Yet, as the summer wore on, Catherine came to the painful conclusion that Bridie and her mother had probably been right. She and Tom were complete opposites: she was extrovert and impulsive, he cautious and shy. She was older and worldly-wise, he young and idealistic. He was an Oxford scholar, intellectual and well read, while her education had stopped at thirteen. The more she knew him, the more ignorant she felt.
Above all, Tom was Church of England and she Catholic to her very core. The two were not supposed to mix. Hers was the true faith, as the priest and nuns kept reminding her. If Tom was not prepared to convert then there was no future for them, however strongly they might be attracted.
For a short time, Catherine stopped going to church, resentful of her situation. She railed against a God that would cast good men like Tom into the flames of Hell. But Sister Marguerite continued to visit. She was putting her own soul at risk by avoiding confession and absolution, the nun worried.
While Catherine wrestled with her spiritual dilemma, another crisis erupted. A distraught Kate came round to The Hurst to seek her out.
‘It’s Davie,’ she sobbed, her face puffy and tear-stained.
‘What’s happened?’ Catherine said in alarm.
‘Has he had an accident?’ Bridie asked.
Kate shook her head. She held out a letter with a trembling hand. Catherine took it and read the brief note. Her concern turned swiftly to annoyance.
‘What’s bad about this? He’s got a job working on a Shields ferry - and what’s more, he wants you back.’
‘I cannot!’ Kate cried. ‘Me home’s down here now. I don’t want to gan back to Jarrow.’
‘Well, write and tell him so.’ Bridie was blunt.
Kate looked at Catherine warily, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘The thing is, there’s another reason - I can’t afford to gan back.’
Catherine sighed. ‘I’ll pay your train fare if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘It’s not just that,’ Kate said, on the verge of tears again. ‘I’m owing a bit on the house - got behind on the payments.’
‘How behind?’ Catherine demanded, her heart sinking.
‘Couple of months - and the gas bill’s due and they’re threatening to cut me electric off.’ Her look was pleading. ‘I need a bit money to tide me over - till I find a couple more lodgers. It’s been quiet over the summer. But I’ll sharp pay it back, I promise.’
Catherine eyed her mother, unable to hide her contempt. ‘Your promises aren’t worth a pinch of salt.’
Instead of lashing back, Kate’s face crumpled. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty.’
Bridie patted her shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s for the best if you go back north. At least Davie can put a roof over your head.’
Kate shot her a bitter look. Once she had thought her an ally, but the Irish woman had usurped her place in Catherine’s affections. Bridie no longer had a use for her.
‘Bridie’s right,’ Catherine said. ‘You’ve got no choice.’
‘Please, hinny, don’t send me away,’ Kate begged.
‘This isn’t my doing!’ Catherine gave her mother a hard look. ‘I’ll bail you out one last time, but it’s on one condition - you go back to Davie.’
Kate bowed her head. ‘But what about me lodgers? I’d feel bad, putting them out.’
Catherine tensed.
‘How many do you have?’ Bridie asked.
‘Two,’ Kate answered, almost inaudibly.
‘Two in the whole of that big house?’ Catherine cried in disbelief. ‘No wonder you’re up to your neck in debt.’
Kate lifted her head defiantly. ‘And there’s Tom Cookson - said he’d come back after the summer holidays.’
Catherine reddened at his name.
‘Where is he?’ Bridie asked, glancing between them.
‘Gone travelling on the Continent. Said there was nowt to keep him in Hastings.’
Catherine swallowed. ‘We can take your lodgers in here if they can’t find anywhere else.’
Bridie was suspicious. ‘But what about the schoolboy? What if he comes back to Hastings?’
Catherine answered briskly, ‘He can take his chances like the rest of the lodgers. I really couldn’t care.’
A week later, Catherine received a letter from Davie too. He was tired of living in lodgings apart from Kate. She was his wife and he wanted her back to look after him. He was proud to have found the Shields job when so many were idle. He knew Kate would be pleased so it worried him that he’d heard nothing from her.
