‘I’ve brought you some baccy,’ Davie grinned at his father-in-law, ‘and a drop of the hard stuff.’
‘Good on you, lad!’ John’s gaunt face smiled. He flapped a hand impatiently at Kate. ‘Get them poured, woman.’
Kate ignored him as she pulled out a chair for Davie and took his coat from him.
‘Sit yourself down. How was your trip? When did you get in? You should’ve sent word and we could’ve come to meet you. Couldn’t we, Kitty? You’re looking as thin as a poker. Have you been ill?’
Davie laughed, his eyes shining with affection. ‘I’m grand. Come and sit beside me, Kate.’
‘No, I can see you need feeding up,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll fetch that pie - and I can fry up some tatties in half a minute.’
Davie caught her arm and swung her on to his knee. ‘Stop fussing.’ He kissed her cheek and poured out whisky into the cups. ‘Pass this one to your grandda, Kitty.’
Catherine eyed him. She was not his skivvy.
‘Gan on,’ John said, prodding her with his foot, ‘do as your da says.’
She got up, biting back a retort and passed over the cup Davie held out. The evening was ruined. They would finish the bottle, then she would be sent out to fetch more. Well, she wouldn’t do it. Kate hadn’t even bothered to wipe the flour off the table before starting to drink. Catherine’s heart sank to think she would have to wait up until all the drinking and talking was over before she could make her bed on the hard settle. Sometimes, as a child, she had curled up and gone to sleep there while the noise and drinking went on around her. But she was too old for that now. It rankled that Kate wanted her warming the bed when Davie was away, but as soon as he was back she was turfed out.
‘How long you back for?’ Catherine asked.
‘Till after Christmas.’
‘That’s grand,’ Kate said in delight. ‘We’ll have the best time ever.’
‘I’ve a present for you, Kitty,’ Davie smiled. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a wodge of newspaper, holding it out to her.
‘Can’t I keep it for Christmas?’ Catherine said, keeping her arms folded.
‘I’ll buy you something else for that.’
Kate said, ‘Gan on, Kitty, don’t be so ungrateful. I want to see what it is.’
She took the parcel and unwrapped the foreign newspaper. Inside was a gaudy, painted doll. She felt like telling him she was too old for dolls.
‘It’s Russian. Open it up,’ Davie urged. ‘It pulls apart in the middle.’
Catherine twisted the doll in half, intrigued in spite of herself. Inside was another doll, smaller and painted with different patterns.
‘Do it again,’ Davie chuckled.
Catherine pulled off the top of the second doll, revealing a third one. She carried on until there were six dolls, the final one a tiny replica of the first with nothing left inside, just a hollow sound when she tapped it. Catherine was fascinated and appalled by the expressionless figures. They were just like her, a facade hiding an inner person that she did not dare show the world. If she stripped away all her faces, would she find a frightened hollow person at her core? The thought terrified her. So did the dolls.
Quickly she stuffed them back into each other.
‘Aren’t they bonny?’ Kate demanded.
‘Aye,’ Catherine gulped, ‘but I’m too old for dolls. Maybes cousin Ida would like them. I’ll give them to her the next time Aunt Sarah’s over visitin’. She’d love to play with them.’
Davie gave her a strange look. She had hurt him with her rejection. Or maybe it was his way of saying he could see right through her.
‘There’s no pleasing our Kitty,’ Kate said in annoyance. ‘Don’t mind her. What you got for me, Davie man?’
Davie fumbled in his bag again and pulled out a piece of cloth wrapped in a jumper.
‘You’ve brought me back a duster?’ Kate teased.
‘Look inside.’
She unfolded the cloth with the excitement of a child. Inside was a metal brooch. Kate held it up to the light: an exotic bird painted in china blue.
‘Match your eyes,’ Davie said bashfully.
Suddenly, Kate was crying.
Davie said in alarm, ‘I thought you’d like it—’
‘I do,’ Kate sobbed. ‘It’s beautiful! No one’s given me anything this grand in years.’
