Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  Everyone was ‘nice’. She was so very naïve. ‘Who’s the giant?’ he asked as they still stood on the path, listening.

  ‘That’s Brian. He’s just recently returned from London. We travelled to school together at one time.’

  ‘Oh! I remember him. He was the fellow who used to hang around in the wood for you. I always felt like a worm beside him.’

  ‘Oh, Terence! You couldn’t feel like a worm.’

  ‘There you go again,’ he laughed. ‘You won’t even let me feel like a worm…Now, if I want to be a worm I’ll be a—’

  ‘Oh, come on, you silly billy!’ It was as if they had been close friends for years. She gripped his hand and ran, pulling him after her. As he entered the house his mind was lifted from her to her everyday surroundings. It was the first time he had been inside, and at once the air of comfort struck him. Here no clippy mats covered the floor, but thick, red Turkish carpet fitted into the corners of the hall and covered the broad, shallow stairs. An Adam mirror hung above an antique hall-table, and huge bronze and white chrysanthemums stood in tall vases in the corners of the hall and on top of a carved oak chest. The old mixed feeling returned; antipathy and reticence fought the desire to accept all that was being offered. But the old feelings were of long duration and would not be ousted.

  Awkwardly, not wanting to touch her now, he helped her off with her coat. Why the Devil had he come? he asked himself. The girl was still singing: ‘One love for ever, one love alone.’ Annie whispered, ‘We’ll wait until she’s finished.’ She stood looking towards the drawing-room door, and he looked at her. The dove-grey woollen dress made her hair appear fairer than ever; it hung down her back in two long twists that were drawn together by a green watered-silk bow at the nape of her neck. She still wore a fringe, as she had done when she was a child.

  She felt his gaze on her, and turned towards him, smiling frankly into his eyes. In spite of himself, he smiled back…You couldn’t help smiling at her, she was so lovely. Had she always been as lovely as this?

  The side door leading from the garden opened abruptly and Cathleen and Steve entered. Annie whispered, ‘Hello, Steve.’

  Steve nodded to her and stood still, just within the door, wearing a strained, rather hangdog expression.

  He seems as out of place as I do, Terence thought. Then he noticed the girl. She had walked towards Annie but was looking at him. His first impression of a slight, dark child of fourteen was immediately replaced by that of a woman of twenty, or twenty-five. In fact, of any age; he could not place her at all. How odd, he thought. These girls! Why can’t they look what they are?

  He returned her glance for a second, and felt himself grow hot, for she was looking not only at his face, but at his body. Over his shoulders, down his thighs to his feet, her eyes quickly travelled, then up again. He shivered as if he were naked. She stood sideways to him whispering to Annie, and he was conscious of the curves of her small body in contrast with Annie’s boyish flatness.

  The singing stopped and the drawing-room door opened. There was the sound of clapping, and Kate came into the hall, followed by Rodney. ‘Hello, Steve. I’m so glad Cathleen persuaded you to come.’

  Steve smiled at Kate and nodded, but made no reply. And she turned to Terence, who was shaking hands with Rodney. ‘Well, Terence, here you are at last! This visit’s long overdue. How are you?’

  Terence made a suitable reply. For the first time he found himself looking closely into the face of this woman who was Annie’s mother. There was no resemblance between them, but she too was beautiful, with a happy, serene look in her eyes. He felt he could like her. He noticed she was pregnant, and thought it added strangely to her beauty.

  ‘When we can we’ll have to have a talk,’ Rodney said; ‘there’s heaps of things I want to ask you. Do you know, I’ve never been back to Oxford since I came down. Year after year I intended going, but something always came up.’

  It was all so easy, and the feeling of strain lifted. It was as if he had been here many times before. Terence found himself in the drawing-room, shaking hands with one after another. And he laughed when he realised he was using Annie’s expression to himself: They’re nice. With one exception he used it, and that was when he shook hands with Brian, and found his fingers crushed in an unnatural grip. He noticed that Brian drew himself up to his fullest height, and when it did not exceed his own he knew a momentary satisfaction, in spite of the fact that Brian’s breadth must have made him look like a pole beside a giant tree trunk.

