by Lyn Andrews
‘David! David!’ she cried imploringly.
‘God, you’ve made a fool of me! I even bought you a ring! Half the crew of at least two ships in this port must be rocking with laughter!’
She reeled back before this verbal onslaught, her back pressed against the cabin door, and dimly she realised she was losing everything and that she must try to fight back. She had never lacked courage.
‘So I told you a pack of lies, but not about Joe or Stephen Hartley and you can ask Marie for verification! Ask her! Go on, ask her!’ she screamed. ‘I’ve never slept with anyone but you and you know that! You were the first. You knew and I don’t care if you believe me or not! I love you, David! I’ve loved you for years and I’ve waited for you, despite the fact that I know just how domineering your mother is! Many a girl would have given up years ago!’
‘But you didn’t give up, did you?’ His sarcasm was scathing. ‘You knew you had too much to lose! Don’t try to lie your way out of this now, Cat! It’s over, finished, and I never want to see you again!’
‘I’m having your child!’ she screamed at him. She was past caring now, she didn’t care if the whole ship heard her.
The expression on his face didn’t change. In fact he hardly moved a muscle, but his eyes were so cold and hard that she cringed. She had never seen such cold contempt as that now portrayed in his glacial stare. And when he spoke his voice was cold, too. It was the voice of a stranger.
‘Don’t add to the lies! Do you think I’m fool enough to fall for that one? Don’t you think I’ve enough intelligence not to see you’re grasping at straws? You can’t fool me any longer! Get out! Get out before I forget I’m a gentleman!’
Her breathing was shallow, her hands were placed palms flat against the door, as though she were using the pressure to keep her upright. Something inside her head snapped and she turned on him. Her mocking laughter echoed round the cabin.
‘Gentleman! Gentleman! Is that what you think you are? There are galley-boys who are more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be! And they’ve got more guts too! They aren’t tied to their mother’s apron strings, afraid to open their mouths and express an opinion! Promising “Mother” they will be good little boys and not get married! Not until she lets them! I’m going and I never want to see you again! I hope you rot in Hell! You’ll never see your child and I’ll make sure it grows up hating you, you spineless, gutless toad!’
When she reached her own cabin she was violently sick. She leaned over the basin, her head swimming. Shelagh! Shelagh had caused all this! She hoped venomously that her sister would one day be found in some alley with her throat cut!
Hours later Marie found her lying curled up on her bunk, staring at the wall. She tried to console her. She wanted to go and try to talk some sense into him but she vehemently refused to let her do that.
‘I have my pride! There’s not much of it left right now, but I still have enough left to stop you from crawling to him! I could have stood his anger at the lies about my background, I deserved that, but he believed the lies she told him about Joe and Stephen Hartley! How did she find out about Stephen Hartley?’
‘I don’t know, Cat, maybe she didn’t know, maybe she was only guessing. Maybe she met Stephen some time!’
She didn’t care. She felt as though she would never, ever care about anything again.
Chapter Eighteen
SHE HAD FINALLY PLUCKED up enough courage to tell Mr and Mrs Gorry on the Sunday evening. She had been so withdrawn, so weighed down by shock, that she knew nothing of the events of that fateful Sunday. She walked into the parlour that evening, ready to tell them that she was bearing a bastard. She found them grouped around the radio set. She heard the voice on the radio. A quiet, serious voice. A voice she remembered having heard before, a few weeks ago aboard the Empress as they had sailed home from Canada. It was the King’s voice. She wondered vaguely why King George was making a radio broadcast. As the serious tones continued she realised why. Britain was at war with Germany.
She hadn’t told them that night, they were too shocked by the news. But she told them the following morning after everyone had spent a restless night, wondering what the next months would bring. Only Mr Gorry, who had served in the Royal Navy in the first Great Conflict, had any conception of what faced them. Mrs Gorry had not wept or raged or shown her the door. Sadly she had shaken her head, patted her shoulder and then, as always, looked to her husband for advice.
‘He won’t marry you, Cat?’ Mr Gorry asked.
