Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Catherine had told Bridie about her disastrous lessons as a girl and her half-hearted attempt to play again while courting Gerald Rolland. But Bridie played a bit and insisted Catherine would love it if she just let herself try. While they sipped drinks in front of a crackling fire, Bridie opened the lid and began to play a jaunty music-hall tune. Then, to the surprise of everyone, Harold stepped forward.

  ‘I’d like to play,’ he said simply. He sat flexing his fingers then bent over the keys. After a hesitant start, he began to play ‘Greensleeves’. After once through, Harold began to sing the song too. Catherine was amazed at his clear, tuneful voice. She had never heard him sing in the six months he had lived there.

  Bridie clapped in delight. ‘What talent! You’re a dark horse, so you are. Play us another one, Mr Harold.’

  He smiled boyishly under his mop of fair hair and played ‘Linden Lee’. The others gathered around him and sang along. They were almost finished when the door banged open. Catherine turned to see her mother standing white-faced in the doorway, staring.

  Harold finished and the last notes died away. Bridie clapped. Kate limped across the room, her hand outstretched towards Harold, mouthing something. As she reached him, he turned and she stopped abruptly, dropping her hand.

  ‘I thought - it sounded - you looked—’ she mumbled in confusion.

  Catherine stepped round quickly and took her by the arm. ‘Doesn’t Mr Harold play well, Kate?’

  ‘Mr Harold? Yes . . .’

  Her mother looked on the verge of tears.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down a minute?’ Catherine said in alarm. The last thing she wanted was a scene in front of the residents. ‘I’ll get you a sip of ginger wine.’ It was non-alcoholic, so even Mrs Fairy could not disapprove.

  But Kate waved her away, seeming to take control of herself again.

  ‘Whose piano is it?’ she demanded.

  Bridie said brightly, ‘It’s ours. Me and Catherine bought it for Christmas. Isn’t it just the grandest thing?’

  Kate gave Catherine a hard look. ‘You’ve bought a piano?’

  Catherine nodded, feeling like a child again under her mother’s glare. ‘It was Bridie’s idea.’

  Kate snorted. ‘Aye, it would be. No doubt you’ll play for her like you never played for me.’

  With that, she turned and made for the door, calling, ‘Dinner’s ready when you’ve finished your little singsong.’

  An awkwardness settled on the group and Harold quietly shut the piano lid. Catherine was annoyed with her mother for spoiling the moment, yet felt a prick of guilt about the piano. Kate had been so keen for her to learn the instrument and play it for a living, but Catherine had resented the pressure and been fearful of the mounting debt of unpaid lessons and payments. It had ended in failure and the humiliation of Kate’s piano being repossessed.

  Through Christmas lunch, Catherine watched her mother warily for signs of a storm brewing, but Kate’s strange mood seemed to have passed. Once they were all full to the brim with turkey and plum pudding, it was Kate who suggested they return to the fire and a singsong around the piano.

  ‘My father used to play “Linden Lee”,’ she told Harold as she propped herself on a chair by the piano. ‘It’s one of the few things I remember about him. Will you play it again for me?’

  She sang along with tears in her eyes and Catherine felt pity for her mother. It explained her agitated state earlier. Harold’s music had conjured up a strong memory of Kate’s real father, a man she could hardly recall. Catherine felt a bitter-sweet longing for her own unknown father. Perhaps he had played the piano or sung such songs. She would never know and Kate would never tell her.

  Mrs Fairy went for a nap, the major dozed by the fire and Catherine and Bridie went for a walk before the light faded. By the time they returned it was dark and they could see Kate and Davie illuminated in the sitting-room window, swigging from cups and singing, Harold still banging away at the piano.

  ‘Bet that’s not tea they’re drinking,’ Catherine muttered.

  Bridie took her arm. ‘Don’t say anything today. It’ll only spoil things. Plenty time to sober her up before the other lodgers come back.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘Suppose you’re right. It’s just, whenever Davie’s around she drinks like there’s no tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s ‘cos he’s there to stand up for her. She knows she can push her luck when her man’s around,’ Bridie answered. ‘You should put him off coming here so much.’