  Brian’s broad, fresh-coloured face grinned good-naturedly, but his round, sharp eyes were weighing Terence up; and Terence made up his mind, there and then, that he couldn’t stand the fellow.

  At tea, Terence was placed between Rosie and Annie, with Brian on Annie’s other side. With Rosie talking to Michael on her other side and Brian monopolising Annie, Terence found himself, now and again, looking straight across the table into the eyes of the girl called Cathleen. They had not been introduced, and he supposed Mrs Prince had taken it for granted that Annie had performed this duty in the hall. He wondered vaguely who the girl was. Certainly she was nothing to do with any of those present; she seemed alien, belonging to another social world altogether, though to what particular one he could not say. Her hair was cut in an Eton crop, and although he disliked girls with short hair, he admitted that the style suited her. Its glossy sheen was like a starling’s back.

  The party, which at first filled Annie with such ecstatic joy, slowly began to lose its sparkle. At what point she began to notice it, she couldn’t say. Was it when she saw Cathleen sitting next to Terence and making him laugh? But then she was making everyone laugh by teasing Steve so. Or was it when she realised that Terence hadn’t chosen her for a partner in any game in which he would be expected to kiss her? Yes, she thought frankly, it was then that the party began to lose its zest. She watched him kissing the other girls with quick pecks, and wondered if he was avoiding kissing her on purpose. After a while, she felt convinced that was what he was doing, and she was filled with a wild, crazy desire for him to kiss her. It burned in her and became a pain, which showed in her eyes when she looked at him. Sometimes he would smile across the room at her, and she thought he had the nicest grey eyes in the world; they could look so kind. Then why wasn’t he kind to her?

  It was her duty to see that they were all enjoying themselves, and she did this conscientiously. It helped to hide her diminishing spirits, but not to stop her thinking: Why is he being like this to me? He was so nice at first. It isn’t really because he’s shy. Then why is it? He’s treating me now as he has done all these years, he’s avoiding me…But why? Why? The question became an ache. His attitude was so contrary to what she expected from his friendliness in the cottage and then in the lane…Yes, in the lane. If there hadn’t been that …

  During the game of Postman’s Knock, she did not expect that either by design or by chance he would call her number. When he did she was too surprised to move. It was Rosie who, laughingly, pushed her through the door and into the hall amid cries of ‘Dreamer!’ And there Terence was waiting in the dimmed light. Once the door was closed and they were alone she found that she was trembling and could not move the few feet towards him. Irrationally now she wanted to run from him. They stood gazing at each other. It was as if they had been parted for a long time. Their eyes searched each other’s face, until Annie’s dropped away from his. He put out his hand and drew her to him. ‘Hello, Annie Hannigan,’ he said softly, banteringly.

  She gave a little gasp, and whispered, ‘Hello, Terence Macbane.’ She waited breathlessly, gazing up at him. But he didn’t kiss her; he lifted her hand and, bending his head, placed his lips on her palm.

  For a moment she was tempted to kiss the straight, black hair so near to her, but he raised his head and was looking at her again. He still held her hand, and without taking his eyes from hers, he lifted it and pressed it against his face.

  As he moved away, she could not
believe she was hearing aright. Did he whisper, ‘You’re very lovely, Annie’? The murmur had been so low. She closed her eyes. Oh, it was better than just being kissed; he had made it all so wonderful. They seemed to be close, like…Well, she couldn’t explain what it was like, for she had never experienced anything touching it before.

  She was dizzy with joy, and gave a number at random, hoping vaguely it would not be Brian’s. It was.

  He came striding into the hall, buttoning his jacket as if ready to do battle. He gave a deep chuckle and said, ‘Ah, you’re good at counting!’ As he took her into his arms she pressed her hands tightly against his chest and turned her cheek to him. ‘Oh no! We’re not having any of that. Come on, play the game properly.’ She felt his chest vibrate with the rumble of his laugh.

  ‘Stop it, Brian!’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he mimicked. ‘We’re not at school now, you know. Look here, Annihan …’

  ‘Don’t call me that, Brian.’

