Jarrow Trilogy 03 - Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Don’t, Kate,’ she hissed. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’

  Kate cried louder, ‘I don’t care -I want to stay! Please take me back - I’ll never tak another drink - I’ll do anything you want. You’re all I’ve got. Please, Kitty!’

  Catherine was overcome by her mother’s desperate last-minute plea. For a moment she held on to her, in a self-conscious hug. Kate shook in her arms, her tears soaking her collar.

  The guard came by. ‘You’ll have to get on board now, ma’am. Sorry, but the train’s leaving.’

  With a huge effort of will, Catherine pulled away from her mother. ‘Come on, you have to go, it’s all arranged. There’s no going back on it.’ She pushed Kate towards the carriage, forcing her up the steps. ‘It’ll be all right once you get there.’

  Kate turned and gave her such a look of desolation that Catherine almost relented. But the guard came back and she had just enough time to heave the bags on board before he slammed the door shut. She watched her mother standing hunched and crying in the empty carriage. She looked so old and utterly dejected. The whistle shrieked.

  The train jolted forward and Kate swayed, almost losing her balance. Who would look after her now? Catherine was flooded with guilt. She wanted to wrench the door open again and pull her mother off. But she clenched her hands and resisted the urge, fighting back her own tears. She waved Kate away.

  Moments later, her mother was out of view and the train was picking up speed. Catherine stood for a long time, peering through the smoke of the departing train at the place where her mother had been. She had severed the cord between them for the last time, and it ached as if it had been physical.

  Catherine went for a long walk along the cliffs above Hastings, gulping in sea air to try to stem her sense of failure. Finally, the buffeting breeze brought her to her senses.

  Kate had Davie to look after her. Here, her mother was out of her depth, incapable of fending for herself. Catherine’s own relationship with her was in shreds and she could do no more for Kate here.

  As Catherine turned for home and the job of picking up the pieces of her life again, she clung to the belief that her mother was a survivor. She had done the best thing by Kate in sending her home to Davie and her family. One day she would see that.

  Chapter 42

  It was a shock to open the door to Tom, one September evening. Catherine knew he would probably call - there was a box of books cleared from his room to collect. Even so, her heart thumped to see him standing there lean and suntanned under a Panama hat, with a battered suitcase at his feet.

  ‘Hello, Kitty,’ he said, removing his hat. ‘I know it’s late, but I got this message at the school. . .’

  She stared at him, ridiculously tongue-tied, her insides doing somersaults. He was as handsome as she had remembered.

  Tom ploughed on, ‘You see, I don’t have anywhere to stay. Your mother’s place is closed and they said at the school to call here. What’s happened to Mrs McDermott?’

  ‘She’s gone,’ Catherine said, finding her voice. ‘Back to Jarrow - her husband’s got work. I said I’d take in any of her lodgers who needed it. Mr Parish is here. And there’s your box of books - you’ll want those, of course.’

  Tom eyed her warily. ‘I know this is awkward for both of us, but if you have a room spare I’d take it. Just till I find somewhere else. I’ll keep out of your way.’

  Catherine’s heart twisted at the bittersweet thought of having him so close yet untouchable. She waved a hand at him. ‘Not awkward at all,’ she said briskly, ‘not for me. There’s a room at the back of the house you can have.’

  Tom hesitated. ‘Won’t Mrs McKim mind me being here?’

  Catherine hid her disquiet. ‘Bridie’s in Ireland - taken Maisie on holiday. Anyway, it’s up to me who I take in as lodgers. It is my house, after all.’

  Tom blushed. She had not meant to sound so brusque, but she did not trust herself not to betray the surge of tenderness she felt towards him.

  Just at that moment, Tuppence came bounding out of the trees from chasing rabbits and rushed up to Tom. The dog ran round him excitedly, barking a welcome.

  ‘Get down, Tuppence!’ Catherine cried.

  But Tom bent to greet him with the same enthusiasm. ‘Hello, old boy. How’ve you been? Yes, I’ve missed you too.’

  ‘Tuppence, that’s enough,’ Catherine said, calling the dog to her side. ‘Why don’t you join the other guests in the sitting room while I get your room ready, Mr Cookson?’

