a crazy dance and laughing at nothing in particular. She ordered the major to carry in his gramophone and put on one of his two dance records. Every time it ended, Kate would lurch over to wind it up again.
Mrs Fairy stalked out in disapproval, but Kate was oblivious. She pulled Maisie up and made her dance too. Catherine watched nervously, but Bridie winked at her.
‘It’s Christmas, she’s doing no harm,’ her friend whispered, as Kate burst into song again.
Catherine went off to serve supper to the three remaining lodgers, the sound of her mother’s raucous singing carrying along the corridor.
‘Tomorrow we’ll have a nice Christmas dinner all together,’ Catherine smiled, hiding her dismay.
‘Sounds like some have celebrated enough already,’ Mrs Fairy sniffed.
Major Holloway chuckled. ‘Like a bit of song and dance myself, now and again.’ He looked shyly at Catherine. ‘In fact, there’s a dance on at The Imperial on Boxing Day. Wondered if you’d like to go?’
Catherine’s spirits lifted. She had not been dancing for so long. The Hurst had consumed all her energies.
‘How kind,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll ask Bridie if she’d like to come too.’
His smile faltered. ‘Course, Mrs McKim’s most welcome,’ he mumbled, and dropped his gaze.
Catherine hid her amusement at his invitation. She had no intention of becoming romantically attached to the old soldier. Bridie would be a perfect chaperone.
Christmas Day came. Catherine, Bridie and Maisie trooped off to Mass, unable to rouse Kate or Davie from sleep. When they returned, Kate was bustling about the kitchen, red-eyed but defiantly cheerful. Davie stamped in from the wet with a full hod for the kitchen fire. The damp coal hissed and spat as he shovelled it on.
‘You get yourselves along to the sitting room,’ Kate ordered. ‘I’ll see to the dinner.’ She refused any help, so Catherine went to join the other guests in a glass of ginger wine. As a Christmas present to each other, she and Bridie had decided on a second-hand piano. It had been delivered in a downpour the day before and Tom Hobbs had tuned it before catching a train to his sister’s in London.
Catherine had told Bridie about her disastrous lessons as a girl and her half-hearted attempt to play again while courting Gerald Rolland. But Bridie played a bit and insisted Catherine would love it if she just let herself try. While they sipped drinks in front of a crackling fire, Bridie opened the lid and began to play a jaunty music-hall tune. Then, to the surprise of everyone, Harold stepped forward.
‘I’d like to play,’ he said simply. He sat flexing his fingers then bent over the keys. After a hesitant start, he began to play ‘Greensleeves’. After once through, Harold began to sing the song too. Catherine was amazed at his clear, tuneful voice. She had never heard him sing in the six months he had lived there.
Bridie clapped in delight. ‘What talent! You’re a dark horse, so you are. Play us another one, Mr Harold.’
He smiled boyishly under his mop of fair hair and played ‘Linden Lee’. The others gathered around him and sang along. They were almost finished when the door banged open. Catherine turned to see her mother standing white-faced in the doorway, staring.
Harold finished and the last notes died away. Bridie clapped. Kate limped across the room, her hand outstretched towards Harold, mouthing something. As she reached him, he turned and she stopped abruptly, dropping her hand.
‘I thought - it sounded - you looked—’ she mumbled in confusion.
Catherine stepped round quickly and took her by the arm. ‘Doesn’t Mr Harold play well, Kate?’
‘Mr Harold? Yes . . .’
Her mother looked on the verge of tears.
‘Why don’t you sit down a minute?’ Catherine said in alarm. The last thing she wanted was a scene in front of the residents. ‘I’ll get you a sip of ginger wine.’ It was non-alcoholic, so even Mrs Fairy could not disapprove.
But Kate waved her away, seeming to take control of herself again.
‘Whose piano is it?’ she demanded.
Bridie said brightly, ‘It’s ours. Me and Catherine bought it for Christmas. Isn’t it just the grandest thing?’