  ‘Well, all right, I won’t. But see here, Annie, you’ve been keeping away from old Brian all day. Oh, come on!’ His mouth sought hers; soft and warm, his lips moved over her face as she twisted and turned. Then, lowering herself suddenly, she gave a wrench and dropped from under his arms. Her hair dishevelled, her face ablaze, she ran from him and up the stairs. He shrugged his great shoulders and pursed his lips as he looked after her. For a moment his face took on an ugly look and he nodded his head as if assuring himself of something, but when he shouted into the drawing-room, ‘I’ve exhausted the last delivery, and I’ve a parcel here for number eight!’ he was the old laughing Brian again.

  Annie sat on the deep windowsill, hidden behind the thick curtains. The last game of the party was in progress; it was Hide and Seek, and she had picked on this spare room as being the place least likely to be detected. It was next to David’s nursery, and most of the games had been kept from this part of the house in case of waking him. She thought it gave her an unfair advantage to hide in here, but she knew Tim could cope with any disadvantage, fair or otherwise.

  She sat waiting, feeling safe, and listening to the distant cries of ‘Come out of that!’, ‘I can see you, Rosie’, ‘And you too, doctor.’ She wondered where Terence was.

  Before running upstairs she had looked at him, hoping that perhaps he would come with her. But Cathleen was talking to him. Since Steve had left, Cathleen had kept near Terence, but oddly enough it did not disturb Annie, for she felt Terence belonged to her now. The little scene in the hall had in some way taken the form of a vow, more sealing because nothing was said, only that whisper. She pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth…Oh, there was no-one like him! The boys she knew seemed immature and silly beside him. They always had. Terence had an air of polish about him that made them seem very young in comparison. She supposed that all these years she had been waiting for him…And now there was tomorrow and the next day, and the next…nearly a fortnight of the holiday still left. Now he would no longer pass the gate with merely a nod, or cut through the top field, as she knew he sometimes did, to reach the main road. Oh, Terence, Terence.

  She heard the door squeak and a soft padding on the carpet. Someone was coming in. Thinking it was Tim on his search, she remained still, her fingers held against her lips. Then a whisper, low and unintelligible, came to her, telling her there were two people in the room. She was about to part the curtains and give a warning hiss when she heard the springs of the bed creak. The sound created a quick feeling of fear mixed with embarrassment. It stilled her hand and she sat stiff, waiting. There was a laugh, soft and deep, which she recognised. Then the bed creaked again, as if someone else had sat down. There came low, murmuring, intimate sounds, a different laugh, smothered quiet, followed by more creaks. And Cathleen’s voice came to her, very low but clear, ‘Now we’re introduced properly, Terence.’

  And Terence’s voice answered, equally low, ‘Rather late in the evening, isn’t it?’

  What Cathleen’s rejoinder was Annie didn’t hear. She was staring, unseeing, into the palm of her hand, and her teeth were biting into her lower lip. The murmuring sounds began again, their implications making her sick. She thrust her fingers into her ears, and feelings of shame and humiliation flowed over her in giant waves, the feelings she thought she had vanquished for ever, so deeply buried in her childhood that nothing could resurrect them into this life. But this feeling of shame seemed also a betrayal, and had a tearing, lacerating power which made those bygone agonies puny in comparison. Prayer words galloped through her mind, petitioning strength: ‘Sweet Lady, don’t let me cry until I am in bed…Oh, dear Lord, teach me to hide from him what I feel. And don’t let Cathleen Davidson see what she’s done.’

  She stopped praying, and cried to herself, She hasn’t changed! She’s wicked, and I hate her!…And him? Oh, and him! she added.

  6

  The wind was living up to its March reputation. The trees, which yesterday had promised sprinklings of delicate green, were waving so wildly that nothing but their bare, contorted arms was evident. The car was at the door, and Kate, dressed for outdoors, stood in the hall with Rodney and Mrs Summers. She looked from one to the other with patient exasperation: ‘You know I never go right up to the fifteen streets in the car. And the case isn’t too heavy. You are both being ridiculous.’

  ‘You can say what you like,’ said Rodney, ‘you are not taking it unless you let Steve drive you right to the door. Anyway, why take it yourself? Let Steve drop it in some other time.’

