Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  Annie stood up and, try as she might, she couldn’t keep her voice casual as she said, ‘You don’t know Terence has gone?’

  Without taking her eyes from Annie, Cathleen flicked the end of her burning cigarette at the fire. ‘What did you say?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘He went back to Oxford this morning, on his bike.’

  The cigarette hit the low bar of the grate and bounced back on to the rug. Annie stooped swiftly and tossed it into the fire.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Cathleen. Her dark eyes seemed lost behind the narrowed lids.

  A thrill which Annie had no power to prevent made itself evident in her tone: ‘He came this morning to see how Kate was, and told me he was going.’

  They stared at one another, all their feelings evident. Mingled with their mutual dislike was Annie’s triumph and Cathleen’s astonishment.

  With Terence’s renewed interest foremost in her mind, Annie forgot her resolution of the early morning, never to hate again. She had only to see Cathleen for the feeling to rise naturally to the surface. It was now making her imply, through her expression, an affinity with Terence. It was giving her a poise that she knew would madden Cathleen.

  Suddenly Cathleen threw back her head and laughed loudly.

  ‘Sh!’ cried Annie in alarm. ‘Kate’s asleep. You might waken her,’ and as the thought of Kate came into her mind again she chided herself for forgetting her for the moment because of her own small problems.

  Cathleen stopped and, putting out her hand, tapped Annie’s cheek sharply: ‘Don’t get any ideas into that innocent head of yours, darling! Because they’ll only have to come out again. Terence and I understand each other…Do you see? Do you understand what I mean?’

  Annie felt her colour rising, and with it the desire to fight back. ‘If that’s the case, it’s a wonder he didn’t let you know he was going, isn’t it?’

  ‘See here!’ Cathleen, her mouth narrowing, leant forward menacingly. ‘It will serve you right if I open your eyes for you. What would you say…?’

  She got no further, for the drawing-room door opened and Michael and Rosie came in. Both Cathleen and Annie turned towards them, and Annie said, not without some relief, ‘Oh, hello, Rosie. Hello, Michael.’

  Cathleen stood looking at her brother and Rosie Mullen. The rage that was consuming her was evident in her face, and Michael unfortunately released it on himself by saying, ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you had gone to meet Macbane.’

  ‘And I didn’t expect to see you!’ rapped out Cathleen. ‘You are supposed to be at night school.’

  Michael’s face darkened: ‘I asked Father if I could skip it; I wanted to come up and see Annie…about Kate,’ he ended.

  ‘See Annie!’ Cathleen sneered. ‘See Annie!’ She turned to Annie who was looking anxiously from one to the other. ‘It looks as if you’ve lost your childhood sweetheart as well. Too bad, isn’t it?’

  Annie flushed scarlet, and Michael took a quick step forward, his boyish face glowering darkly. ‘If I were at home,’ he gulped, ‘I’d…I’d …’

  ‘Michael! Michael!’ Annie cried. ‘Be quiet! You know Kate’s ill.’

  He turned away, saying, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Cathleen looked at Rosie, who was staring at her. She dropped her eyes in a scornful sweep and, picking up her gloves from a chair, said to no-one in particular: ‘Baby-snatching’s a criminal offence.’

  Michael turned sharply, muttering, ‘You…You …!’

  He made to go after Cathleen as she went from the room, but Annie laid a restraining hand on his arm, entreating him: ‘Michael…not here, please.’

  Rosie said nothing. There was a bleakness about her face; it looked cold and pinched, and she seemed to have shrunk. She looked at Michael. He was standing unhappily moving his tie from side to side; his eyes were downcast, and his whole attitude hurt Rosie.

  Breaking the uncomfortable silence with an attempt to appear casual, Rosie asked, ‘How is Kate now?’

  ‘Just about the same,’ Annie replied.

  ‘Is David asleep? Can I go up and see him?’

  ‘He may not be. You can go and see if you like, only don’t let him get excited.’ Annie felt tense and upset. She blamed herself for the scene that had occurred; she should never have told Cathleen about Terence—causing all this upset, and Mam so ill. What could she have been thinking about?

