Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  His body gave a convulsive twist and he half turned from her, and beat his fists against his temples. He stood like this for a moment, then turned swiftly on her again, shouting, ‘Don’t be a fool! I’m not worth it. Nobody is. You couldn’t be a nun, Annie…you couldn’t!’

  Her fixed stare stopped him. ‘It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ His eyes lifted from her face. ‘Your hair…You know what they’ll do?’

  She could stand no more; the emptiness was passing; the feeling of detachment was deserting her. ‘That won’t matter. Nothing you can say will make any difference.’ She backed away as she spoke.

  The veneer which his university education had given him seemed to Annie to have dropped from him; he looked once again the boy she had known in the wood, close-mouthed, taciturn and vulnerable. Turning, she ran from him, and did not stop until she reached the main road. The world was empty; there was no comfort anywhere; for the moment, even the convent ceased to be a refuge.

  This feeling will pass, she told herself. You knew you would have to see him…but it’s all over now. And he denied hardly any of it. Remember that, should you be tempted to feel sorry. Yes, remember that.

  As she turned from the main road into the lane she saw Mr Macbane coming towards her. He was walking leisurely, his greasy mac hanging open and his black cloth cap planted squarely on his head. He looked at her in surprise, and stopped, awaiting her approach. She had always stood in awe of Mr Macbane, and now she nodded and made to walk past him. But he put out his hand and stopped her.

  ‘Where’s the lad?’ he asked, looking closely at her. ‘Have yer seen him?’

  Annie swallowed hard and shrank away from the hand on her arm. He stared at her, his grizzled brows working up and down. ‘Yer a fool,’ he burst out. ‘Yer divn’t knaa when yer on a gud thing…Luk, lass’—his tone became coaxing—‘he’s come all this way, an he’s got to gan back termorrer…Why divn’t yer make it up?’

  She shook her head, saying, ‘I can’t. I’ve explained …’

  He drew back from her. ‘Yer a bloody fool!’ he exclaimed. ‘Yes. Gan on, look shocked. Gan on an’ tell the doctor what I’ve said. Ye’ve been spoilt, yer neck’s been broke. Yer making my lad’s life a hell…Y’always have done, ever since ye wor a bairn scramblin’ after him in the woods.’

  Her eyes widened, and he went on, ‘Aye. Yer can gape. I know. I’m not blind, ne daft…An’ now he’s not gud enough fer yer…Alreet fer a bit of sport, but that’s all. Hasn’t got enough cash, is that it? Let me tell yer, yer’ll go farther an’ fare worse. An’’—he finished, spilling all his grievance on her—‘his mother’s worried to death, the hoose isn’t the same.’

  She drew herself up and stepped back from him.

  ‘Aye. Yer can get on yer high horse …’ He wagged his head from side to side. ‘Yer can come the fine lady.’

  He stopped abruptly, his temper dying away as quickly as it had risen. ‘I’m goin’ past meself,’ he murmured. ‘But ye see, it’s like this, lass. I know my lad; he’s like me in one or two little ways.’ It was almost an apology for Terence’s inherited traits. ‘There’ll only be really one fer him, as there was fer me.’ He smiled at her, and the blue marks on his cheeks, badges of the pit, seemed to hang from the folds of his skin.

  With a catch in her breath, Annie said, ‘Oh, Mr Macbane, I’m sorry…but it’s no use.’

  After staring at her for a while, he passed his hand over his mouth, saying, ‘Ah weel.’ His head drooped and he gazed at the ground.

  In an agony of intense feeling, she stood staring at him. At this moment she felt nearer to him than anyone she knew, even Kate and Rodney.

  Mr Macbane squared his shoulders and lifted his head. Giving her a level and not unkindly look, he turned away and continued down the lane.

  16

  ‘Man, I can’t believe it,’ Rodney said, looking at Peter in real distress. ‘What news to bring on a New Year’s Eve!’

  Peter took a long drink from his glass. ‘I had to come and tell you. We didn’t finally decide till last night…I don’t really want to go, but she’s breaking up, Rodney. She’s breaking her heart for the sight of Michael. And now, since the other one’s gone, there’s nothing to stop us.’

