Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  Rodney turned to Kate, taking her hand lovingly into his: ‘She’s a little monkey. Did you ever see anything like that exhibition up there? That was for Annie’s benefit, don’t you think? But there’s really no harm in her. She’s an attractive little thing in her way. You can’t help liking her, can you?’ Without waiting for a reply he went on, ‘But she’s not a bit like Peggy or Peter. Have you noticed that? I wonder who she does take after.’

  I wonder, said Kate to herself. Aloud she said, ‘I must go and see them off.’

  ‘Here.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘What on earth’s the matter, darling? Are you upset? Did she upset you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Sure?’ He looked at her anxiously.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s all right then. For the moment you looked…Oh, come here.’ He buried his face in her hair. ‘Darling, you’re lovely; you look like the picture of spring in that dress. It’s odd, you know,’ he whispered: ‘I like people to come, but I long for them to go so that I can have you to myself again. You get more beautiful every day.’

  ‘They’ll be coming in a minute.’

  ‘Just one more.’

  ‘Darling, the door’s open!’

  ‘What odds?’ With his one arm he held her tightly to him: ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Mmm …’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Laughing, she disengaged herself gently from his arm and went swiftly into the hall, only to pull up sharply, for there she saw Cathleen making hurriedly for the stairs, and knew that she had been listening and watching them through the crack between the door and the jamb.

  As she slowly mounted the stairs behind Cathleen, she was assailed by a feeling of weariness, which blotted out the joy of a moment ago. Why should there be the necessity to fight this child, or anyone else? All her life she’d had to fight, first one thing, then another: poverty, shame, fear, drink, and things which could not be put into words. When she and Rodney had at long last come together she’d thought her fighting days were over, but now this girl seemed to be overshadowing her life, and Annie’s too. Perhaps, though, it was only the psychological effect of carrying a child that was making her magnify Cathleen’s actions and turn them from acts of petty jealousy to the deeds of a dark power. Yes, perhaps that was it.

  She followed Cathleen into the bedroom and was able to smile on her with greater serenity. This puzzled Cathleen not a little, but did nothing to minimise the rage that was tearing through her: they were going home, and she hadn’t received a thing! Not even a small present—you couldn’t call a clarty Easter egg a present. And Uncle Rodney kissing that Kate like that! And the chauffeur had put his arms about her. It was all right to pretend it was windy; she did that herself when she wanted the boys to touch her. She’d watch that man whenever she got the chance. She would watch them both.

  3

  This was the fourth day Annie had come down to the wood to see the young man and to thank him for carrying her home. She knew he worked here in the grounds for part of the day, and there was always evidence of fresh work having been done, but she had not seen him. But today there he was, hacking away at the undergrowth.

  On sighting him she started to run, but pulled herself up; she didn’t want to fall again—he’d think she was doing it on purpose. She called, ‘Hello!’ and he straightened up and watched her coming towards him.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you for the last three days,’ she said. ‘I wanted to thank you for bringing …’ she didn’t like to use the word ‘carrying’, ‘bringing me home,’ she ended.

  ‘Are you better?’ His voice sounded cold.

  ‘Oh yes, thank you.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  He turned once more to his hacking, and she stood with her hands behind her, watching him. She moved the toe of her shoe and made little ridges in the dark leaf-mould. Then she asked tentatively, ‘What’s your name?’

  After a moment he replied, ‘Terence.’

  ‘Oh. Terence…it’s a nice name. Mine’s Annie,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t it lucky, when I fell, we were only two days from breaking up. I should have hated being off school. I go to a convent school.’ And she wondered why she was telling him this; he would think she was silly. And wasn’t he stern? He looked as though he never smiled. She tried to imagine how he would look if he were to smile. He must be old, very old, eighteen or twenty.

  She realised, as she watched him, that she felt sorry for him; he had to work when he was evidently on holiday. And he was so thin. Perhaps he didn’t get enough to eat. That must be it; he didn’t get enough to eat, poor thing, because his mother had to go out to work. She would be tactful, like Kate; she could say she was going to have her tea in the wood, and he could have some with her. As a lead-up to this, she said, ‘Are you on holiday?’