  Rosie went quietly out, while Michael stood looking down into the fire. He would be a big man, like his father, and already had many of his habits, but none of his even temper. He stood now, as his father often did when perplexed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Annie, feeling sorry for him, said soothingly, ‘Don’t worry, Michael.’

  He turned to her. ‘Oh, Annie, she spoils everything. There’s no peace where she is…Annie,’ he went on haltingly, ‘what she said wasn’t true. I still like you, I’ll always like you…But Rosie…well, she’s…well, you see, she understands music, and …’

  ‘Michael, dear, I understand. Oh, I do. And it would be lovely, Michael, if you could like Rosie. She’s wonderful when you get to know her.’ She had taken his hand, and at this moment she felt old enough to be his mother.

  ‘Oh!’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Oh! Well, not like that…But she’s nice to talk to.’ He looked at Annie steadily and he didn’t sound as boyish as he appeared when he said, ‘I’ll always like you, Annie. Always. There’ll never be anybody like you.’ He covered her hand with his other, and finished, ‘But somehow I’ve always known it’s useless.’

  They hastily drew apart as Rosie came back into the room. She did not look at them, but said, ‘He was asleep. Kate’s nurse showed me the baby…She is tiny!’

  ‘Yes, she is small,’ said Annie. ‘We are going to call her Angela.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be getting back; my mother is anxious to know.’ She turned to leave the room, without appearing to notice Michael.

  ‘This is the second time you’ve been today,’ Annie said; ‘you must be tired. Stay a little while, Rosie.’

  ‘Not tonight.’ There was a sadness about Rosie’s voice that hurt Annie, and as she followed her into the hall she raked her mind to find words to explain about Michael and herself.

  Michael, too, followed. He took his coat from the stand, and put it on with an air of bustle.

  ‘You needn’t …’ began Rosie.

  ‘Oh, I may as well go now,’ he said offhandedly; ‘you can’t go all that way by yourself.’ He was very much the man.

  Rosie glanced at Annie, and was greeted by a swift, reassuring smile. She returned it, and went out saying, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Michael. ‘And give my love to Kate when you see her.’

  ‘I will. Good-night, Michael. Good-night, Rosie.’

  Annie went back into the drawing-room, thinking: Oh, why did any of them come? Such an upset, at a time like this…But I could have prevented it, if only I had kept quiet. Yet I couldn’t keep quiet any longer…I’ve never before been able to hurt her; but I did tonight. It was just a little of my own back for all she has done to me, not only recently, but for years. And she’ll spoil Rosie’s happiness too; she’ll never let her have Michael…Poor Rosie. Poor anybody who’s unfortunate enough to cross Cathleen’s path.

  For days Kate lay in a world of dim, moving shapes and faint voices; even the bed seemed to be detached from her. She was only aware of her body as it floated in pain. She remembered faintly the desire to leave it there in the thick mist and to escape beyond to a place that would require no effort from her; she knew that once she was beyond the mist everything would be easy, and she would need to struggle no more. But Rodney wouldn’t let her go. This puzzled her, for if he loved her greatly then he should let her go.

  It was a week before the mist finally cleared and she awoke one morning to find the shapes clear and sharply defined in the sunshine which filled the room. Rodney was looking down on her, his eyes full of lov
e and relief. ‘Darling, you’re better this morning.’

  She reached up her hand and touched his cheek. ‘Quite better, my love.’ When she saw the glistening brightness in his eyes she moved her head on the pillow. ‘Don’t. Oh, don’t, my dear. I’m all right.’

  He took her hand and pressed his lips to it; and his heart was filled with thanksgiving that at last he could tell himself this was the turning-point …

  Day followed day in quiet routine: being washed, being fed, lying at peace with her hand in either Rodney’s or Annie’s, and having an occasional glimpse of the baby.