  ‘But to sell your practice! Why not put someone in and take a holiday for, say, six months? You’ll never settle away from the Tyne.’

  ‘That’s what I told her. But she says we can always come back.’

  ‘But your practice!’

  ‘I’m tired …’ Peter dropped his head on his hands.

  Rodney sat staring at him, for the moment unable to realise how defeated his friend was. ‘Peter…Is there anything I can do?’ he said, getting up and going towards him. He gripped Peter’s shoulder: ‘You can’t let this break up your life…You can’t!’

  Peter sat up. His large frame seemed to have shrunk during the past months, and he shifted restlessly in his chair. ‘I’m afraid it’s got to be. Peggy will fade away if she doesn’t see the boy.’

  ‘Bring him back.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t do that. Strangely enough, he seems to like the life, and my brother has taken a strong fancy to him. No. Going there seems the only way out…but’—he gave a shadow of his old smile—‘we’ll be back.’ He looked up into Rodney’s grieved face and said, awkwardly, ‘I’ll miss you…Nineteen years. It’s been a long time.’

  Rodney turned away, incapable of a response. For the first time he was experiencing what he realised many others must have felt, a feeling of hatred against Cathleen. Summed up, the damage that girl had already done was colossal. Kate had almost lost her life…Steve had gone…Annie and Terence were parted…Michael was in Canada…Rosie Mullen had undoubtedly received a hurt that even her success could not entirely hide…and now this man, who had been his only close friend since he came to the north, was selling up his house and practice. His chest tightened with the feeling of anger. And what had happened to Cathleen? Was she paying in any way? No. Ultimately she had got—from her parents—what she wanted: the money to have a studio in Chelsea. Only four days ago, when she was standing in this room saying goodbye, he had it still in his heart to feel sorry for her. She appeared small and childlike and rather pathetic. It was difficult to keep telling himself that this was a clever and dangerous woman, not the young and appealing girl she looked.

  As if following his train of thought, Peter said, ‘It’s odd, when you think all this has come about through her.’ Rodney noticed that Peter never referred to Cathleen by name now. It was either ‘she’ or ‘her’. ‘I swore I’d never let her go off on her own until I had to,’ Peter went on; ‘but Peggy was getting so that she couldn’t bear the sight of her. And when she demanded we get the house done up and refurnished so she could ask that Dane Dee there, well, that just finished it. Peggy turned on her. And I saw then she’d have to go before anything worse happened…Do you know anything about that fellow?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a thing. I’ve never even seen him. All I know is he was a friend of Terence Macbane’s; he was up at Oxford with him, and seemed to have plenty of money. Of course,’ he added, ‘the last was just hearsay.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right enough…he’s got money. And the title’s an old one. That’s what I can’t understand about it, he’s well connected. His people will likely have a big say in whom he marries, yet she’s got the idea it’s going to be her, because he’s motored once or twice to Newcastle to see her. It’s not only an idea with her, she’s absolutely positive she’s going to bring it off. She’s banking on it. I’ve no fear at the moment for the life she’ll lead, for this has come to mean so much to her that she’ll do nothing from now on to impair her chances. She says he’s very keen on her taking the studio, and is going to introduce her to various people who will be likely to buy her stuff.’

  ‘Is there so much need to sell her work if she’s going to marry him?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Peter, shaking his head. �
��Anyway, I suppose she’s got to live in the mean time; the money she’s got won’t last long.’

  ‘Perhaps it will be the best thing that could happen.’

  ‘For whom?’ said Peter. ‘Not for him. I pity any man who gets her.’

  ‘Oh, Peter!’ Rodney’s anger was gradually dying, and again his feeling was tinged with pity.

  ‘Yes, you can say, “Oh, Peter!”, but you don’t know what we’ve been through; you don’t know what she is. Even now I think you’re sorry for her…she said you would be. When she insisted on coming up the other day, she said that in spite of everything she would enlist your sympathy and would have you on her side again. That’s her.’

  Rodney stiffened. How nearly right she had been. How nearly right she was. Again he had the feeling of being young and inexperienced. Her knowledge of him and of human nature in general was phenomenal. He was sorry now that he had allowed her to think he was ignorant of the extent of her activities, but from the coldness of his manner she must have judged that he knew something.