Kate gave Catherine a hard look. ‘You’ve bought a piano?’
Catherine nodded, feeling like a child again under her mother’s glare. ‘It was Bridie’s idea.’
Kate snorted. ‘Aye, it would be. No doubt you’ll play for her like you never played for me.’
With that, she turned and made for the door, calling, ‘Dinner’s ready when you’ve finished your little singsong.’
An awkwardness settled on the group and Harold quietly shut the piano lid. Catherine was annoyed with her mother for spoiling the moment, yet felt a prick of guilt about the piano. Kate had been so keen for her to learn the instrument and play it for a living, but Catherine had resented the pressure and been fearful of the mounting debt of unpaid lessons and payments. It had ended in failure and the humiliation of Kate’s piano being repossessed.
Through Christmas lunch, Catherine watched her mother warily for signs of a storm brewing, but Kate’s strange mood seemed to have passed. Once they were all full to the brim with turkey and plum pudding, it was Kate who suggested they return to the fire and a singsong around the piano.
‘My father used to play “Linden Lee”,’ she told Harold as she propped herself on a chair by the piano. ‘It’s one of the few things I remember about him. Will you play it again for me?’
She sang along with tears in her eyes and Catherine felt pity for her mother. It explained her agitated state earlier. Harold’s music had conjured up a strong memory of Kate’s real father, a man she could hardly recall. Catherine felt a bitter-sweet longing for her own unknown father. Perhaps he had played the piano or sung such songs. She would never know and Kate would never tell her.
Mrs Fairy went for a nap, the major dozed by the fire and Catherine and Bridie went for a walk before the light faded. By the time they returned it was dark and they could see Kate and Davie illuminated in the sitting-room window, swigging from cups and singing, Harold still banging away at the piano.
‘Bet that’s not tea they’re drinking,’ Catherine muttered.
Bridie took her arm. ‘Don’t say anything today. It’ll only spoil things. Plenty time to sober her up before the other lodgers come back.’
Catherine sighed. ‘Suppose you’re right. It’s just, whenever Davie’s around she drinks like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘It’s ‘cos he’s there to stand up for her. She knows she can push her luck when her man’s around,’ Bridie answered. ‘You should put him off coming here so much.’
Catherine tried to curb Kate’s boisterousness by bringing in tea and fruit cake, and suggesting a game of cards. But her mother ignored her and carried on singing, bullying Harold to keep playing. Eventually he got up.
‘I can’t play any more,’ he announced, and left for the sanctuary of his own room.
‘We’ll get the major’s gramophone then,’ Kate cried, and sent Davie to fetch it from the kitchen.
She ordered Davie and the major to push back the furniture and roll up the carpet so they could dance. Mrs Fairy stalked out and Catherine gave up trying to organise a game of whist. She helped Maisie with a game of patience, then left the others dancing and went early to bed.
There she goes, Miss Misery Guts,’ Kate shouted after her. ‘Doesn’t know how to enjoy herself.’
For a long time Catherine lay in the chilly bedroom listening to her mother’s raucous singing, stung by the taunt that she was joyless. Could it be true? As a child she had been happy to stand on the fender and sing for the family. On feast days and Hogmanays she had stayed up late at the houses of cousins or friends and joined in the celebrations.
But a part of her had always held back, frightened that the evening would spin out of control. It might end in a fight or fire irons being hurled across the room. She had to stay awake, be ever vigilant or something would happen to Kate. Predatory hands might come for her in the night, seek her mother out while she lay unconscious with drink.
Once more, Catherine had a vivid memory of a dark shadow looming over the feather bed that she had once shared with Kate in Jarrow. A man was pulling at her mother, breathing hard, cursing and pleading.
‘Gerr-off her,’ Catherine said in fright. ‘Leave our Kate alone!’
But the man ignored her and went on pawing at Kate’s prone body, bending over her and breathing his staleness over them both.