Catherine went straight round to her mother’s, any half-doubts about making her leave Hastings gone.
‘If you haven’t written to Davie, you’ll do it right this minute,’ she ordered. ‘He’s worried about you.’
Kate snorted. ‘Worried he’s got no housekeeper, more like.’
Catherine did not know why things had soured between her mother and stepfather, and it was none of her business. She stood over her while Kate wrote a letter back, telling him she would be home by the end of August. Before she left, she spoke to the two lodgers, offering them accommodation at The Hurst, paid Kate’s overdue bills and agreed to dispose of the lease as soon as she could.
Kate looked stunned by her quick businesslike handling of the mess. She did not try to argue or prevaricate with Catherine, who reminded her of Rose when faced with a crisis. Kate thought how her mother would have handled the situation with just as much tough-minded fairness as Catherine.
A week later, a one-way ticket was bought, and Catherine arrived in a taxi to pick up Kate and her two bags of belongings. Bridie had offered to come too, believing Catherine might weaken at the last minute and allow her mother to stay.
‘I won’t change my mind.’ Catherine was resolute. ‘I can’t wait for her to be gone.’
Kate sat in the taxi, white-faced and sober, clutching a handbag. They rode all the way in silence.
At the station, Catherine bought a platform ticket to make sure she got Kate and her possessions on to the train. Kate, who had been mute since being collected, suddenly burst into tears at the carriage steps. She turned and threw her arms around her daughter.
‘I-I’m so s-sorry, Kitty!’ she wept. ‘It’s all a mistake. I didn’t mean to spoil things for you and your teacher. I’ll never stand in your way again. Just please don’t send me away. I cannot bear to gan away from you!’
Catherine was horrified at the clinging, wailing woman. She looked around in embarrassment at the other boarding passengers.
‘Don’t, Kate,’ she hissed. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’
Kate cried louder, ‘I don’t care -I want to stay! Please take me back - I’ll never tak another drink - I’ll do anything you want. You’re all I’ve got. Please, Kitty!’
Catherine was overcome by her mother’s desperate last-minute plea. For a moment she held on to her, in a self-conscious hug. Kate shook in her arms, her tears soaking her collar.
The guard came by. ‘You’ll have to get on board now, ma’am. Sorry, but the train’s leaving.’
With a huge effort of will, Catherine pulled away from her mother. ‘Come on, you have to go, it’s all arranged. There’s no going back on it.’ She pushed Kate towards the carriage, forcing her up the steps. ‘It’ll be all right once you get there.’
Kate turned and gave her such a look of desolation that Catherine almost relented. But the guard came back and she had just enough time to heave the bags on board before he slammed the door shut. She watched her mother standing hunched and crying in the empty carriage. She looked so old and utterly dejected. The whistle shrieked.
The train jolted forward and Kate swayed, almost losing her balance. Who would look after her now? Catherine was flooded with guilt. She wanted to wrench the door
open again and pull her mother off. But she clenched her hands and resisted the urge, fighting back her own tears. She waved Kate away.
Moments later, her mother was out of view and the train was picking up speed. Catherine stood for a long time, peering through the smoke of the departing train at the place where her mother had been. She had severed the cord between them for the last time, and it ached as if it had been physical.
Catherine went for a long walk along the cliffs above Hastings, gulping in sea air to try to stem her sense of failure. Finally, the buffeting breeze brought her to her senses.
Kate had Davie to look after her. Here, her mother was out of her depth, incapable of fending for herself. Catherine’s own relationship with her was in shreds and she could do no more for Kate here.
As Catherine turned for home and the job of picking up the pieces of her life again, she clung to the belief that her mother was a survivor. She had done the best thing by Kate in sending her home to Davie and her family. One day she would see that.