  It was some time before she was allowed to see visitors. And when they did come, the nurse saw to it that they stayed only a matter of minutes. Cathleen called every night. She seemed greatly concerned over Kate, which touched Rodney…and puzzled Annie. She hadn’t expected Cathleen to call again for some time at least, after the scene in the drawing-room. Cathleen could have learnt of Kate’s progress from her father, but she still came every evening, and from the first spoke to Annie as though nothing out of the ordinary had passed between them. A few days ago she had mentioned Terence, saying, ‘Annie, my love, it’s all been explained. I’ve had a letter from my bad boy telling me why he went off in a hurry.’

  With a sick feeling in her heart Annie wondered what the explanation was. It couldn’t have upset Cathleen, for she was very bright, in fact more vivacious than ever.

  Annie had cause to wonder still more when Terence’s first letter came. The old racing and leaping started within her, and she read reams of unspoken thought into the few stilted lines. In a daze, she went up to her room, holding the letter to her. Terence had written…he had written to her! Would he write to her if he were still writing to Cathleen? Was Cathleen telling the truth? This wasn’t a love letter, she knew, but she felt it meant more than it said. And there still remained the fact that he had gone away without seeing Cathleen.

  Sitting on the side of her bed, she read the letter again:

  Dear Annie,

  I do hope by now your mother is better. She has been very ill, my mother tells me. She also tells me you are still at home. This means you will miss some of the term; but I don’t suppose you mind very much, as your mother will naturally be your first concern. I should like to hear of her progress, if you have the time to spare and feel so inclined.

  Yours sincerely,

  Terence Macbane

  He would like to hear from her! She stared unseeing at the little altar.

  It was the slant of the sun, glinting on the nails prominent through the feet of Christ, that brought her to the fact of where her thoughts were leading. Looking with a shamefaced glance at the altar, she whispered, ‘You understand, don’t you? I can’t help loving him. I’ve tried.’

  Jesus still hung his head from the cross, and St Anthony stared back at her with a look of sadness on his face. With a feeling of guilt, Annie left the room and went into Kate’s. Standing by the bed, she said simply, ‘I’ve had a letter from Terence.’

  Kate said nothing, but took Annie’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘It isn’t a …’ Annie began. ‘Well, it’s just…Well, it’s about you really,’ she laughed. ‘Read it.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think one should read someone else’s letters…Are you going to answer it?’

  Annie nodded, her eyes soft and bright.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone else you have received it,’ Kate said. ‘You understand?’ They looked at each other, then Annie went swiftly from the room and back into her own. She sat down at her writing-table, and after staring at a blank page for some time suddenly began to write …

  Kate relaxed against the pillows; Annie’s news had solved a problem for her. With returning strength, the events of the fateful night had gradually come back to her, and she was torn between telling Rodney or keeping silent. If she told him he would sack Steve, his faith in Cathleen would be shattered and he would never treat her in the same way again. This, through time, would be noticed by Peter and Peggy, and would result in strained relations. Then again, Steve might come into the open and say he wanted to marry Cathleen. This would free Terence. She felt in her heart that Terence more than liked Annie, that he had always liked her, and had it not been for Cathleen they would have come together naturally. But now, in spite of Cathleen, Terence was showing an interest in Annie.

  This decided Kate to keep silent, and so eased her mind about Rodney’s attitude towards Steve. Terence’s interest in Annie would also erase another worry: Brian. She shuddered at the thought of Brian having Annie. Annie’s slender fragility against what was fast becoming a mountain of flesh made her a little sick when she even imagined the possibility.

  She wasn’t prepared for Cathleen’s visit. Even with her decision made, which meant she would have to act as if nothing had happened, she found she couldn’t look at her. The nurse showed Cathleen in, saying, ‘Only two or three minutes, mind.’ And there she was, standing by the bedside.

  ‘How are you?’ Cathleen’s voice was level and strangely cold.

  Kate’s eyes travelled over the expanse of the eiderdown before she lifted them to meet Cathleen’s. She found herself unable to answer, or to pretend normality. She was thinking: She’s bad…bad.

  Cathleen’s eyes, like polished black stones, bored into Kate’s. She knew for certain now that Kate had heard all that was said in the wood that night, and as she had obviously said nothing about it, she concluded with satisfaction that Kate was afraid. She kept her eyes, unblinking, fastened on Kate’s, putting into them all the menace of which she was capable.