‘Don’t be so soft!’ John snorted. ‘What you want with jewellery, any road? Gan to wear it on your pinny?’
She glared at him. ‘I’ll find some’at to wear it on.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Ta, Davie.’ He poured her another shot of whisky.
Catherine watched them from her perch on the fender, wondering if her real father had ever given Kate such a brooch. Alexander would have given her something much grander, she was sure. But if he had, it was sold or pawned long ago, for Kate possessed no jewellery, save Davie’s cheap wedding ring. How she wished there was something from her father that Kate could have passed on to her to keep - some hint of his tastes - tangible proof of his existence. But Kate would have sold it for drink long ago. Anger curdled inside her. She stood up.
‘I want to gan to bed. Some of us have to work the morra.’
‘Sit doon.’ Kate waved at her to be seated. ‘It’s early yet.’
‘You sleep in here then and I’ll gan in the bed,’ Catherine challenged, remaining on her feet.
‘Just a bit longer, hinny.’
‘You’ll not notice the difference after that whisky,’ Catherine muttered.
‘Don’t give me your lip,’ Kate snapped, instantly riled. She was out of her seat and swaying towards her daughter. ‘Don’t look at me with his eyes!’ she hissed. ‘You’ve no right to speak to me like that. I’ve worked me fingers to the bone for you, you selfish lass. I’m entitled to a bit fun when me man comes home from sea. And you’ll not tell me what I’m to do and not to do in me own home, do you hear?’
‘It’s my home an’ all,’ Catherine flashed back, ‘not that you’d think it. Why should I have to gan on the settle like a lodger? I’m bringing in more wages than you - don’t I deserve a bed?’
‘Then gan in with your grandda.’ Kate was dismissive.
Catherine glared at her mother. How could she suggest such a thing, knowing what a lecherous old man he was? She remembered times when old John had come staggering into their bedroom and fumbled drunkenly with Kate while she fought him off, with Grandma Rose lying helpless and bed-bound in the next room.
‘I’ll leave home,’ Catherine threatened wildly, ‘and I’ll not come back!’
‘Don’t talk daft.’
‘I mean it. I’ll sign up with an agency and gan into place.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I would!’
John scoffed. ‘You’d not last two minutes skivvying for posh folk. You’ve too many airs and graces.’
Catherine was riled. ‘I can work as hard as any lass round here.’
‘It’s what’s in your head’s different,’ John said. ‘You take after me -won’t be put upon by the bosses. They’re no better than us, Kitty. Still have to wipe their backsides, whoever they are. You don’t want to work for the nobs - that’s for common lasses like Kate.’
‘Don’t call me common!’ Kate blazed. ‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black!’
In an instant, John had seized the poker and was brandishing it at Kate. But he was slower on his feet than in times past, and she easily stepped out of his way. He cursed her and lunged again.
‘I’ll tak the frying pan to you again,’ she threatened. ‘You’ll not get the better of me, you old fool.’
Catherine jumped aside as John kicked a chair out of his way. Davie got up and barged between them.
‘Haway, there’s no ne
ed for this.’
‘Out me way,’ John shouted. ‘If you won’t keep her in order, I will.’
‘Put the poker down, man,’ Davie said.
‘This is my house,’ John ranted, waving the poker at Davie. ‘You’ll not tell me what to do.’
Davie grabbed it and wrestled it out of his grip. It clanged on the table, smashing one of the cups. Whisky splashed across the floury surface. Davie pushed John back into his seat. Kate looked triumphant. Not since old Rose had died had she had an ally against the bullying John. Catherine knew from that look that her mother would not be encouraging Davie back to sea in a hurry.
Her protest had backfired. Now Davie would be ensconced at Number Ten for weeks to come. It had been stupid to make threats about leaving, for she had nowhere to go. The walls of the hot cramped kitchen pressed in around her. She was trapped.
