Catherine felt overwhelming relief, just sitting doing nothing, watching the redheaded woman move about the flat taking command. She felt the same snug contentment she remembered from her earliest childhood when she sat between Rose’s knees having her hair brushed, while Kate pulled bread from the oven, singing under her breath.
It was a women’s world in which she had felt cosy and secure. At no time since had she felt so wrapped around in warmth and contentment as in those earliest days when she had thought Rose her mother and Kate merely a boisterous older sister.
She did not need men; Catherine was struck by the sudden revelation. If men thought so little of her, she could manage without them. As long as there were women like Bridie to remind her of real friendship, she would be content.
‘Here, drink this.’ Bridie held out a steaming cup of tea. ‘Then you can tell your Auntie Bridie all your troubles.’
Catherine took the cup and smiled in gratitude.
Chapter 27
Catherine and Bridie became firm friends. That autumn they spent their free time together, strolling along the promenade arm in arm like school friends, or going to the cinema. Bridie liked to laugh at Charlie Chaplin; Catherine preferred glamorous Mary Pickford.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny about a poor man down on his luck,’ Catherine complained. ‘I want a story with a happy ending.’
Bridie laughed. ‘What a little romantic you are. We’ll go and see what you want. I can take Maisie to the flicks when I go home at Christmas. She loves the funny men.’
Maisie was Bridie’s twelve-year-old daughter, left in the care of family in Ireland while Bridie sought work in England. She often talked of the day she would have saved up enough money to bring her daughter over too. Catherine already felt sad at the thought of not spending Christmas with her new friend.
‘We’ll go and see both films,’ Catherine declared, ‘Chaplin for the matinee and Pickford in the evening, just in case you don’t get the chance in Ireland.’
Bridie clapped her hands in delight. ‘What a thoughtful girl you are.’ She looked at her fondly. ‘I wish you were my daughter, so I do.’
‘What about Maisie?’ Catherine blushed.
Bridie sighed. ‘Oh, Maisie. She’s a sweet girl, but. . . she’s not quite twelve pennies in the shilling, if you get my meaning.’
Catherine did not like to press her further. It was enough that Bridie confided in her, for no one else at the laundry, apart from the motherly matron, Mrs Townsend, knew that Bridie had a child. Once again, Catherine had a confidante, someone to take the place of Lily. But Bridie was worldlier and Catherine could tell her anything and be assured of sympathy. So she told her about the disastrous love affairs with Frank and Gerald on Tyneside, and Maurice in Hastings; of her regret that nothing had come of her friendship with Alf in Essex. The only subject she refused to talk about was Kate, and Bridie did not push her.
Her friend helped her choose furniture for her flat, scouring secondhand shops and auctions for bargains. She bought an antique walnut table and chairs to go in the window, and willow-patterned plates; fancy brass fire irons and a glass-fronted bookcase for her growing collection of books. Catherine would rather skip meals and scrimp on food so that she could afford luxuries for her flat. Yet she was careful with her money, always putting half her salary away each month and choosing her purchases after much thought.
‘You have the tastes of a real lady,’ Bridie would admire. ‘Are you sure you’re not the daughter of the Duke of Northumberland?’ Catherine knew she was being teased, but on several occasions nearly blurted out that she was indeed the daughter of a gentleman.
When Christmas neared, Catherine grew morose.
‘Why don’t you go home to your parents?’ Bridie suggested. ‘Won’t they be expecting it? When’s the last time you saw them?’
‘A year and a half ago,’ Catherine answered guiltily.
‘Well then, off you go and enjoy yourself. You’re too young to be spending your holidays on your own.’
‘The Townsends have kindly invited me round for Christmas dinner,’ Catherine said, trying to summon enthusiasm.
‘They’re even older than me,’ Bridie protested. ‘No, you get yourself up north with your Irish cousins. I bet they know how to celebrate.’
Something in Catherine’s expression must have betrayed her dread. Bridie sat down beside her on the seat in the bay window. Outside the wind battered the trees and tugged at the hats of passers-by.