Chapter 42
It was a shock to open the door to Tom, one September evening. Catherine knew he would probably call - there was a box of books cleared from his room to collect. Even so, her heart thumped to see him standing there lean and suntanned under a Panama hat, with a battered suitcase at his feet.
‘Hello, Kitty,’ he said, removing his hat. ‘I know it’s late, but I got this message at the school. . .’
She stared at him, ridiculously tongue-tied, her insides doing somersaults. He was as handsome as she had remembered.
Tom ploughed on, ‘You see, I don’t have anywhere to stay. Your mother’s place is closed and they said at the school to call here. What’s happened to Mrs McDermott?’
‘She’s gone,’ Catherine said, finding her voice. ‘Back to Jarrow - her husband’s got work. I said I’d take in any of her lodgers who needed it. Mr Parish is here. And there’s your box of books - you’ll want those, of course.’
Tom eyed her warily. ‘I know this is awkward for both of us, but if you have a room spare I’d take it. Just till I find somewhere else. I’ll keep out of your way.’
Catherine’s heart twisted at the bittersweet thought of having him so close yet untouchable. She waved a hand at him. ‘Not awkward at all,’ she said briskly, ‘not for me. There’s a room at the back of the house you can have.’
Tom hesitated. ‘Won’t Mrs McKim mind me being here?’
Catherine hid her disquiet. ‘Bridie’s in Ireland - taken Maisie on holiday. Anyway, it’s up to me who I take in as lodgers. It is my house, after all.’
Tom blushed. She had not meant to sound so brusque, but she did not trust herself not to betray the surge of tenderness she felt towards him.
Just at that moment, Tuppence came bounding out of the trees from chasing rabbits and rushed up to Tom. The dog ran round him excitedly, barking a welcome.
‘Get down, Tuppence!’ Catherine cried.
But Tom bent to greet him with the same enthusiasm. ‘Hello, old boy. How’ve you been? Yes, I’ve missed you too.’
‘Tuppence, that’s enough,’ Catherine said, calling the dog to her side. ‘Why don’t you join the other guests in the sitting room while I get your room ready, Mr Cookson?’
Tom shot her a look. ‘Thank you - Miss McMullen.’
Aware he was probably teasing her, she marched quickly ahead of him so he could not see her blushing.
Tom settled into The Hurst without any fuss and, like Catherine, was out all day at work. In the evenings he would disappear to his room to mark books, and his light was often on late at night when Catherine went out to walk the dog. She wondered what he was thinking and could only guess at his feelings. He was pleasant and civil to her like he was with the other lodgers but she had to assume his infatuation with her had passed. Catherine, though, was tortured by having him under her roof, sick with longing for their old intimacy. How had she ever imagined the arrangement would work?
Then Bridie came back from Ireland.
‘How long has he been here? As soon as my back’s turned he’s got his feet under the table!’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Catherine defended. ‘He’s not interested in me any more, and he’s treated the same as all the others.’
Bridie scowled. ‘I’m not fooled by all this “yes Mr Cookson, no Miss McMullen”. I can see the way he looks at you.’
Catherine made for the door. It was pointless arguing: Bridie was set against Tom, whatever he did. How peaceful the household had been with Mrs Fairy in charge and an obliging girl, Rita, from the town to help.
‘Don’t turn your back on me, girl! When’s he going to find other lodgings?’
‘That’s up to him,’ Catherine replied, and slammed the door behind her.
It was not long before Bridie was stirring up trouble. She cut Tom out of the conversation at meal times and, behind Catherine’s back, spread rumours that his intentions towards her were far from honourable.
‘Tried it on with her last spring. She sent him away with a flea in his ear, but he’s back again. Course, she shouldn’t have let him stay here, but that’s Catherine, far too soft for her own good. I don’t trust him. It’s obvious he’s after her money and a big house. Always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch,’ she added darkly.
Only Major Holloway ridiculed the idea.