  Catherine tried to curb Kate’s boisterousness by bringing in tea and fruit cake, and suggesting a game of cards. But her mother ignored her and carried on singing, bullying Harold to keep playing. Eventually he got up.

  ‘I can’t play any more,’ he announced, and left for the sanctuary of his own room.

  ‘We’ll get the major’s gramophone then,’ Kate cried, and sent Davie to fetch it from the kitchen.

  She ordered Davie and the major to push back the furniture and roll up the carpet so they could dance. Mrs Fairy stalked out and Catherine gave up trying to organise a game of whist. She helped Maisie with a game of patience, then left the others dancing and went early to bed.

  There she goes, Miss Misery Guts,’ Kate shouted after her. ‘Doesn’t know how to enjoy herself.’

  For a long time Catherine lay in the chilly bedroom listening to her mother’s raucous singing, stung by the taunt that she was joyless. Could it be true? As a child she had been happy to stand on the fender and sing for the family. On feast days and Hogmanays she had stayed up late at the houses of cousins or friends and joined in the celebrations.

  But a part of her had always held back, frightened that the evening would spin out of control. It might end in a fight or fire irons being hurled across the room. She had to stay awake, be ever vigilant or something would happen to Kate. Predatory hands might come for her in the night, seek her mother out while she lay unconscious with drink.

  Once more, Catherine had a vivid memory of a dark shadow looming over the feather bed that she had once shared with Kate in Jarrow. A man was pulling at her mother, breathing hard, cursing and pleading.

  ‘Gerr-off her,’ Catherine said in fright. ‘Leave our Kate alone!’

  But the man ignored her and went on pawing at Kate’s prone body, bending over her and breathing his staleness over them both.

  ‘Wake up, Kate,’ Catherine whimpered, until finally her mother stirred. Befuddled confusion quickly turned to panic, as Kate tried to push the man off her. She hissed at him and struck out. There was tussling and swearing, then Kate was out of bed and groping for the door. With a blast of cold air she was gone. The back door banged and Catherine heard her feet slapping across the backyard into the privy.

  She was left, crouching under the covers, heart hammering while the dark man swayed above her. She held her breath, waiting for him to move, until her lungs nearly burst. Finally he went and she was left shaking in the bed, all alone. She kept awake, waiting and waiting for Kate to return and warm up the space beside her. But she never came. Catherine lay for the rest of the night, listening out for noises, for her mother’s return or the thud of the man’s big feet and praying, praying for the dawn ....

  Remembering the menace of it now, Catherine lay once again sweating with fear, yet shaking with cold. This was how celebrations ended. Just the sound of her mother’s singing and the whisky-fuelled laughter was enough to set her insides churning. How could she ever explain this? Not even fun-loving Bridie would understand. Her friend had stayed below; she thought Catherine was spoiling the fun too. Burying down under the covers, Catherine wished she could share in their light-heartedness.

  Boxing Day broke with pale sunshine and a sea becalmed after days of storms. Catherine’s spirits lifted at once to see the light glinting through the bare branches, and she determined to
put the upsets of the previous day behind her.

  She got up and went to cook breakfast for everyone. In the kitchen she found empty whisky and rum bottles on the hearth. The sitting room was littered with dirty glasses and plates, and none of the furniture had been pulled back into place. She was annoyed to think that Bridie would leave everything in such a state. As she set to, Mrs Fairy came wheezing through the door, tutting at the mess.

  ‘I’m sorry—’ Catherine began.

  ‘Not your doing,’ the old lady replied, and helped her clear up.

  Kate and Davie did not appear for breakfast. Bridie sat bleary-eyed, drinking large cupfuls of tea. Sensing Catherine’s disapproval, she made no mention of the night before, but talked of the major’s plan to take them to the hotel dance that evening.

  ‘Proper dance band,’ Bridie enthused, ‘and supper served halfway through. I think you should wear that green dress we bought in the sale - with the velvet collar and cuffs. They’ll be queuing up to fill your dance card, with you dressed like a princess.’