‘What’s the matter? Is it something I said?’
Catherine shook her head, then abruptly succumbed to tears. Bridie pulled her into her arms and stroked her hair in comfort.
‘There, there,’ she crooned, ‘have a good weep. Tell Auntie Bridie what’s upsetting you.’
Haltingly, Catherine began to tell her friend all about Kate and the shame of having no father that hung over her like a black cloud. She told her of Kate’s destructive drinking and the fear of growing up in a warring house, where moods could change in an instant and beatings were as common as rainy days.
‘My stepfather, Davie, is canny enough,’ Catherine conceded, ‘but he’s weak - can’t say no to Kate. When he’s home from sea with a bit of money in his pocket, the drinking goes on for days.’ She looked at Bridie, willing her to understand. ‘You can’t imagine what it was like growing up there. I thought I had a real mam and dad and three big sisters and a brother. Then one day, the bairns in the street started picking on me - pushing me around. I pushed them back. Then they said it.’ Catherine gulped back tears. ‘ “You’ve got no da, you’ve got no da”, on and on like a skipping song. They all knew, and I didn’t. Said me mam was Kate. “You’ve got no da and your mam’s a drinker.” ‘
Tears spilt down her face as she forced herself to remember.
‘And I ran into the back yard to get away from the horrible chanting - and I looked up and there was Kate staring at me. I was only seven, but I knew that instant it was all true.’ Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. ‘She’d heard everything. But she was smiling. Standing at the door and smiling. It was the worst moment of me life and yet the stupid woman was smiling, like I should be pleased with the news.’ Catherine shuddered. ‘I’ll never forgive her for that smile - never.’
‘Hush, hush,’ Bridie comforted, rocking her in her arms, ‘my poor, darling girl.’
‘For years I couldn’t bear the thought of her being my mother - still call her Kate like she’s my sister.’ Catherine looked at her miserably. ‘I can’t go home. You do see that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. What a terrible burden for such young shoulders.’
‘I’ve just started putting it all behind me,’ Catherine went on. ‘Since meeting you I’ve stopped having these terrible nightmares - a man in a black robe chasing me and I can’t get away, I’m chained to something and Kate is standing watching in the distance, but she’s laughing ‘cos she thinks it’s all a joke.’
Catherine took the handkerchief Bridie offered. ‘Thank you. You always seem to be mopping up my tears.’ She tried to smile. ‘You’re such a good friend, Bridie. More than that. Friend and mother rolled into one - a real mother who cares all the time and not just when I’ve struggled up the hill with a jarful of whisky.’
‘That’s because I do care,’ Bridie said. ‘But I wouldn’t say no to a drop of sherry. I think we both need one. You sit right there while I fetch a couple of glasses.’
They stoked up the fire and Bridie sat at Catherine’s feet while they sipped sherry and ate mince pies that Bridie had brought. Later, they put chestnuts into the embers and ate them piping hot. No more mention was made of Kate or going home to Jarrow, and by the time Bridie came to leave, Catherine felt light-headed with relief that her friend knew her true situation. There would be no more secrets between them.
&nbs
p; ‘I’ll miss you,’ Catherine said, hugging her fiercely. ‘Come back soon, won’t you?’
‘Like a bad penny,’ Bridie grinned, kissing her forehead. ‘I hate to leave you on your own - especially now I know what you’ve been through. If it wasn’t for Maisie—’
‘I know,’ Catherine reassured her quickly. ‘You don’t have to explain to me. You’re doing what a mother should - putting your daughter first. I admire you for it. Wish you were mine.’
Bridie touched her cheek. ‘I am yours.’
When she had gone, Catherine went back to the fire and stared into the flickering light. She was drowsy and content. This elegant room, made cosy by long velvet curtains and the yellow glow from a tall reading lamp, was her home. All hers. One day she might have someone with whom to share it.
