To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  Jeremy gave him a funny look, but didn’t reply. Was he thinking I am referring to my frequent sojourns away from the house and business? Funny, but Jeremy had never asked about his visits to Bridlington, or ever asked to accompany him. The thought had often visited Andrew over the years: Had he guessed or not? Had he picked up on any of the rumours that surely flew around their society? One day he would tell him – not everything, but he’d want Jeremy to let Lilly know, if anything ever befell him. He supposed he’d also have to come clean about the other affair: There was always someone gossiping about it all. For a moment he thought of Bridie, and how she had fared in the end. Something in him hoped she had done all right.

  33

  Early May 1899

  Heavenly Love

  Bridget sat on the step of the terraced house, one of rows upon rows that were all the same. The houses were run-down, as the owners of the steel works did no repairs, but the proud tenants did their best: windows shone, curtains were pristine and steps were scrubbed every day. These were the steel workers – the folk who thought themselves better than those who mined the coal, although Bridget couldn’t understand the difference. Bobby, her boyfriend, worked down the pit, and his mammy kept a lovely home, as did most of her neighbours. The steel men drank just as heavily as the miners, and their work rendered them as dirty and sweaty as each other. But there was a divide nonetheless, regardless of her feelings about it.

  She looked up towards the end of the cobbled street. Soon Mr Armitage – as she still thought of him, even though he had been her mammy’s husband for near six years – would be home. And where had Bert got to? At five years old, her little half-brother got into more scrapes than any lad she knew, and the beatings he took from his da only made him more stubborn. But she adored him and would do anything to shield him.

  Today she held out more hope of Bert coming home first, this being a Saturday. Mr Armitage would go straight to the pub, and if he got into a card game he wouldn’t be home until late – whereas Bert’s empty stomach would lead him back long before then.

  A noise – a familiar moan – had her standing up and going back inside. Her mammy, flat out on the sofa, had roused, calling, ‘Will you pass me the bottle, Bridget? What is it with you, forever putting it out of me reach?’

  ‘Mammy, you’ve had enough. Go back to sleep. It’ll do you good to rest some more.’

  ‘No, ’tis as I need it, Bridget.’

  ‘Oh, Mammy, Mammy . . .’

  The sight of her mother tore at her heart. Bloated to twice the size she used to be, her hair was now a wiry, dull ginger peppered with grey, and her face was blotched with swollen blue veins. Her eyes, once a turquoise-blue, were now lifeless dark pools in a yellow bed, and her teeth had decayed to the point where many had fallen out. As tears ran down the mottled skin of her cheeks, Bridget gave in.

  ‘Just a sup, Mammy, no more. Then I’ll give you a wash and make you a pot of tea, eh?’

  ‘Aye, if that’s you saying so. Oh, Bridget, will you ever be at forgiving me? I thought I did the right thing marrying him. Sure he was well set up, wasn’t he? And he said his love for me hadn’t ever died and . . .’

  ‘Hush, Mammy, don’t go over it again. It causes you pain. You didn’t do wrong; you weren’t to know he’d turn out how he has. Oh, I know you’d said this had happened before – him losing everything to his gambling habits and having to go back to the steel – but he had Aunt Beth this time, and that gave you faith in him.’

  ‘Poor Aunt Beth, God love her. Is it that you can remember the fight we had? Me and Aunt Beth? I wasn’t for knowing she’d carried a torch for Bruiser. I didn’t ever think me and her could fall out over anything, but her feeling for him was strong and is the reason she wasn’t for helping me out of the workhouse.’

  ‘Don’t think of those days, Mammy. Everything sorted itself out. In the end, how he turned out, Beth were reet glad as you had him and not her.’

  ‘I know, and it’s a shame altogether, her getting that poxy disease. Beth, of all people. Wasn’t she for only going with the rich ones as well? But then, they’re for having no conscience. The one as gave it to her knew he had syphilis, I don’t have a doubt of that. Wouldn’t go with his own wife, but put it up a whore without a second thought, so he did.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Mammy, I don’t like it. I hate the business you and Beth were in.’

  ‘No more than me, me wee love, but didn’t Bruiser force me back into it? I couldn’t take any more of his beatings, Bridget. Be for saying as you forgive me.’