It was Marie who had related David’s betrayal, prompted by Shelagh’s vindictiveness. When she had finished Mrs Gorry had tears in her eyes.
‘Then it’s well rid of him, I say! A fine husband he would have turned out to be. I never could understand why he kept you dangling about for so long. He could have married you years ago and still carried on with his career!’
‘Mum, there’s no use talking like that now, it won’t help,’ Marie chided gently.
‘I can’t stay here. I won’t bring this shame on you, not after all you’ve done for me and for Eamon. It was partly my own fault, I shouldn’t have lied to him about my family. I shouldn’t have embroiled you in my lies, it was wrong! I can’t bring more shame on you. There must be a home for . . . for girls like me, but I don’t think I could bear it in Liverpool!’
‘We’ll have no more talk like that, Cat! You’re not going into a “Home”, you’re not a bad girl! Foolish, maybe, but not bad!’ Mr Gorry retorted.
‘I can’t stay here, you have your reputation . . . the business and then there’s Marie and Doreen and Marlene!’
‘They are both married, it’s nothing to do with them.’
‘But what about Marie? What about Brian?’
‘Oh, to hell with me! And Brian’s not like that . . . that swine!’ She squeezed Cat’s hand. ‘Have you still got the address of the parents of that Welsh girl you met on your first trip? Didn’t you say you’d get out to see them some time?’
Hope flickered. ‘That was years ago! They won’t remember me, probably Megan expected me to go years ago!’ But it was a tiny ray of hope in all the darkness. ‘I’ve still got the address somewhere.’
‘Then that’s the answer! Go and stay with them!’
‘I couldn’t do that! They’re total strangers and what will I tell them about . . . the baby?’
‘Marie’s right. I’ll write to them today. There are lots of mothers-to-be being evacuated now. God alone knows what we have to face with the country at war! It’s the best for you.’
‘At least you won’t have to resign from the company, not with us all being laid off because of the war.’
Cat smiled wryly. That was true enough. She could leave with an unblemished record. This terrible war was, in that way, a blessing in disguise. No, there was nothing about the months that faced them all that could remotely be described as a ‘blessing’.
‘You’ll have to call yourself Mrs,’ Marie interrupted her thoughts.
‘Mrs what?’
‘Well, you haven’t seen Joe for years and he is away at sea.’
‘Marie, I can’t tell more lies! It’s because of all the lies that I—’
‘Not entirely. I was partly to blame, I encouraged you, but your Shelagh’s got a lot to answer for!’
‘I can’t Marie, I can’t lie anymore!’
‘Cat, you’ve got to try to build a new life and not just for yourself, for the baby. You can’t tell them the truth, wasn’t that why Megan went to Canada? No one will ever know except us and you haven’t heard from Joe in years and you’re not likely to! You’ll have to tell them you’re Mrs. Calligan. Do you want your baby born in a home for fallen women? The place and address will be on the birth certificate! How will you explain that away in later years? You’ve got no choice, not if you really think about it!’
So with reluctance and foreboding she agreed.
The reply came back quickly. Yes, Mr and Mrs Roberts remembered Cat, Megan still
asked about her, if they had seen her. Yes, they would be delighted to have her stay. Megan was doing very nicely in Canada now, she had a husband and two children. She would never forget how kind Cat had been to her, and it definitely wasn’t safe for her, in her condition, to stay in such a vulnerable city.
With a cheap wedding ring on her finger and her case, she and Marie had been driven through the Mersey Tunnel and the quiet lanes of North Wales to the little market town of Denbigh, with its ruined castle on the hill and its cobbled market square and stone market hall. In Lenten Pool at the bottom of the steep hill, they had asked the directions for the tiny village of Henllan with its church and chapel, its schoolhouse, a few rows of cottages, one shop and Mr Thomas Roberts’ new house and building yard; set admist the rolling green pastureland of the Clwyd Valley.