  Catherine laughed, eager at the thought of getting dressed up. The lodgers would begin to return after Boxing Day, so she was going to make the most of her trip out.

  She hardly saw Kate or Davie during the day. They disappeared out at lunchtime and only came back as the threesome were on the point of leaving for the dance at The Imperial. Maisie was rushing about feeling their dresses and twirling her own pleated woollen skirt.

  Mrs Fairy said, ‘Let them go, dearie. We’ll have ourselves a bite of supper and a game of snap.’

  Kate just stared at them with glassy eyes and said nothing. Catherine picked up her coat and let Major Holloway put it on, eager to be gone. She could not read her mother’s mood. Maudlin or belligerent? Certainly not the desperate cheerfulness of Christmas night.

  As soon as they got to the hotel, glittering with lights and warmth, Catherine forgot about Kate’s look and determined to enjoy every minute of the evening. She danced with the major several times and another man she knew from the tennis club. He invited them over to share a supper table with several others.

  They teased her good-naturedly. ‘Well, if it isn’t the lady of the manor!’

  ‘Where have you been hiding all year?’

  ‘We’ve missed you, darling.’

  Catherine laughed and joked with them about life at The Hurst, and promised she would play more tennis come 1934. She was enjoying herself so much that she hardly noticed how quiet Bridie had become, sitting at her side. It was only when her friend complained of a headache and rose to leave that she realised something was wrong.

  ‘No, you stay and enjoy yourself,’ Bridie said, pressing fingers to her brow. ‘I’ll make my own way home.’

  Catherine got up in concern and followed her. ‘You can’t go back on your own - it’s too dark. Can’t you just stay a little longer? I’ve promised the next dance to the major.’

  Bridie closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘A walk in the fresh air might clear it.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘No, don’t worry, we’ll come back now. I’m sure Major Holloway will understand.’

  She returned to say goodbye to her friends. As she crossed the ballroom with the major to rejoin Bridie, he murmured, ‘You shouldn’t let her get her own way all the time. Runs rings round you.’

  ‘Who?’ Catherine asked, startled.

  ‘Mrs McKim, of course. Got to show her who’s boss. Otherwise you’ll have a dog’s life.’

  Catherine flushed. ‘I-I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  His look was pitying. ‘No, my dear lady, I don’t think you do.’

  Baffled by his words, Catherine dismissed them. He was just disappointed at having to go early.

  Back at the house, Bridie seemed to revive with a cup of tea. The major excused himself, waving aside Catherine’s attempts to thank him for the evening. The house was quiet, with no sign of anyone else still up. They took their tea into the sitting room, lit only by a flickering fire.

  With a start, Catherine saw a figure rise up from an armchair in the bay window.

  ‘What a fright!’ she gasped.

  ‘S-so the love-birds are back, eh?’ Kate’s voice was slurred.

  Catherine huffed with impatience. ‘If you mean me and the major, we—’

  ‘The major?’ Kate laughed harshly. ‘No, not him.’ She staggered forward and knocked over a small drinks table.

  Catherine fumbled to switch on the standard lamp before something got broken. Light fell in a pool around them. Kate clutched a chair to steady herself, her face blotchy and hair dishevelled. She was very drunk.

  ‘That one there!’ she snarled, pointing a finger at Bridie. ‘She’s your love-bird.’

  ‘Kate, sit down and stop your daft talk,’ Catherine said, trying to steer her to a seat. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

  ‘Not enough,’ Kate cried, throwing off her daughter’s hand. She barged forward to the piano. Catherine saw a row of bottles arranged along the lid. Kate picked one up and took a swig straight from it. It splashed down her chin.

  ‘I hope you’ve not marked the wood,’ Catherine said indignantly.

  ‘Why should I care about your bloody piano?’ Kate said savagely. ‘You never cared about mine! My little nest egg - all spent on you. Everything on you. Scrimpin’ and savin’ for lessons. Payin’ wi’ owt I had - makin’ pies for the teacher - jus’ for my Kitty. Threw it all back in me face.’