  Tom shot her a look. ‘Thank you - Miss McMullen.’

  Aware he was probably teasing her, she marched quickly ahead of him so he could not see her blushing.

  Tom settled into The Hurst without any fuss and, like Catherine, was out all day at work. In the evenings he would disappear to his room to mark books, and his light was often on late at night when Catherine went out to walk the dog. She wondered what he was thinking and could only guess at his feelings. He was pleasant and civil to her like he was with the other lodgers but she had to assume his infatuation with her had passed. Catherine, though, was tortured by having him under her roof, sick with longing for their old intimacy. How had she ever imagined the arrangement would work?

  Then Bridie came back from Ireland.

  ‘How long has he been here? As soon as my back’s turned he’s got his feet under the table!’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Catherine defended. ‘He’s not interested in me any more, and he’s treated the same as all the others.’

  Bridie scowled. ‘I’m not fooled by all this “yes Mr Cookson, no Miss McMullen”. I can see the way he looks at you.’

  Catherine made for the door. It was pointless arguing: Bridie was set against Tom, whatever he did. How peaceful the household had been with Mrs Fairy in charge and an obliging girl, Rita, from the town to help.

  ‘Don’t turn your back on me, girl! When’s he going to find other lodgings?’

  ‘That’s up to him,’ Catherine replied, and slammed the door behind her.

  It was not long before Bridie was stirring up trouble. She cut Tom out of the conversation at meal times and, behind Catherine’s back, spread rumours that his intentions towards her were far from honourable.

  ‘Tried it on with her last spring. She sent him away with a flea in his ear, but he’s back again. Course, she shouldn’t have let him stay here, but that’s Catherine, far too soft for her own good. I don’t trust him. It’s obvious he’s after her money and a big house. Always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch,’ she added darkly.

  Only Major Holloway ridiculed the idea.

  ‘Utter nonsense! Tom’s a first-rate chap. Plays a good straight bat. Miss McMullen has nothing to fear from him.’

  All through the winter, Bridie attempted to oust the young teacher. If Catherine spoke up for him, it only made things worse. Bridie’s jealousy and suspicion that Catherine had taken up with Tom again only increased. Nothing had happened between them, but Bridie was unbelieving. What perplexed Catherine was why Tom put up with the insults and remained at The Hurst. She admired him for the way he quietly stood up to Bridie and refused to be provoked. But he would not take it for ever. The thought of him leaving was unbearable, yet she would not lay bare her feelings when he had done nothing to encourage her.

  The Christmas holidays came and Tom made arrangements to spend it with his family in Essex. He searched for Catherine and found her in the summerhouse, rug around her knees, huddled over a notebook.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘Writing,’ Catherine said bashfully, pushing the notebook under the rug. Her heart hammered to be suddenly alone with him.

  ‘What sort of writing?’

  ‘Stories,’ she flushed.

  ‘C-could I read one of them?’

  She gawped. No one had ever asked to read anything of hers, ever. The idea quite unnerved her.

  ‘Oh, no! They’re not for anyone to read. I-I just do them for mysel
f.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Sorry - I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ she said hastily. Catherine watched his warm breath cloud the icy air. How could she keep him there long enough to tell him how she felt? Perhaps he had come to declare his love at last? Her spirits leapt. ‘Is there something you came to ask?’

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘I think it best if I find somewhere else after Christmas.’

  Catherine gasped as if winded. ‘Why? Is it Bridie?’

  Tom looked uncomfortable. ‘I know Mrs McKim doesn’t like me - I’d put up with that just to stay here - but I think I’m causing you too much embarrassment. I foolishly thought...’

  Catherine’s heart pounded. She was losing him. ‘Thought what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Tom shrugged. ‘I’ll leave my books at school over the holiday, so you can re-let the room straight away.’ He gave his quick bashful smile that tore at her heart. ‘Take care - Kitty.’

  ‘No, don’t go!’ She sprang to her feet. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  He stopped and stared. ‘What do you want?’

  Catherine reached out to him. ‘I want you, Tom,’ she cried. ‘I want you so much.’