Mr and Mrs Roberts came out to greet them and Mr Roberts took the luggage from Mr Gorry, handing it to his son, Thomas, of the new house and building yard. Hands were shaken all round and they were ushered into the farm kitchen where tea and Bara Brith were waiting. Mrs Roberts was a small, rotund woman with a fresh complexion and dark eyes. She asked Cat when the baby was due and said she must stay with them until it was born. The country was the place for babies, not smoke-filled, noisy towns that were likely to be bombed. She asked when Mr. Calligan would be home and Cat answered, truthfully, that she didn’t know. Mrs Roberts had tutted sympathetically.
She had thought about Joe during those early months, when she went for solitary walks, out past the little thatched pub. He had said he wouldn’t be around to pick up the pieces and he wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him since that day. She’d heard of the movements of the Aquitania of course, but her heart was heavy and she felt so alone and lost without him to turn to.
Her baby was born on 30 March and she called her Hilary Josephine. One of the ships of the Booth Line had been called Hilary and she had always liked the name; she added Josephine after Joe. Her labour had been short and the birth easy but her recovery was slow, plagued by a sense of loss and uncertainty and depression. For days she lay prostrate, incoherent and half-delirious. She wasn’t recovering as most women in Mrs Roberts’s experience had and she wondered if she should send her to the hospital in Denbigh.
For Cat the hours before dawn were the worst. She would lie in the narrow bed, the crib beside her, and watch the cold, April light creep into the room. She felt that life held out no hope, that she was just waiting for the beginning of another empty day whose hours stretched before her like purgatory. She stared at the wall with eyes that saw nothing but cold emptiness. A heart that was like a piece of stone, a mind that would not let her rest. But gradually she pulled round. She was healthy and the post-natal depression lifted. The day came at last when she had taken Hilary into her arms and felt for the first time a surge of tenderness and a fierce protectiveness for this tiny scrap of humanity that had been born into such a world of sorrow.
She thanked Mrs Davies and closed the door of the tiny shop behind her. The bell tinkled. She bent and placed the few groceries in their brown paper bags, on top of the pram, then adjusted the sun canopy. The June day held the promise of being hot but it was early yet. She’d walk the long way around. Down the hill, up past the church and along the shaded lane. That way she wouldn’t meet many people or pass the school or Thomas’s fine house, Bryn Arwel, with the building yard at the back. He was also the local undertaker and passing that yard always depressed her, although he was pleasant and his wife, Margaret, always had a cheerful word for her.
Further up the road she sat down on the little wooden bench in the shadow of a huge elm tree. The baby was asleep. The long shadow of the square, stone tower of the church fell across the pram. Her head was beginning to ache. She closed her eyes and sat for a while, listening to the droning of the bees in the hedgerow. Then she glanced up at the church clock. She’d better get back, she’d promised to help with the baking. She looked around at the green fields, peaceful under the clear blue sky, the meadows lush with grass, the black and white cows grazing beneath the trees. The overhanging trees shut out most of the sunlight and it was pleasantly cool, their shadows dappling the narrow lane.
You could see the farm once you rounded the next bend. The house was old and stone-built, its small windows gleaming in the sunlight. Behind it and beside it were the stone barn and byre. She remembered the day she had first seen it. On a bright October morning when the leaves were turning orange, vermilion and gold. When the air smelled damp but pungent with the earthy odours of autumn. When the stubble fields had turned their cropped faces to the pale sun. The house was in sight now. The door open, the chickens scratching in the yard and Peg, the old border collie, lying with her head on her paws, just outside the door, waiting for her master.
When she had closed the wicket gate behind her she bent and patted the dog’s head before lifting the groceries from the pram.
‘On guard, Peg!’ she said softly, for the baby was still asleep. The dog instantly pricked up its ears and moved closer to the pram. Not even the Angel Gabriel himself would get past that dog now, she thought. She could hear voices in the kitchen. It must be later than she had realised. Mr Roberts was in for lunch. She lifted the latch of the low, wooden door and stepped inside.
‘Hello, Cat!’
She gave a shriek of delight and flung herself into Joe’s arms. ‘Oh, Joe! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming! How did you—’ she stopped herself, remembering her hosts.