  He gave a little sigh and replied flatly, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where do you work?’

  He made no answer.

  ‘Haven’t you a job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where, then?’

  He hesitated, hunched his shoulders, then said, ‘I’m going to Oxford to work.’

  ‘Oh.’ It wasn’t Newcastle, or Whitley Bay, or any place she knew. She remarked quite brightly, ‘I’m hungry. I’m going back to get my tea and bring it down here…Can I bring you some?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘But aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like…just a cup of tea and a cake?’

  ‘No!’ The word was heavy with finality.

  ‘But your mother goes out to work and you haven’t anyone to make your meals.’

  She put her fingers to her lips as he turned and stared at her. His eyes were grey and cold and very like Mr Macbane’s.

  She stumbled on, ‘You’re sweating, and it would do you good.’

  ‘Thank you; I don’t want any tea.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be any trouble—’

  ‘I don’t want any! I’ve told you I don’t want any tea…Now run away!’

  ‘There’s no need to shout at me.’ Her lips trembled, and her eyes started to burn. She stood still, tensed for flight.

  ‘Well, you won’t take a telling.’

  ‘I was only thinking it…it might do you good.’

  ‘I don’t want doing good…Oh Lord,’ he broke off, ‘don’t start howling! What on earth’s up with you now?’

  She hung her head and the tears streamed down her face. She made no sound, but stood shaking before him. He stared at her, his expression one of mingled surprise and horror. ‘Don’t! What have you got to cry for? Oh Lord!’ he repeated, throwing down the billhook with an exasperated movement.

  She couldn’t tell him it was because she was sorry for him; he was so thin, and he wouldn’t let her be kind to him. She wanted to fly away, but she seemed condemned to stand before him for ever.

  ‘Don’t! Will you stop it! Here, stop it!’ he demanded, taking a step towards her. ‘What have you got to cry for anyway? A big girl like you, crying!’

  She looked up at him, her face awash with tears which glistened like rain: ‘You’re so…so snappy,’ she sobbed.

  He stared blankly at her.

  ‘Just because I…I asked you to have some tea.’ She groped for her handkerchief, but couldn’t find it. ‘I’ve lost my hankie now,’ she finished pathetically, gathering her tears on the tip of her tongue.

  His face slowly softened, and his voice and eyes held the slightest hint of laughter as he said, ‘Here, use this.’ He brought an extraordinarily white handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. As she wiped her eyes, he said quietly, ‘I’ll have some tea.’

  She gazed up at him, smiling through her tears. ‘Oh, will you? All right then, I’ll bring it down.’

  ‘But only after you’ve had yours in the house,’ he added; ‘it’s too cold for you to sit about down here.’

 
‘Yes. All right then.’ She thrust the handkerchief at him and dashed away, running and leaping through the trees. Oh, she was glad he had told her to have her tea indoors, for, now she came to think of it, Mam might not let her have it outside, because it was still very cold. And now she need only ask for some tea for him.

  Twenty minutes later she was walking carefully back through the wood carrying a basket with a covered jug tucked in the middle. It had not been as easy getting the tea as she had imagined, for Summy had said, ‘It’s no use taking him tea; Steve went and asked him to have a cup the other day, and he wouldn’t.’ And Kate had added to this, ‘Rodney told him to come up and have his dinner here, but he refused.’

  Annie had not explained the scene that preceded the acceptance of her offer, but simply repeated, ‘Well, I asked him, and he said yes, he’d have some.’

  She put the basket on a log on the cleared ground and called into the thicket, ‘I’ve brought it.’

  She arranged the tea things first one way, then another. And when he stood beside her, she said, ‘There!’ with the air of a conjuror, then added, ‘There’s a hard-boiled egg and bread and butter, and a piece of pie, and a bit of cream sponge with nuts on. You’ll like the cream sponge…I love it.’

  He stood looking at the array in silence, then half turned as if to say something to her. But instead he stood staring down into her smiling face. Then, sitting down abruptly by the log, he began to eat.