‘Wake up, Kate,’ Catherine whimpered, until finally her mother stirred. Befuddled confusion quickly turned to panic, as Kate tried to push the man off her. She hissed at him and struck out. There was tussling and swearing, then Kate was out of bed and groping for the door. With a blast of cold air she was gone. The back door banged and Catherine heard her feet slapping across the backyard into the privy.
She was left, crouching under the covers, heart hammering while the dark man swayed above her. She held her breath, waiting for him to move, until her lungs nearly burst. Finally he went and she was left shaking in the bed, all alone. She kept awake, waiting and waiting for Kate to return and warm up the space beside her. But she never came. Catherine lay for the rest of the night, listening out for noises, for her mother’s return or the thud of the man’s big feet and praying, praying for the dawn ....
Remembering the menace of it now, Catherine lay once again sweating with fear, yet shaking with cold. This was how celebrations ended. Just the sound of her mother’s singing and the whisky-fuelled laughter was enough to set her insides churning. How could she ever explain this? Not even fun-loving Bridie would understand. Her friend had stayed below; she thought Catherine was spoiling the fun too. Burying down under the covers, Catherine wished she could share in their light-heartedness.
Boxing Day broke with pale sunshine and a sea becalmed after days of storms. Catherine’s spirits lifted at once to see the light glinting through the bare branches, and she determined to put the upsets of the previous day behind her.
She got up and went to cook breakfast for everyone. In the kitchen she found empty whisky and rum bottles on the hearth. The sitting room was littered with dirty glasses and plates, and none of the furniture had been pulled back into place. She was annoyed to think that Bridie would leave everything in such a state. As she set to, Mrs Fairy came wheezing through the door, tutting at the mess.
‘I’m sorry—’ Catherine began.
‘Not your doing,’ the old lady replied, and helped her clear up.
Kate and Davie did not appear for breakfast. Bridie sat bleary-eyed, drinking large cupfuls of tea. Sensing Catherine’s disapproval, she made no mention of the night before, but talked of the major’s plan to take them to the hotel dance that evening.
‘Proper dance band,’ Bridie enth
used, ‘and supper served halfway through. I think you should wear that green dress we bought in the sale - with the velvet collar and cuffs. They’ll be queuing up to fill your dance card, with you dressed like a princess.’
Catherine laughed, eager at the thought of getting dressed up. The lodgers would begin to return after Boxing Day, so she was going to make the most of her trip out.
She hardly saw Kate or Davie during the day. They disappeared out at lunchtime and only came back as the threesome were on the point of leaving for the dance at The Imperial. Maisie was rushing about feeling their dresses and twirling her own pleated woollen skirt.
Mrs Fairy said, ‘Let them go, dearie. We’ll have ourselves a bite of supper and a game of snap.’
Kate just stared at them with glassy eyes and said nothing. Catherine picked up her coat and let Major Holloway put it on, eager to be gone. She could not read her mother’s mood. Maudlin or belligerent? Certainly not the desperate cheerfulness of Christmas night.
As soon as they got to the hotel, glittering with lights and warmth, Catherine forgot about Kate’s look and determined to enjoy every minute of the evening. She danced with the major several times and another man she knew from the tennis club. He invited them over to share a supper table with several others.
They teased her good-naturedly. ‘Well, if it isn’t the lady of the manor!’
‘Where have you been hiding all year?’
‘We’ve missed you, darling.’
Catherine laughed and joked with them about life at The Hurst, and promised she would play more tennis come 1934. She was enjoying herself so much that she hardly noticed how quiet Bridie had become, sitting at her side. It was only when her friend complained of a headache and rose to leave that she realised something was wrong.
‘No, you stay and enjoy yourself,’ Bridie said, pressing fingers to her brow. ‘I’ll make my own way home.’
Catherine got up in concern and followed her. ‘You can’t go back on your own - it’s too dark. Can’t you just stay a little longer? I’ve promised the next dance to the major.’
Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow Page 27