‘Utter nonsense! Tom’s a first-rate chap. Plays a good straight bat. Miss McMullen has nothing to fear from him.’
All through the winter, Bridie attempted to oust the young teacher. If Catherine spoke up for him, it only made things worse. Bridie’s jealousy and suspicion that Catherine had taken up with Tom again only increased. Nothing had happened between them, but Bridie was unbelieving. What perplexed Catherine was why Tom put up with the insults and remained at The Hurst. She admired him for the way he quietly stood up to Bridie and refused to be provoked. But he would not take it for ever. The thought of him leaving was unbearable, yet she would not lay bare her feelings when he had done nothing to encourage her.
The Christmas holidays came and Tom made arrangements to spend it with his family in Essex. He searched for Catherine and found her in the summerhouse, rug around her knees, huddled over a notebook.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Writing,’ Catherine said bashfully, pushing the notebook under the rug. Her heart hammered to be suddenly alone with him.
‘What sort of writing?’
‘Stories,’ she flushed.
‘C-could I read one of them?’
She gawped. No one had ever asked to read anything of hers, ever. The idea quite unnerved her.
‘Oh, no! They’re not for anyone to read. I-I just do them for myself.’
Tom nodded. ‘Sorry - I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ she said hastily. Catherine watched his warm breath cloud the icy air. How could she keep him there long enough to tell him how she felt? Perhaps he had come to declare his love at last? Her spirits leapt. ‘Is there something you came to ask?’
Tom cleared his throat. ‘I think it best if I find somewhere else after Christmas.’
Catherine gasped as if winded. ‘Why? Is it Bridie?’
Tom looked uncomfortable. ‘I know Mrs McKim doesn’t like me - I’d put up with that just to stay here - but I think I’m causing you too much embarrassment. I foolishly thought...’
Catherine’s heart pounded. She was losing him. ‘Thought what?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Tom shrugged. ‘I’ll leave my books at school over the holiday, so you can re-let the room straight away.’ He gave his quick bashful smile that tore at her heart. ‘Take care - Kitty.’
‘No, don’t go!’ She sprang to her feet. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
He stopped
and stared. ‘What do you want?’
Catherine reached out to him. ‘I want you, Tom,’ she cried. ‘I want you so much.’
In an instant he had his arms about her, holding her tight. ‘Oh God, Kitty. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that!’ He kissed her firmly on the lips.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, half crying, half laughing in relief. ‘You’ve no idea how much.’
‘I thought you didn’t care for me - that last spring was just a passing phase,’ Tom confessed. ‘That’s why I was going. It was too hard being in love with you - being near you - and thinking you felt nothing.’
‘It was the same for me! How could you not see how much I wanted you? I’ve been going mad not telling you.’
They kissed again, a long tender kiss that made warmth flood through her.
When they pulled away, she felt light-headed.
Tom asked, ‘What about Mrs McKim?’
Catherine looked around guiltily, as if Bridie was watching. Then she shrugged off her unease. If Tom loved her as much as she did him, they would find a way of dealing with the difficulty.
‘Leave her to me,’ Catherine assured him. ‘I’ll talk her round.’
***
Catherine’s plan to tackle Bridie about Tom was sent awry by a bout of bleeding over Christmas. The doctor was called and diagnosed overwork.
‘It’s a nervous condition, triggered by stressful situations,’ he pronounced.
Catherine was sceptical, but happy to take to bed for several days. Bridie insisted on nursing her night and day.
‘Anything you want, you just tell Auntie Bridie. Nothing’s too much trouble, you know that, dear girl.’
Catherine felt ashamed of the dark, resentful thoughts she had been harbouring towards the woman. When faced with a crisis like this, there was no one more tender and kind than her Irish friend.
At New Year, she sat wrapped in blankets by a roaring fire - with Bridie and Maisie feeding her chocolates, and Tuppence resting his head in her lap - wondering what to do. She felt beholden to Bridie.
THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow Page 118