  Kate began to tremble. She said weakly to herself: I’m not fit to cope with her. Oh, why did they let her in? She made an effort at control and forced her eyes away from Cathleen’s.

  But when Cathleen spoke, a wave of fear passed over her. ‘Steve is very concerned about you,’ Cathleen said softly. There was a pause, during which Kate shook her head. Then Cathleen went on, ‘He’s always concerned about you. I shall tell him how you are; it will relieve his mind. I don’t think he likes to ask Uncle Rodney.’ She stood for an instant longer, then went quietly out.

  Downstairs, Cathleen found Annie in the dining-room, helping Mrs Summers to clear the table. Annie didn’t turn to meet Cathleen, but went on piling up the plates. The brightness of her face did not escape Cathleen, who said casually, ‘I’ve been clearing out my locker at school, and I’ve brought some of my sketches to show Uncle Rodney…Like to see them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annie politely. ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘Just a minute then.’

  Cathleen went into the hall and brought back a large portfolio, and put it on the now cleared table. She handed Annie a study of two boys climbing a tree. And Annie’s praise was genuine when she said, ‘I don’t know how you do it. This is splendid! You have even got the stretch of the leg muscles under the skin.’

  ‘Yes, I like that one,’ said Cathleen. ‘And look at this.’

  ‘Why, it’s Michael’s head…Oh, that’s wonderful.’

  ‘Here,’ Cathleen pushed the heap of sketches towards her: ‘go through them yourself.’

  Annie drew a chair up to the table and began to look at one sketch after another, making comments on the merits of each. Cathleen stood with her elbow on the mantelpiece, smoking and waiting. She hadn’t long to wait. There came a break in Annie’s comments. The break lengthened into a tense silence. The fire fell inwards with a plop and Cathleen said languidly, ‘Have you found a bad one? They can’t all be masterpieces, you know.’

  Annie stared at the sketch before her. It was of Terence…Terence quite naked. He was standing on a rock with his hands above his head, poised for a dive; his black hair was dripping with water, and the water was gleaming on his thighs; the shadow of a cliff behind threw him into relief.

  Annie sprang up from the table, tumbling the chair backwards in her haste. She turned to Cathleen, her face bloodless and her eyes blazing: ‘You
did this on purpose! I know you did!’

  ‘What on earth—’ began Cathleen. ‘Good heavens! What’s the matter with you, girl?’

  She came to the table and looked at the sketch. ‘Don’t tell me that’s upset you. Haven’t you seen anyone naked before?’ She stubbed out her cigarette with deliberation. ‘You must remember, Annie, I’m an artist. I see nude bodies every day.’ She gave her deep laugh and threw her head back, as if in surprise: ‘Oh! I see. It has shocked you to see old Terence in the nude…Well, he’s made the same as everyone else. You may not believe it, but he is…He’ll laugh about this when I tell him. He often poses for me. Why look, I can show you …’

  She raked among the sketches, and Annie cried out, ‘I don’t wish to see any more.’ She righted the chair, and stood gripping the back.

  ‘You’re being silly,’ said Cathleen. ‘Why don’t you grow up, girl? Over eighteen, and afraid to look at what God made!’ She gathered the sketches together in feigned annoyance. ‘Anyway, why should you mind how I do Terence? It’s no business of yours, as I’ve told you before. And he likes posing for me. He certainly likes the sketches I do of him, for he’s asked for this one. I’m taking it with me when I go to see him at the weekend. I suppose you consider that’s wrong, too, going to see your boyfriend for a weekend without a chaperone?’

  Annie’s eyes were blind to everything about her; she was looking at Cathleen, but the intense feeling moving through her blotted Cathleen out. She could see only the naked body of Terence, as Cathleen must have seen it often and often to draw it like that. Her stomach gave a heave, and she thought: I’m going to be sick.

  Her vision cleared when she heard Rodney come into the room and say, ‘Ah, there you are, Cathleen. I thought you might have gone.’ He seemed agitated. ‘What happened upstairs, Cathleen? After you left, nurse found Kate in tears, and she had to call me.’