  ‘Mammy, there’s nothing to forgive. I have your love and protection, and that’s enough. Oh, yes, I’ve heard him saying I’m ripe and should be bringing in more than the shop work can give me, and I know what he means. No one could live around it all, like I have, and not understand. I may have only just turned fifteen, but I’ve knowledge them twice me age haven’t got, so—’

  A sob from her mother stopped her flow. ‘Oh, Mammy, don’t take on. Here, take another sup, then that’s it for today.’

  Once she’d gulped it down, Bridie showed some control again. ‘Will you go and see Aunt Beth in that sanatorium soon, Bridget? Will you see how she is? I’m worried her time is near. No one is for living that illness out.’

  ‘I will, but she didn’t know me last time, though she looked pleased as there was someone especially for her. Now the kettle’s on the boil. I’ll fill a bowl and then I’ll make a pot with the rest.’

  As she went about the task of washing her mother, bathing her open sores, gently squeezing pus out of her ulcers, dusting her in powder and helping her to put on a clean shift, Bridget didn’t pursue the conversation. She only murmured words of comfort and encouragement to help her mother through the pain of it all.

  Some days she didn’t know how she coped with it, but somehow she got through. She’d been of good intelligence in her schooling, and she’d done well in her exams, gaining high enough marks to have gone on to better things. But money was always tight and the needs of her mammy had held her back, so she worked in the shop on the corner, under the leering eyes of Mr Bartram – a man who wasn’t what she had first thought. The impression he and his wife had given was of a wonderful, sweet couple who adored each other, but Mr Bartram was cruel in subtle ways. He’d undermine Mrs Bartram, make a fool of her, and she’d cover up by giggling, to make it look like it was just a joke. But when Bridget was in their company for such long hours, this smokescreen wore thin and the real threat behind it was laid bare. Because of this threat, she couldn’t speak of her fear of being alone with him to anyone – they would never believe her.

  A lovely but timid woman, Mrs Bartram had a gentle heart and a kindness in her ways. Bridget loved her very much, and it was shocking to her now to realize that as a little girl she had loved Mr Bartram, too. Now she feared him – not because she thought he’d be violent towards her, but because there was something else present that she couldn’t put a name to.

  Unbeknown to her husband, Mrs Bartram often slipped a few items into Bridget’s bag. ‘See you and young Bert eat these,’ she’d say of the apples and berries. ‘They’ll give you some goodness.’ And every day, when they had a minute, she’d make Bridget take a teaspoon of disgusting-tasting oily liquid, saying, ‘Keep your bones strong, lass, this will, but don’t tell him I give it you. He’d go mad.’ The accompanying little nod told Bridget that Mrs Bartram suspected she knew the real situation, and somehow it seemed like a conspiracy between them. Him going mad meant her husband beating her, as Bridget had discovered he often did. She’d seen the bruises by accident on a couple of occasions, and she’d heard the odd muffled cry when she’d been in the shop while they were in the storeroom at the back.

  When her mammy spoke, she felt disorientated for a moment and had to bring her mind back to the cause of it: her very real worry over her sick mother.

  ‘Bridget, I have something I have to say. ’Tis to do with what you were just saying about him
, and how he sees you. When I’m gone . . .’

  ‘Mammy, no! I won’t listen to you. You’re going to get better. Please, Mammy, don’t give up.’

  ‘I’ll stay as long as the good Lord allows, but I know in meself, me wee love, as he’s getting ready to take me. Now, whish, don’t take on. I have to say things to you. It is as you say Bruiser is for trying to make money off you. When it happens – the minute I let go of me last breath – get out. Take Bert with you, and go back to Issy. Don’t be stopping for me funeral, or to take stuff with you. Both of you, get dressed in two sets of clothing, so you’ll not be carrying bags, and say as you are wanting to go for a walk together. Will you do it, Bridget, will you?’

  ‘Mammy, I can’t talk of this . . .’

  ‘Please, Bridget, let me go to me next life with a peace inside me.’

  ‘What’re you two cooking up? It don’t smell like it’s me dinner.’ Bruiser Armitage suddenly appeared in the open doorway, looking at Bridget. ‘You lazy cow, you’ll feel the back of me hand one of these days! Look at this mess.’

  Bridget held herself tense. How much had he heard? Had he been standing by the outside, having a smoke before he came in? She thought this likely, as he’d seemed to turn into the open door as if he’d just rolled off the wall.