  Catching sight of Annie throught the study window, Peter exclaimed, ‘Ah, there’s Annie! You know, I haven’t seen her for ages. I thought she would have been up during the holidays. Is she still going with young Macbane?…You know,’ he added wistfully before Rodney could reply, ‘I thought at one time, if that one of mine had got Macbane, it would have been the saving of her. He seemed a steady kind of fellow, with a mind of his own.’

  Rodney said evasively, ‘No. They’ve had a tiff. She’s passing through a phase…they all do. Here, let me fill your glass.’

  To his knowledge, no-one outside the house except the priest and Terence knew of Annie’s intentions. He could trust Mrs Summers and her niece, Alice. Knowing that Cathleen had had something to do with Annie’s decision, he did not want to burden Peter with another revelation.

  Coming up the garden, Annie waved to Peter. But when she got inside the house, she didn’t go into the study. Instead, seeing Kate in the hall, she said, ‘I’m freezing. I’m going up to have a bath. Is there plenty of water?’

  ‘Yes, plenty,’ said Kate, and added, ‘It’s so silly going for walks in weather like this; the mist and damp get into your bones.’

  ‘It was all right,’ Annie replied, ‘until the wind got up. It’s cutting.’

  ‘Have a good soak,’ said Kate as she watched her go up the stairs, ‘and I’ll bring you a hot drink, eh?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Annie half turned, and her smile flashed out for a moment.

  Kate seemed to hold the smile to her. When the stairs were empty she still stood, saying to herself, ‘Oh, my darling. My darling …’

  Annie lay back in the bath, her eyes closed. The hot water seemed to separate her skin from her body; it oozed beneath it, creeping up from her stiff toes to her shoulders, then into her head, lulling, soothing.

  Oh, what delight! To know nothing, feel nothing, only the caressing wonder of hot water; to feel your body, free from every travail, floating, floating…Her hands began to move sensuously over her shoulders and down her arms. Oh, it was lovely, lovely! What a marvellous feeling! What more could anyone ask than this ecstasy of hot water loving the body like a— With a start, she was sitting upright. She gripped the rough-haired loofah and scrubbed herself vigorously. She let the water out and turned on the cold tap, and stood under the hand-spray, shivering. Getting quickly into her dressing-gown, she went to her room. And there she found David.

  As she opened the door, he sprang round from the altar, hiding his hands behind his back. ‘I was only looking,’ he said. ‘I was only looking, Annie.’

  ‘What have you got there?’ she asked.

  He brought a hand forward, and dangling from it was her rosary. ‘I was only doing the Hailing Mary.’ His eyes looked up at her, perplexed yet fearful. He couldn’t understand why, all of a sudden, he had been forbidden to go near the altar. He liked Mary’s statue: it was pretty, and she had a nice baby, like Angela, and it was fun to talk to her on the beads. He said ‘Hail’ like the Indian did in his story-book, and instead of ‘Mary, full of grace’ he sometimes said ‘Mary too full of grace’, and then he thought the baby smiled. He didn’t really know what to say to her, for Annie had begun to teach him, then stopped. It was all a secret; Mammy didn’t know. And then Annie wouldn’t let him come near the altar, and said she would never love him again if he dared tell Mammy he had been learning the Hail Mary.

  Annie took the rosary from him, saying, ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ His lips trembled, and his eyes became wide and fixed. Stooping swiftly, she caught him to her: ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.’

  He gulped. ‘Don’t you love me any more, Annie?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes!’

  She knelt down and folded her arms tightly about him. He flung his own about her neck, squeezing her with all his might. ‘I love you best in the world, Annie. And I want a little altar like yours. And I want to be called Hannigan Prince, to be like you.’

  ‘Sh!…Oh, darling darling.’