  When she took a seat on a nearby log and sat watching him in silence, he moved his hand quickly over his face as if to smooth away some expression. Annie thought he was about to laugh, but no, his face remained blank.

  He was finishing the piece of pie when his father walked into the clearing. He stood up awkwardly, dusting his hands. Mr Macbane’s grizzled eyebrows twitched as he looked in surprise at the remains of the meal. ‘Yer not paid t’do that,’ he said.

  ‘They sent it down,’ his son answered quietly.

  ‘Yer should have told ’em.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Well, come on now an’ make up for lost time.’

  ‘What about the cream sponge!’ cried Annie. ‘It’s lovely, and—’

  ‘You eat the bit cake yerself,’ said Mr Macbane, not unkindly; ‘the lad’s got work to do.’

  ‘But I get plenty, Mr Macbane.’

  ‘Well, d’you think he’s starvin’?’ Mr Macbane’s eyebrows seemed to link at the top of his nose. ‘His mother’s a fine cook!’

  ‘I…I didn’t mean …’ began Annie.

  ‘Hold on,’ said the young man aside to his father. Then he bundled the crockery into the basket, which he handed to Annie, saying, ‘I enjoyed it very much…Thanks…and thank your mother.’

  As she walked away she heard the young man say, ‘You would have had her howling in a minute, she cries easily. I had to take the tea to stop her from howling.’

  Oh, she thought indignantly, I don’t cry easily! Oh, that isn’t fair. I was crying the other day because of what Cathleen said, and you made me cry because you snapped, and I was sorry for you because you’re so thin…I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Yes, I will.

  The following morning there was evidence that the young man had already finished his work before Annie could manage to get down to the wood: a fresh bonfire was smouldering in the clearing. She was disappointed, for she wanted to make it quite clear to him that she didn’t cry easily.

  But her disappointment was quickly forgotten when Kate said, ‘Would you like to go to the Mullens’ for me, dear?’ This meant a trip to the fifteen streets, and the pleasure of carrying nice things for the Mullens to eat, and she would see Rosie if she was home from her job.

  She was in the kitchen helping Kate to pack the basket when Rodney came in from the garden. He was evidently excited. ‘I say, darling. What do you think I’ve just learnt?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Kate smiled warmly at him across the table.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he went on, ‘but Steve has just told me that Macbane’s son is going up to Oxford.’

  Kate stopped her packing. ‘Oxford? You don’t mean to a college?’

  ‘Yes, St Joseph’s.’

  ‘Well, how marvellous! How wonderful!’

  ‘But fancy the old man not saying a word about it; Steve heard them talking in the village pub last night. Apparently the young fellow has won an open scholarship. It seems he was good at most things, but quite brilliant at maths. He’s going up in October.’

  ‘Oxford!’ repeated Kate. She suddenly thought of Bernard Tolmache; he had been a lecturer at Oxford. Dear, dear Mr Bernard, who had shown her a new way of life. He had come into her kitchen and said, ‘Stop polishing silver, Kate, and come and polish your mind; it will glow brighter than silver.’ And he certainly had polished her mind with the books he lent her and his conversation. She had never been to Oxford, but from him she had glimpsed a little of its magic. And now that boy down in the cottage was going there. ‘That’s why they all work so hard then,’ she said to Rodney.

  ‘Oh, my dear, what they work for will scarcely keep him in clothes and fares. He must be getting a grant of some sort besides his scholarship. But fancy that dour old devil not saying a word about it!’

  ‘Oxford,’ said Kate again. ‘It seems like a fairy tale. Oh, I am so glad for him. But what a terrific struggle they must have had to get him this far.’

  ‘You know,’ said Rodney, ‘I admire that old boy.’

  ‘And the young one,’ put in Kate.

  ‘Yes, and certainly the young one.’

  ‘And not forgetting the mother; she must have slaved for years with this in view. What an honour for them! But why haven’t we seen him before, if he’s still at school?’