  In an instant he had his arms about her, holding her tight. ‘Oh God, Kitty. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that!’ He kissed her firmly on the lips.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, half crying, half laughing in relief. ‘You’ve no idea how much.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t care for me - that last spring was just a passing phase,’ Tom confessed. ‘That’s why I was going. It was too hard being in love with you - being near you - and thinking you felt nothing.’

  ‘It was the same for me! How could you not see how much I wanted you? I’ve been going mad not telling you.’

  They kissed again, a long tender kiss that made warmth flood through her.

  When they pulled away, she felt light-headed.

  Tom asked, ‘What about Mrs McKim?’

  Catherine looked around guiltily, as if Bridie was watching. Then she shrugged off her unease. If Tom loved her as much as she did him, they would find a way of dealing with the difficulty.

  ‘Leave her to me,’ Catherine assured him. ‘I’ll talk her round.’

  ***

  Catherine’s plan to tackle Bridie about Tom was sent awry by a bout of bleeding over Christmas. The doctor was called and diagnosed overwork.

  ‘It’s a nervous condition, triggered by stressful situations,’ he pronounced.

  Catherine was sceptical, but happy to take to bed for several days. Bridie insisted on nursing her night and day.

  ‘Anything you want, you just tell Auntie Bridie. Nothing’s too much trouble, you know that, dear girl.’

  Catherine felt ashamed of the dark, resentful thoughts she had been harbouring towards the woman. When faced with a crisis like this, there was no one more tender and kind than her Irish friend.

  At New Year, she sat wrapped in blankets by a roaring fire - with Bridie and Maisie feeding her chocolates, and Tuppence resting his head in her lap - wondering what to do. She felt beholden to Bridie.

  Then she thought of Tom and felt a familiar ache. How she wanted him! She hungered for physical companionship, for his world of knowledge and respectability. Catherine felt a shiver at the thought of being intimate with Tom. It excited yet unnerved her in a way she did not understand. Having him under the same roof would make it increasingly difficult to resist. But to make the same mistake as Kate had frightened her even more. She smothered her lustful thoughts.

  Just before Tom returned, Catherine faced up to Bridie.

  ‘I want you to be nicer to Tom Cookson. It’s upsetting the way you pick on him in front of the others.’

  Bridie snorted. ‘Not upsetting enough obviously - the wretched little man is still here.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ Catherine reproved. ‘He’s done nothing to you and I’ll not put up with the way you treat him. This is his home in Hastings.’

  Bridie shot her a keen-eyed look. ‘I knew it. He’s after you again, isn’t he?’

  The aggression in Bridie’s voice made Catherine suddenly wary. ‘He’s a friend - but I’ll not be questioned about it as if I’ve done something wrong, do you hear?’

  Bridie said nothing more as she slammed out of the room.

  Although delighted to see Tom return, Catherine had to caution him when they snatched a moment alone.

  ‘We can’t let her know we’re courting again - not yet. She’ll just make things difficult for the both of us. But we can meet up away from here - especially when the days get longer. We can go for walks.’

  Tom looked at her in disappointment. ‘You said you were going to tell her.’

  ‘I was ill over the holidays and she was so kind to me - I couldn’t be too hard on her.’

  ‘Ill?’ Tom asked in concern. ‘How ill?’

  Catherine was evasive. ‘Just overtired. I get heavy nosebleeds when I’m run down.’

  Tom touched her face. ‘My poor Kitty. I wish I’d been here to take care of you.’

  Catherine seized his hand, kissing it quickly. ‘Me too. I’ve really missed you.’

  Tom abided by Catherine’s ruling that they would show nothing of their feelings in front of the household, but it grew increasingly difficult for both of them. They had stolen moments on Saturday afternoons when they walked the quiet country lanes. Tom would take a book and read to her, while Catherine sat with her head on his shoulder and drank in his words. They would kiss and joke about having to sneak about at their age. Somehow it heightened the excitement of their romance, yet Catherine was fearful of Bridie finding out, knowing how cruel she would be to Tom. More and more, Catherine contemplated getting rid of Bridie. But she could not afford to set her up in another boarding house like Kate, and it would seem like a betrayal of their former friendship. Above all, Catherine felt responsible for Maisie and could never make her homeless.