  ‘Will you be for leaving the girl alone, Bruiser. She’s just finished seeing to me . . .’

  ‘Shut your gob, you pus-ridden swine!’ His hand was raised.

  ‘No! No, don’t hit her, Mr Armitage, don’t.’

  ‘Get out of me way, you scheming bugger!’

  The edge of the table dug into her ribs as the shove he gave Bridget sent her flying. Her breath caught in her lungs as his vicious swipe brought blood spurting from her mammy’s nose and mouth, and what he said told of him hearing everything. ‘Plotting to leave me high and dry, eh? After all I did for you. Well, you can go to your maker any time you like. That’s if he’ll have you, cos I can’t wait to get the smell of you out of me house. In fact, you can get out of it now!’

  Bridget gasped. He’d grabbed her mammy’s hair and dragged her off the couch. She ran at him, kicking and scratching him, tearing his shirt, biting his arm. He’d let go of her mammy and now hit out at her. Punches ricocheted through the very being of her. One landed on her jaw, and a curtain came over the pain, black and suffocating, taking her to the ground.

  ‘Bridgee, Bridgee . . . Oh, Ma, Ma . . .’

  Bert’s sobs penetrated the haze. As she opened her eyes, Bridget became aware of the wet, sticky substance she lay in, and saw her mammy lying next to her with her eyes closed. Looking up into Bert’s anguished face, she tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Help me, Bert, help me up.’

  Small as he was, he managed to get her to a standing position. Swaying on unsteady legs and with her vision making stationary objects seem to be made of jelly, she bent over her mammy. ‘She’s still breathing. Oh God, help us. Mammy, come on, Mammy . . .’

  ‘Shall I get some water, Bridgee? That’s how they bring the bare-fisters round.’

  Nodding at him to do so, she wondered where he’d seen such things, but she hadn’t the inclination to ask. ‘Good, lad, be quick. You’ll have to get it from the well, as I used the last to wash Mammy with.’

  The strength of him showed in the way Bert heaved the full bucket back into the room. She smiled at him as he told her to move out of the way so he could chuck it at their mammy. ‘No, Bert, the shock will kill her. Just get a cloth – that’s right. Now soak it and dab Mammy with it.’ She couldn’t move her arm to do it herself.

  A groan gave her hope. She grabbed the back of a chair and put all her weight on it, to ease the pain in her ribs, as she cried out, trying to get through, ‘Mammy, Mammy! Open your eyes, Mammy . . .’

  Another small sound gave further hope.

  ‘Wipe the blood away from Mammy’s eyes and nose, Bert. That’s right. Gently, it’s sore. Good lad. Open your eyes, Mammy. Come on.’

  Bridie heard her daughter’s voice echoing through what felt like layers of silt coating her mind, saying, ‘It’s all right, Mammy. You’re going to be all right.’ Then she heard Bridget speak to someone else. ‘Fetch Mr Stevenson. Go on, lad, run. He’ll help us get Mammy off the floor.’

  Bert? Was she talking to Bert?

  Bridget’s next words confirmed that she was. ‘Don’t be afraid, Mammy. Bert won’t be long, and I know Mr Stevenson is in. I saw him come home.’

  Bridie tried a smile to reassure Bridget, but her jaw seemed to just hang and wouldn’t do her bidding. She felt cold, so cold . . .

  Someone picked her up. Her body floated; her stomach heaved. ‘There you go, Bridie. By, that brute! He’ll have his comeuppance one of these days. Eeh, look at you, an all, Bridget, love. Has that bastard had a go at you as well? Eeh, lass, I should send Bert for the doctor. Go on.’

  ‘I can’t, I haven’t the money. I have to tip up everything I earn to Mr Armitage, and Mammy hasn’t any.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Mrs Stevenson has some jams, so we’ll pay the doctor with them.’

  ‘Ta, Mr Stevenson. I have some tarts in the pantry an’ all. Some as I made from the jam Mrs Stevenson gave me yesterday. I’ll see if he’ll take them and not put anything on the slate as owing.’

  It all went on without Bridie taking any part, but she was glad that Bridget had called upon their kindly neighbour. He would make things right. This thought swam away from her; she didn’t seem able to hold onto anything. Everything hovered above her in a different place from where she was.