  Kate sighed. ‘You know, dear, I couldn’t do that. It would look too…so…Oh, all right. Let Steve drive there.’ She pulled on her gloves.

  ‘’Bout time, too, doctor,’ said Mrs Summers. ‘’Bout time you did put your foot down. She looks like a chalk doll. And going out a day like this! And proposing to carry that thing from the docks!’ With an offended look at the case, she stalked from the hall.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Rodney. ‘It seems madness going out in this weather. And you’re not looking too good at all…Darling, don’t go. Or wait until I’ve done my afternoon round and I’ll come with you.’

  She came and stood close to him. ‘Don’t keep worrying, my dear; I’m perfectly all right. Please trust me not to do anything silly.’ She kissed him swiftly on the lips. ‘You know, it isn’t only taking the case; I’d want to be there when Rosie gets in, to hear her news.’

  ‘She should have phoned,’ said Rodney a little stiffly; ‘she would have known the result yesterday evening—I think it’s very bad of her not to have done so.’

  ‘Something must have prevented her, my dear; I know Rosie would have phoned if she possibly could.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose she would,’ he said, and added, ‘Annie’s meeting you up there, is she?’

  ‘Yes, she’s coming straight through. She may meet Rosie in Newcastle if the train’s on time. It will be lovely having her for the weekend, won’t it? I can never get used to her not coming home every night.’

  Steve came into the hall, and Rodney said, ‘No matter what Mrs Prince says, you drive right to the Mullens’ door, Steve. You understand?’

  Steve nodded and said quietly, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Rodney closed the car door on Kate and she waved to him as the car moved away.

  Leaning back against the soft upholstery, she relaxed and admitted to herself that she was a little tired; the child, now at seven months, was beginning to drag. But oh how she hated the thought of driving in this luxurious car into the meanness and poverty of the fifteen streets. She always made a point of wearing her plainest clothes when going up there, but even those spoke of money. Years ago, when she had lived there, she wore the clothes Miss Tolmache bought her with pride, but now, with all the money she wanted at her command, she did everything to hide her affluence from the people of those streets to whom her good fortune was in the nature of a miracle.

  In the face of the conditions prevailing general
ly in the fifteen streets these days, it was understandable that Kate did not want to drive there, and she knew Rodney’s insistence was merely because of his fear for her health. The case of groceries would be, she knew, a godsend to Mrs Mullen, with Mr Mullen on short time and the only wage-earning boy left at home out of work, and three young children. Money, as in most houses on the Tyne, was short.

  During the last three years that Rosie had been training, Mrs Mullen had accepted eight shillings a week from Kate in lieu of the amount she would have received if Rosie had still been in service. It had taken quite a lot of persuasion for her to fall in with the idea of receiving Rosie’s money as if she were still at work, for, as she said, it was like expecting your bread to be buttered on both sides.

  As if reading Kate’s thoughts, Steve said, without turning his head, ‘How would it be, ma’am, if we left the car a little way down the main road, and I carried the case up?’

  Kate did not reply for a moment; she was still sensitive to the remarks of the women and she could hear them saying, ‘Aye, brings her servant t’carry her bag for her.’ But it was the lesser of two evils, so she said, ‘Thanks, Steve. I do think that would be better than driving up. Yes, we’ll do that. Thank you for suggesting it. And it won’t be entirely disobeying the doctor’s orders.’ She gave a little laugh.

  But he did not turn his head and smile his quiet smile as he would have done some months ago. And she thought: What is it? What has come over him? It’s as Rodney says, he seems to have something on his mind.

  When they were within a few minutes’ walk of the fifteen streets, Steve helped her out of the car. They walked along side by side in a rather strained silence. As it was just after three in the afternoon the road was practically deserted. It ran straight for about a quarter of a mile, with the fifteen streets branching off it to the left ahead of them, and a blank stone wall edging the pavement to their right. The only other people to be seen on the road were a young couple, who were sauntering towards them, bending close together against the wind. Kate thought they seemed familiar, but her eyes passed over them to a tram that was approaching. Then her mind was distracted by the case jolting violently in Steve’s hand. He changed it to his other hand, and she asked if it was heavy.