  The summer term came and Tom became restless.

  ‘We know how we feel about each other. Isn’t it time we did something about it? We could get engaged - worry about marriage later.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Catherine panicked. ‘It wouldn’t look right with you living under the same roof. You’d have to move out and then we’d hardly see each other. I couldn’t bear that. It works better this way - and it won’t be for ever.’

  Tom gave her a rueful look. ‘How long, Kitty? I love you and want to be with you.’

  ‘Soon,’ Catherine promised.

  Bridie was growing suspicious of the number of times they were out at the same time. One afternoon she got Dorothy to follow them and report back where they went. That night, Bridie confronted Catherine in her bedroom.

  ‘How long have you been sneaking around with the schoolboy?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t deny it. Dorothy saw you.’

  Catherine faced her. ‘I don’t deny it. Tom and I are courting.’

  Bridie went puce. She marched forward and seized Catherine by the arms. ‘You silly little fool! Can’t you see he’s a nasty little gold-digger. He only wants you for what you can give him.’

  Catherine was stung. ‘That’s not true! Tom doesn’t need my money. It’s me who needs him. He has ten times more to offer.’

  ‘Like what?’ Bridie was scathing. ‘A handful of books. I can buy you those.’

  ‘It’s not what he can buy,’ Catherine exclaimed, trying to shake her off. ‘I want him for who he is. He makes me feel like the most special person in the world. I love him.’

  ‘What about me?’ Bridie cried, gripping her harder. ‘Haven’t I been your best friend? Who was the one cheered you up when you were new and lonely in Hastings? We were so happy together. And I was the one had to deal with Kate’s tantrums. I did it all for you, Catherine, I did everything for you!’

  Catherine felt a flicker of fear at the anger in Bridie’s intense blue eyes. She gently pulled away.
<
br />   ‘I know you did. I’m still your friend. Loving Tom doesn’t change that.’

  ‘It changes everything!’ Bridie screamed. ‘He’ll take you away from me. You’ll throw me out. I’ll die if you try and get rid of me, I swear it!’

  ‘I’m not going to throw you out,’ Catherine insisted. ‘I couldn’t run this place without you. There’s always a job here for you as long as you want it.’

  Bridie gave her such a look that Catherine thought she would strike her.

  ‘Job?’ She spat out the word. ‘Is that how little you care for me? I’m just your bloody housekeeper!’

  Catherine stepped back. ‘Keep your voice down. Everyone will hear—’

  ‘Let them,’ Bridie shouted. ‘Let them hear how you’ve used me. You want to cast me off like an old shirt now you’ve no further use for me! What’s the schoolboy got that I haven’t got?’ She began to sob uncontrollably.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Catherine said in agitation. ‘It’s not a matter of one or the other.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Bridie said, tears coursing down her angry red face. ‘It’s me or him.’

  Catherine stood holding her look. ‘Then it’s Tom,’ she said decisively.

  Bridie shrieked as if she’d been burnt.

  ‘You can’t, you can’t! The priest won’t let you. You’d have to live in sin and you’d never do that, I know you. You could never marry that man!’

  ‘We’ll face that when the time’s right,’ Catherine insisted. ‘Now will you please leave my room?’

  Bridie looked at her wild-eyed. ‘Please don’t make me go. I love you too. I love you more than he ever could!’

  She was so distraught, Catherine was terrified the woman would attack her.

  ‘I’m not going to throw you out. Not if you calm down and leave my room now.’

  Bridie glared at her and Catherine held her breath, trying not to betray her fear. The moment passed and Bridie stormed from the room. Catherine sank on to the bed, shaking violently. Never had she guessed that Bridie was capable of such hysteria, such jealousy over her. She was behaving like a possessed lover.

  Catherine’s stomach turned over. Surely Bridie did not see her in that light? They had been friends, more like mother and daughter. But Bridie had spoken of loving her more than Tom ever could. If Bridie saw herself as a spurned partner, however far-fetched that was, then she really had something to fear. Catherine clamped her hands over her mouth to stop herself crying.