  ‘Oh, Mammy, if you’ll just get better from this, we’ll get away from here. I’ll make you better from the drink. We’ll go back to Breckton, like you said me and Bert should, and we’ll find Aunt Issy, we will. She’ll help us.’ Bridget’s voice swirled into the mist rolling towards her.

  When the mist enclosed her completely, Bridie was looking through it along the muddy lane leading to her childhood home. Her mammy stood at the door of their cottage, beckoning to her. She looked beautiful, almost transparent, with an aura around her. She held a baby. Eric? Her mammy nodded and pointed across to the field, where Will stood. Oh, Will, me love. He waved to her to come to him. She went to run, but there wasn’t any weight to her body. The air swished around her, under her, lifting her and stopping her progress. Will’s face faded into a curl of smoke. When it cleared, another face looked at her. Seamus! ’Tis Seamus! He sat on the steps of his Vardo, watching her. He smiled. She waved, and he waved back, but a sadness clogged her chest. A voice – not of the world she now inhabited, but in the room below her – came droning through to her. ‘Bridie, Bridie, my child, is it that you repent of your sins?’ She could only nod.

  Tinkling like a soft bell, her name – ‘Bridie, Bridie’ – compelled her to look away from Seamus and once more into the loving eyes of her mammy. Still she held the babby. A shape behind became clearer. Will! A glorious light beamed down, lighting up the three of them. Ecstasy born of wondrous joy filled her. ‘Oh, Will, Mammy. I’m coming.’ Music filled the air, played on a mouth organ, and took her into its depth. She began to dance, twirling this way and that. Mammy and Will laughed. She looked for Seamus, but he’d gone. She didn’t mind. She went into Will’s arms and knew he was for being the real love of her life and her eternal partner in death.

  ‘Aw, God love her, doesn’t she have the peace on her at last? Look at her, Bridget. She looks . . . serene. Yes, that is the word I would use. From the moment she repented and took the Host into her mouth, she was for resting. God is good, so He is.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  The doctor had sent for the priest as soon as he’d entered the house. Bridget looked into her mammy’s face and saw what the priest had seen. Perhaps this was the most beautiful she’d ever seen her mammy look. She didn’t look anything like her picture in the locket, or what Bridget could just about remember of years past, but there was a beauty in her expression. Father Patrick had got it just right when he�
��d said ‘serene’.

  Somehow, in the moment of her mammy’s death, Bridget couldn’t cry and call for her not to leave, as she’d imagined she would. Inside her, she held a calm that not even the pain of her injuries could penetrate. When the priest asked, ‘Will you come and see me when you have things sorted, Bridget, so we can talk about the funeral Mass?’ she just answered, ‘Yes, Father.’

  How is it I can behave as if nothing has happened? Why is nothing touching me?

  ‘Well, Bridget, I’ll leave you now. I’ll be after telling Bert and offering him comfort on me way out, as I sent him outside before I started the Last Rites. And I’ll call in on the undertakers on me way home.’

  She hadn’t noticed that Bert had left the room, or been aware of the priest getting him out of the way. ‘Thank you, Father. What about Mr Armitage? Who will tell him?’

  ‘The police, I shouldn’t wonder.’ This, from the doctor, was the first time he’d spoken in a while. He’d stepped forward and checked her mammy just after the last sigh left her, and had then busied himself scribbling on a form. Now, as he handed her the piece of paper, he said, ‘There, that’s the death certified. You will have to register it at the Town Hall tomorrow, Bridget. I will report what has happened to the police in Leeds. I’ll send a message to them.’

  ‘Do you have to, Doctor? Can’t we leave it be? It will only make things worse.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you. You will have to be the one who presses charges, as your mother can’t. I can’t really say whether the blow to her face brought her death on sooner, but I knew she was dying. I have certified her death now and put the cause, so they wouldn’t look into it any further. Perhaps you’re right. Best leave it as it is.’

  Bridget felt glad at this. She knew the doctor hated his time being taken up at inquests, so he always tried to avoid them. Even when Jack Cooper died suddenly – and him only a middle-aged man – it was said that the doctor put it down to natural causes and told the family to say he had been treating him, if asked. Afraid of the cost of everything, they had accepted this. With him agreeing now to let things be, her mammy could lie in peace and no recriminations or police activity would disturb that. Besides, she had to think of herself and Bert. Knowing her mammy had tried to make a plan for them to leave him had made Mr Armitage angry enough, without him thinking she’d testify against him.