Bridie left for Ireland in mid-December. Catherine got a postcard of a man with a donkey. ‘This is the local taxi!’ wrote Bridie. There was no news, but she had added her address.
Catherine wrote back a long letter, full of descriptions of the wintry landscape and news from the laundry. On Christmas Day, she attended Mass in the elegant pebble-dashed Victorian church in the old town, letting her mind wander pleasantly as she gazed into the stone-vaulted roof. Would Bridie be at church at the same time, offering up prayers of thanks to Our Lady that they had found each other?
The Townsends, master and matron of the workhouse, treated her to a huge Christmas dinner of turkey and vegetables, followed by plum pudding and white sauce. Mrs Townsend seemed sorry for her being left on her own and had even wrapped her up a present.
‘It’s a blue scarf and matching gloves - just your colour, dear,’ Mrs Townsend smiled. ‘Such a shame you not getting home for Christmas. Perhaps your mother could manage a visit down here when the weather picks up?’
The woman meant well, but Catherine shuddered at the thought of what havoc Kate might wreak in genteel Hastings.
She rushed home and wrote an affectionate letter to Bridie. Matron had been very kind, but how she missed having a real friend at such a time, someone she could laugh with and tell secrets to. In a wave of bonhomie, Catherine rashly added,
I hate to think of you going back to your little cell in the laundry when I’m living in such a palace! When you come back, why don’t you share it with me? There’s plenty room and you can give me a little towards the rent if you like. We can sort that out later. I’m not doing this out of charity, so don’t even think it. I’m asking because it’s lonely here without you. You being away so long has made me realise how much I miss your company. We’re like soul-mates, you and me. I’ve never loved any woman the way I love you, Bridie, except maybe Grandma Rose! Write back quickly and tell me what you think. Or better still - come back. I can’t wait to see you and give you a big, big hug.
All my love,
Catherine
She went and posted it before she changed her mind. The air was sharp, prickling her nose and making her head ache. By the time she got home, her nose had started to bleed heavily and she crawled into bed, feeling suddenly depressed. If Bridie was living with her, there would be someone to take care of her when the bleedings came. How she longed to have someone to look after her. All her life people had expected her to be strong and at their beck and call.
Catherine stayed indoors on Boxing Day, then dragged herself to work the day after. She felt tired and listless.
‘You sickening for something?’ Matron asked in concern.
Catherine denied it. She could hardly tell her she was missing her friend in Ireland.
Word came a couple of days later from Bridie. Maisie was ill and her return was delayed. Catherine fretted and worried. What if she decided not to come back after all? What if she returned but had to bring Maisie too? There was hardly room for three in the flat. When she had made the offer, it had not occurred to her that Bridie’s simple daughter might have to be accommodated too. Finally, Catherine decided that she would be prepared to take Maisie as well, if it guaranteed that Bridie came back.
After a long day at the laundry, in the middle of January, Catherine trudged home in the dark, the pavements frosty and treacherous. When she looked up on the slippery path outside her house, she saw a crack of light between the curtains in her front room. For a moment she puzzled over whether she had left a light on all day. Her heart missed a beat.
As she was fumbling with her key in the lock, the door opened as if by magic. There stood Bridie, smiling face flushed from the fire.
‘I used the spare key under the plant pot,’ she grinned. ‘Got the tea on. Sausages and tatties. You look frozen through. Come in, come in.’ Bridie held out her arms.
Catherine hugged her in exultation.
‘You came back! Did you get my letter?’
‘I did indeed,’ Bridie laughed. ‘Why do you think I’m here, my darling girl?’
‘So you’ll stay?’ Catherine asked, as her friend helped her out of her coat and hung it on the back of the door.
‘As long as you want,’ Bridie promised. ‘I’m going to look after you from now on.’
Chapter 28
Catherine had never been so happy as in those spring months of 1931. During the day she worked tirelessly at her job, her attention to detail gaining Matron’s approval and admiration. In the lengthening evenings, she and Bridie would walk to the end of the pier and watch the fishing boats, or stay indoors listening to their new wireless and cooking.