Chapter 5
Unofficial war was declared: Kate and Davie against Catherine. At least that was how Catherine saw it. Kate left her to run the house while she was out at work and expected tea on the table when she got in. But Catherine had the men demanding food and drink all day long, as well as trying to complete her Christmas orders. Davie would help with bringing in the coal and go out for the odd errand while buying his newspaper, but John did nothing.
When Kate got home, Davie’s co-operation ceased. He sided with Kate over everything.
‘Do as your mam says,’ he constantly repeated. Or, ‘Can’t you see Kate’s had a hard day? Just do as she asks, lass.’
Catherine seethed with resentment. Every day was a hard day for her. At the end of it she had to carry on working in the dim light with her paints while they sat around chatting and drinking. Kate never helped her with her Christmas orders like she had promised.
‘Lend us sixpence for a jug of beer, hinny,’ Kate whispered in the scullery. ‘You’re making good money.’
‘Why can’t he?’ Catherine protested.
‘Davie’s money is his own - and he’s generous with it. I don’t like to ask.’
Catherine’s look was contemptuous. Why should the men spend their money how they liked, while the women were expected to use theirs on the household? It would be different when she was married. Grudgingly, she gave her mother the sixpence. But she determined Kate would never get to know of the money she saved and hid in the rafters of the outside privy. Years of living in fear at her family’s spendthrift ways had made her cautious. That was hers alone, gathered from hard work and saving. She would not let her mother drink it all away.
Apart from going to confession and Mass, Catherine hardly left the house all through December. She missed the youth club party.
‘I can’t, Lily man,’ she said distractedly when her friend called, ‘I’ve too much to finish.’
‘You can do it later,’ her friend said impatiently.
‘Folk are relying on these as presents. I can’t let them down. You’ll have to gan with Amelia or one of the other lasses.’
Lily left in a huff and Catherine did not see her again until after Christmas. Catherine sat up late on Christmas Eve finishing her orders. Even Kate belatedly helped with the sewing, though her work was hurried. At midnight, Catherine tramped round Jarrow, making her final deliveries to the more well-to-do houses. By Christmas Day, Catherine was so exhausted she fell asleep during Mass and yawned all through the dinner she helped Kate prepare.
Work did not let up in January. Although there were layoffs at the yards, there seemed to be plenty of custom for her covers. Birthdays, weddings, christenings and the approaching Mothering Sunday gave her more work than she could cope with.
She grew tired and irritable, but would not turn work away. She had to save, so there was money put by. Davie’s wages had run out, but bad weather and slackening trade had delayed his return to sea. At mealtimes, Catherine served the smallest portions to herself until her appetite dwindled and she lost interest in food. No one seemed to notice, yet tempers grew fractious when there wasn’t enough left of Kate’s wages for drink. John hobbled down the hill to Tyne Dock to spend his pension round the pubs, but would give Kate nothing towards housekeeping.
‘It’s my money - I’ve slaved for it and I’ll spend it how I like,’ John declared when Kate complained.
‘It’s a war pension for our Jack being killed,’ Kate rounded on him. ‘It’s as much mine as yours!’
‘He was my son - my flesh and blood,’ John snarled. ‘You were just his half-sister.’
‘I meant more to him than you ever did,’ Kate said tearfully. ‘He thought the world of me.’
‘He thought you were a slut,’ John spat into the fire. ‘And I’ll tak the belt to ye if you touch a penny of me money.’
Catherine tried to ignore their wrangling, but it left her insides knotted. She never knew when their bickering would erupt into violence. All she could do was work, save the pennies and pray for better times. She found solace in going to church, her one release of the week.
Catherine prayed for her mother and grandfather, terrified that they might die with their sins still unwashed. Kate would only go to confession once in a blue moon - ‘for a good rake out’ as she called it - but John never went at all. It was up to her, Catherine, to save them. Kneeling in the cavernous church, Catherine poured out her troubles to Our Lady. While confessing to the stern priest compounded her feelings of guilt, praying to the Virgin Mary gave her comfort and strength.