  ‘Apparently to be near the school he stays with an aunt in Newcastle,’ said Rodney.

  Annie stood looking from one to the other. Yes, she thought, he said he was going to work in Oxford. Oxford to her was linked with another name, Cambridge. They didn’t appear as towns in her mind, but as remote islands, where people who were different went and learnt to talk swanky…Would he talk swanky? He didn’t talk swanky now. Yet he didn’t talk like his father either, did he? But he was so thin, and his clothes looked old. Perhaps he kept old ones just to work in…And they said he was clever at maths. Oh, and she had told him he was snappy!

  She remained behind in the kitchen while Kate and Rodney went out, still talking…Was he a gentleman now, because he was going to Oxford? Could he be a gentleman when his father worked down the pit? And did gentlemen clear woods? Well, Rodney worked in the greenhouses, and he was a gentleman. She was disappointed Terence was going to this Oxford; it stopped her feeling sorry for him, somehow. And she couldn’t ask him to have any more tea now.

  When Mrs Summers bustled in, Annie said, ‘You know Mr Macbane’s son, Summy? Well, he’s going to Oxford.’

  ‘Oxford? You must be mistaken, hinny…That lad!’

  ‘He is. Steve told Rod…The doctor.’

  ‘Well! he doesn’t look as if he’s got that much gumption.’

  ‘He’s very clever, and has passed a lot of exams.’

  ‘Well, well! And his mother doing daily for Mrs Tawnley in the village. Ah!’ Mrs Summers stopped in the process of loading a tray. ‘Now I suppose that’s why he refused to come up and have a cup of tea when Steve asked him. Feeling too big for his boots. You know the saying, hinny, “Put the Devil on horseback and he’ll ride to …” Well, he’ll ride somewhere,’ she finished, ‘and likely break his neck in getting there. His sort of get-ups generally do.’

  Annie got out of the tram at Westoe Fountain and took another for Tyne Dock. The ride was a transition between two worlds. What green there was appeared darker; even the spring flowers and trees in the park all seemed to have a film over them: they weren’t so new-looking as those about her new home. Nearing Tyne Dock, the houses became flatter and branched off in narrow streets from the main road. The tram ran down the bank, and as it passed
the Catholic church Annie bowed her head reverently. It would have been nice to ‘pay a visit’, but the basket was too heavy to carry far. On past the station, then into Tyne Dock proper the tram rocked, past Bede Street, with Bob’s, the pawnshop, seeming to reflect its black depths into the street. The glint of the brass balls caught her eye, and she remembered having to go there one time when Kate had a dreadful cold and her grandmother was lying upstairs dying. She was too young to pawn things, so paid a woman threepence to do it for her. Bob was kind, but it did not lessen the feeling of shame, and she crept out of the place by the back way, and so into the street, where the dock men were lined up on the other side of the road against the railings. They always watched everybody coming and going, and as she walked past them towards the dock gates she remembered thinking that this was why Kate walked into Shields to the pawn, rather than pass under the stares of these men. But now there would never be any more Bob’s for Kate, or her…never, never.

  Down the dock bank, past the line of public houses, and then the tram stopped opposite the high stone wall, with the iron bolts that went clank! clank! when the dock horses, which were stabled on the other side, moved.

  As she got down, she saw the Jarrow tram disappearing through the first arch. She walked over to the corner opposite the dock gates and set the basket down near the railings. Then she stood watching the assortment of nationalities going in and out of the gates. She felt a strange stir of excitement within her. It was a long time since she had stood at the dock gates; she generally went swiftly past them in Rodney’s car now…That was nice, but this was nice too: a sort of coming back to something that belonged to her.

  A little boy was standing near her, his hands behind him gripping the iron railings which surrounded the dock offices. He let himself fall forward, then pulled himself back in a swinging movement. He smiled at her, and Annie smiled back, and she wondered where she had seen him before. His hair, in loose ringlets round his head, was jet black and shining like ebony, and his skin was pale and clear. He had large blue eyes that looked sad. ‘Are you waiting for the tram?’ she asked him.