  Catherine answered back. ‘The piano wasn’t paid for - it was taken away. How could I have gone on playing?’

  ‘You never tried,’ Kate accused. ‘Just to spite me.’

  ‘You never asked me if I wanted to learn in the first place. Would have saved us all a lot of bother if you had.’

  ‘You hate me, don’t you? Always have done,’ Kate cried. ‘I can see it in your eyes - those damned eyes of his!’ She swung towards the piano again and seized a bottle in both hands. She took a swig from one and then the other.

  ‘Stop it, Kate—’

  ‘This is what I’m like,’ Kate laughed mirthlessly, ‘this is yer mother. Not good enough for you.’ She poured whisky into her mouth. It splashed down her front. ‘A whore and a drunk, that’s what your grandda called me. That’s what I am.’

  Catherine watched in horror as she did the same with the brandy. Suddenly Bridie moved from beside the fire and wrestled the bottles out of Kate’s hands.

  ‘Enough,’ she decreed. ‘Do you want to kill yourself?’

  Kate fought back for them, staggered and lost her balance. She fell to the floor, raging.

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Kill mesel’. I’ll do it! Then you two whores can be together.’ She picked herself up, panting for breath, her eyes wild.

  ‘Don’t say such things,’ Catherine cried in disgust.

  ‘It’s true,’ Kate shouted. ‘Actin’ all holy to the priest - puttin’ on airs for your lodgers. But I know what you’re really like - worse than me -you and that creature!’ She spat out the words. ‘Sharin’ a bed. What d’you do in it, eh?’

  Catherine was livid. She bunched her fists. ‘How dare you! We do nothing but sleep - not like you when we used to share a bed!’

  Bridie said, ‘Don’t, Catherine, you’re making it worse.’

  But she was too upset to stop. ‘Was it with me grandda or one of the lodgers?’

  Kate gasped in shock. For a moment they stared at each other, numbed by the hateful words. Then Kate’s face contorted in fury. In a flash, she seized one of Davie’s hobnailed boots, left on the hearth, and raised it above her head. With a scream of rage, she hurled it straight at Catherine’s head.

  In that split second, Bridie shoved Catherine. The boot caught Catherine on the side of the head as she turned away. Stunned, she grippe
d her ear, the pain flaring. Bridie had her arms around her in seconds.

  ‘Are you all right? Let me look. My God, you’re bleeding. Come to the kitchen, I’ll clean it up.’

  Catherine was too shocked to cry.

  Bridie steered her from the room. ‘You’re all right, pet lamb . . .’

  Behind them, through ringing ears, Catherine could hear her mother sobbing.

  Chapter 37

  The next morning, Bridie tried to persuade Catherine to stay in bed.

  ‘You rest,’ her friend urged. ‘I’ll ring Mrs Townsend, tell her you’re sick.’

  Catherine was tempted. Her head throbbed and she dreaded facing the world, especially Kate. But she knew if she did not, then it would be twice as hard later. She had hardly slept, kept awake by dwelling on their terrible row and the hatred on her mother’s face. Her feelings for Kate went beyond resentment and anger; now she feared her mother too. How could they carry on living under the same roof?

  She struggled out of bed, feeling weak and nauseous. For the sake of the residents, she must carry on as if nothing had happened. Carefully, she combed her hair over the cut on her ear and dabbed on extra foundation to cover up the bruising to her cheekbone, wincing at the pain.

  There was no sign of Kate in the kitchen. With Bridie’s help, Catherine made a hasty breakfast and left it in the dining room for the guests to help themselves.

  All day, she worried over what to do, but as she was preparing to drag herself home, she saw Bridie waiting for her outside the laundry gates.

  ‘It’s all calmed down,’ Bridie reported cheerfully. ‘Dorothy and Mr Hobbs are back and Kate’s been making up the beds. Tail between her legs and can’t do enough to help.’

  Catherine said indignantly, ‘She can’t just pretend last night didn’t happen. The things she said to me—’

  ‘She was very drunk. She won’t remember half she said - and probably never meant it.’

  ‘How can you defend her after the things she said about us?’ Catherine accused.