During one service, Catherine became aware of a strong, melodious voice. As she listened, a deep feeling of calm spread inside. The singing was both manly and beautiful. For a moment she imagined what the singer would look like and the picture of her father as a young man, described by Aunt Mary, came into her head. He would be tall, well-dressed, strong-featured, with a bold gaze and a ready smile.
Catherine’s heart began to pound with a longing that was not wholly spiritual. She was almost reluctant to turn around in case the singer was a disappointment. But her curiosity was too great and she glanced over her shoulder. She gasped in shock. It was as if she had conjured the man out of her daydreams. He was not quite as tall as she had imagined, but his coat was well cut and his dark eyes shone with vitality as he sang.
Catherine had never seen him before. When the service was over, she watched him leave alone and hurried out to see which way he went. He strode off in the direction of Shields and too soon was out of sight. How old was he - thirty-two, thirty-three? Was he married? Had he settled in the town or was he just visiting?
As she made her way home, Catherine’s mind spun with unanswered questions. By the time she reached East Jarrow, she had talked herself out of any illusions that such a man would look twice at a lass like her. But he had stirred a deep inner longing. This was the kind of man that she wanted, craved. She knew it was sinful to think about men in such a way, but she could not rid her mind of him.
Once home, the feeling of being hemmed in engulfed her more strongly than ever. Tired as she was, Catherine determined she must get out more, see her friends again. She had neglected them for too long. What was a girl of seventeen doing slaving away day and night like a worker in a sweatshop? No one thanked her for it.
That Saturday, she carried the tin bath into the bedroom, barred the door and gave herself a good wash and scrub. It surprised her to see how thin were her arms and legs. As she ran the soap over her body, she could feel her ribs jutting out. Her breasts felt smaller, her hair limp and brittle. Catherine sank back in the cramped bath, suddenly too tired to bother going out.
She must have dozed off, for she was startled out of her torpor by Kate hammering on the door.
‘Kitty, you still in there? You’ll grow fins. Haway and shift yoursel’ - or you’ll miss the dance.’
‘Don’t think I’ll gan.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Kate shouted, ‘course you
will. I’ll not have your long face tripping us up all evening.’
Catherine roused herself at her mother’s chivvying. Half an hour later, she was dressed in her favourite blue dress and matching shoes she had bought with her Christmas earnings, and hurrying towards the church hall.
She spotted Lily sitting on the girls’ side of the hall next to Amelia. Lily waved, her face breaking into a surprised smile at the sight of her. Catherine grinned back, thankful she had come.
‘Dragged yourself away from your business interests at last?’ Lily teased.
‘Aye, just for the night,’ Catherine said.
Amelia shuffled up. ‘Thought you’d become a nun - only time we see you is on your knees in church.’
‘Well I’m here now,’ Catherine laughed, plonking herself down, ‘and ready to dance.’
She glanced across the room and saw Tommy and Peter staring over. They grinned and Catherine smiled back, her spirits lifting further. She was going to have fun tonight and banish all her home troubles.
‘You missed a grand trip to Durham last Saturday,’ Lily said.
‘Aye,’ Amelia nudged Lily, ‘not that you saw much of it.’
Lily giggled.
‘What d’you mean?’ Catherine asked.
‘Well, Lily saw more of the riverbanks than the cathedral,’ Amelia sniggered.
‘We never!’ Lily blushed.
Catherine studied her friend. ‘We?’
The other two dissolved into laughter. Before they could explain, Miss McGrath announced the first dance and struck up on the piano. Catherine saw Tommy and Peter detach themselves from the group of lads on the other side of the hall. She rose to greet them.
‘Hello, Kitty,’ Tommy smiled. ‘Good to see you’ve broken your vow of silence.’
‘It hasn’t been that long,’ Catherine protested.
‘Seems like it.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’ve noticed,’ she laughed.
Then he reached past her and pulled Lily to her feet. ‘Haway, bonny lass.’
Lily took his arm and they swept on to the dance floor. Catherine turned to Amelia with a questioning look.
THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow Page 88