  Her thoughts tore at her. She would shortly be leaving him. Oh, how could she leave David? And he wouldn’t understand. Even when he grew up he wouldn’t be able to understand, not being a Catholic. Oh, how wrong of Kate not to bring him up a Catholic, to deprive him of eternal life. She halted in her thinking…He was a Protestant. For years, under Father O’Malley’s teaching, she believed that no Protestant went to heaven. And although she considered she was now more enlightened, she still believed that Protestants weren’t eligible for the heaven of the Catholics. Then where?…David, Angela, Rodney…all the nice Protestants she knew…all the Protestants in the world…and then the people who weren’t even Protestants…what would happen to them all? She would have to talk to Sister Ann about it…No! It was a cry from the corner of her mind which was asserting itself more and more, an uneasy, disquieting corner. No, don’t talk to Sister Ann about it…her answer would be all cut and dried. Only the other day, in answer to Annie’s question of why there were twice as many non-Christians as Christians in the world, she had answered that they were put there to be converted! A silly answer which had left her vaguely uneasy.

  Sister Ann was lovely, but Annie was finding that her answers to many questions were not satisfactory. So she must think this out for herself; for it was unthinkable that if David were to die at this moment he wouldn’t go to heaven, nor even to purgatory …

  Kate entered unnoticed. ‘Here you are; I’ve brought your drink.’ She smiled down on them as if their present intensity was an everyday thing.

  Annie scrambled to her feet, embarrassed and annoyed. She knew that Kate would read her own meaning into the little scene.

  ‘Rosie’s just been on the phone,’ Kate said. ‘She wants you to go up tonight for the first-footing.’

  ‘I’m not going!’ Annie said hastily. She turned to the mirror and began to brush her hair. ‘Anyway,’ she added less brusquely, ‘I’d rather be at home.’

  ‘I don’t know whether we’ll stay up or not, for Peter and Peggy aren’t coming.’

  ‘Well, it won’t matter.’

  Kate took David’s hand and moved towards the door. ‘There was a call from Brian while you were in the bath,’ she said. ‘He says he’ll be up some time this evening.’

  Annie swung round from the mirror: ‘Didn’t you tell him I’d be out?’

  ‘How could I, when I didn’t know what you were going to do?’ Kate turned at the door and glanced back at Annie. ‘Rosie said she’d phone later to see if you were going up.’

  Looking helpless, Annie said, ‘I’ll go up. You can tell her I’ll go up.’

  When the door had closed on Kate, Annie stood beating the palm of her hand with the back of the hairbrush…Wouldn’t he ever take a telling? Would nothing make him stop pestering her?…But that was it. He didn’t ‘pester’ her, he just came. He talked to Kate and Rodney, he played with David, he made himself agreeable to everyone. Sometimes he hardly spoke more than a few wor
ds to Annie. But when she was in the same room with him she could feel his presence like a weight on her body.

  She went and stood by the window. Through the bare top branches of the hedge she saw Mr Macbane coming down the lane. She watched him near the gate, pass it, and disappear into the drizzle. He didn’t once look towards the house. She was no longer afraid of Mr Macbane, but she was sorry for him, more sorry than she had ever been for Terence. Her sorrow for him was a mature feeling; she understood his disappointment. That Saturday at half-term, when he waylaid her in the lane, was the forerunner of a number of such meetings. Three times last week he walked with her from the terminus. Before, had they been on the same tram, he would have hurried away ahead of her, or lagged behind. But now he made it his business to wait, and to fall into step beside her, even though they sometimes walked in uncomfortable silence for most of the journey home. He no longer swore or got angry, but each time they met he would make a point of mentioning Terence.

  The first time he had waited, at the beginning of the holidays, he couldn’t keep his news to himself, even for the first few steps of the journey; nor could he keep the pride from his voice as he said: ‘The lad’s got the job o’ maths master at the Fennington Grammar Schul. What d’yer think of that, eh? Only twenty miles from Newcastle. He’ll be home every weekend noo…Divn’t yer think that’s a slice of luck?’

  She answered his eager conversation with ‘Yes, Mr Macbane,’ and ‘No, Mr Macbane.’ And all the while a feeling of pity was growing in her, and the wish to please him. But she knew this to be impossible, for he was working towards one end, the happiness of his son.

  Terence had been at home all the holidays, she knew. They hadn’t met, but she caught glimpses of him, now and then, in the distance. At these times she would shut down her mind like a steel trap on the thoughts that attempted to rise, with their accompanying feelings of torment. It was quite easy, once you found the knack of doing it. You simply shut your mind for a second, sweeping it bare, then concentrated with all your power on doing something that required action. Yes, it was quite easy…during the day.