‘Isn’t that a nice surprise, now? Came in on the early bus he did,’ Mrs Roberts beamed. ‘Wanted to go and meet you, he did, but I said to wait. Better to have some privacy here than have half the village looking on.’
She’d never expected to see him again. Waves of joy and relief swept over her. She just stood staring up at him. Oh, how she’d missed him. Then she noticed the uniform. It was that of the Royal Navy. A puzzled look came into her eyes.
‘Now why don’t you both go into the parlour, you must have such a lot of news to catch up on and you’ll want time on your own and I have this lot to feed, see. I’ll bring you in a tray,’ Mrs Roberts urged.
She thanked her profusely and led the way into the parlour. For the first time she felt uneasy in his presence. ‘How . . . how did you find me?’ she asked after she had closed the door.
He eased himself down into a chair. ‘Marie. I went looking for you when I got home, to tell you I was . . . sorry. It wasn’t time for harbouring old anger.’ He looked down at his hands, as if embarrassed. ‘I heard that the Empress of Britain is now on war service and I knew you’d have been laid off.’
She began to pluck at the hem of her skirt, a lump rising in her throat. She felt despicable, somehow dirty and soiled. She found it hard to think, to speak. ‘Did she . . . did she tell you—?’
‘She told me everything,’ he replied quietly but one glance at the dark eyes told her he was betraying nothing. Not anger, not contempt, not hurt – nothing.
‘It was Shelagh.’
‘She did you a favour, Cat.’
‘Favour?’
‘I never liked him.’
‘You never liked anyone that—’
‘If he’d have loved you he wouldn’t have kept you hanging about so long.’
‘It was what we both wanted – at the time.’
He rose and faced her. ‘I’ve known you too long to know when you’re lying, Cat. You never were much good at it. Not with me, anyway.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes and her words came slowly, painfully, bringing back memories she wanted to forget. ‘It served me right, living all those lies for so many years. You . . . you can’t build a life on lies, not a secure one.’
He said nothing and she stood, head bowed, eyes filled with incipient tears.
‘I’m still doing it,’ she choked. ‘Sometimes I get so tired of it all, I just want to tell everyone the truth! They are so kind, so generous! Oh, Joe, where will it all end?’
He took her col
d hands in his and she wanted to cling to him as she had done in the old days. But there was too much hurt between them now. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want his pity.
‘We could end it all right now, Cat.’
She looked up at him through eyes misted with tears and confusion. ‘You mean tell them?’
‘I mean marry me? You already call yourself Mrs. Calligan and the baby has my surname.’ The words were spoken calmly, measuredly.
She dropped her head and tears splashed unheeded on to their hands. Never in all her life had she been so touched. She felt humble, so very humble. He was worth a hundred David Barratts. She knew she would never respect any man the way she respected Joe. Dear, kind, loving Joe. It would be so easy. So easy just to open her mouth and let the word slip out. It formed in her mind, it rose in her throat, her heavy heart urged it to the tip of her tongue. She raised her head. She couldn’t see him clearly through the tears.
‘No. No, I couldn’t do that to you, Joe. I couldn’t let you take on another man’s child. Another man’s . . . cast-offs! You’re too good, too honest for me. I’m not worth it!’ The words wrung her heart and hung suspended in the air.
He didn’t speak and she looked away, afraid of what she would see in his eyes.
‘Oh, Joe! Why do I always hurt the people I care most about? I’m unlucky, Joe! Everything I touch turns sour. Banjaxed, Ma would have said. I . . . I can’t do that to you, not to you, Joe!’
He still held her hands tightly. ‘Cat, you’ve always known how I feel about you. I swore to myself I’d put you out of my heart forever. And I did, for a while. I won’t lie, I’ve had other girls. But it doesn’t work like that, Cat, I couldn’t forget you! I can try to forget the past if you can? Marry me, Cat, for I’ll not ask again. I have my pride. Marry me, let’s have some time together before, well . . . I’ve joined the Royal Navy.’