To Catherine these relaxed moments of companionship were what made her so happy. They reminded her of the rare evenings of her childhood when there had been harmony in the kitchen at William Black Street and she had sat on the warm fender reading while Rose darned, John dozed and Kate gave her the end of the pastry to shape as she wished.
But with Bridie, the evening never ended with an explosion of temper or her in tears. There was much laughter and gossip about the laundry staff and singing along to the wireless. At night, they shared the large bed in the corner, like family, and Bridie snuggled against her back, making her feel safe and secure in the way Kate sometimes had when not reeking of whisky.
When the summer came, Catherine introduced her friend to the tennis club and paid for lessons, ignoring Bridie’s protests that she was too old. They went there most weekends and joined in the social activities, the two women proving popular with their repertoire of songs and ready laughter. Catherine treated Maurice and the other men with breezy friendliness as if she had never courted the previous summer, and kept them all at arm’s length. With Bridie in tow, she would quash any tittle-tattle that she played fast and loose with men. For above all, Catherine craved to be accepted by her new middle-class friends, and longed for their approval.
At home, in the flat, she did not have to pretend; Bridie knew and accepted everything about her. Catherine bathed in the warmth of the woman’s kindness and attention. Even an awkward conversation with Mrs Townsend did not dampen her high spirits.
‘I’m not sure it’s wise taking Mrs McKim in as your lodger,’ Matron warned.
‘She’s not my lodger - she’s my friend,’ Catherine answered in surprise.
‘Still, it’s a very small flat to be sharing with someone - who’s - well - not one of your family.’
Catherine bristled. ‘It’s big enough - and she’s got much more room than she’d have in the staff block. Anyway, it’s good company for me.’
Matron studied her. ‘You’re a generous young woman. I just don’t want to see anyone take advantage of your kindness, that’s all.’
Catherine laughed. ‘Bridie’s not like that. She’d give me the shirt off her back if I asked for it. Really, Mrs Townsend, there’s no need for you to worry.’
Afterwards, Catherine pushed the matron’s baffling comments to the back of her mind and never mentioned them to her friend, for fear she would be o
ffended. As summer raced by, Bridie made arrangements to visit Maisie in Ireland again.
‘I could come with you,’ Catherine suggested. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit the place Grandda harked on about all his life.’
But Bridie was evasive. ‘Yes, that would be grand - but maybe not this time. I’ll not be gone for long and it’s such a journey. And we’d not have time to see the sights - just a lot of visiting.’
Catherine was disappointed and wondered if Bridie was embarrassed about her background.
‘I’m used to a crowded house, you know. I don’t mind if it’s not the Ritz.’
But Bridie was stubborn. ‘Maisie might be difficult - always demanding my attention. It’d be no holiday for you at all.’
Catherine stalked out of the flat and went for a long walk, hurt and puzzled as to why her friend should not want her to go. It did not matter to her that Maisie was dim-witted or might throw a tantrum; she had coped with much worse on the wards of Harton.
It was dark by the time she returned, and she felt a rush of guilt to see Bridie standing in the street, shaking with cold and looking out for her.
‘Come in, little lamb,’ Bridie coaxed, ‘I’ve been that worried about you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Catherine said, her anger gone.
‘Not as much as me.’
Bridie fussed over her, plying her with hot tea. It was while they were making friends again, that the older woman came up with the suggestion.
‘Why don’t you go up to Jarrow while I’m away?’
Catherine stared at her in disbelief.
‘I know how you feel,’ Bridie went on quickly, ‘but you can’t go on avoiding your mother for ever.’
‘Why not?’ Catherine snorted.
‘Because it wouldn’t be right. Whatever her faults, the woman’s not to blame for everything. She never left you in the lurch like your father - she always provided for you, didn’t she? You told me yourself, Kate gave up a happy job at the bakery to come home and care for your grandma and you. Isn’t it time you went to see her?’
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