Kate Hannigan

by Catherine Cookson

  All the terror Annie had known in her short life paled before this new terror. As she lifted her eyes to Kate’s her heart seemed to leap from her body by way of her mouth, for she saw there something that chilled her and turned her stomach over as never Tim’s look had done. Kate’s face was white, and her blue eyes black and deep and full of that something that made Annie want to hide her face. But she had to go on looking up into Kate’s eyes for they wouldn’t let hers go. Slowly Kate turned her face away, and with it her body, and she was facing the women again.

  The women were all quiet now, some a little awed at the length Nell Luck had gone, and growing uneasy…Why couldn’t Nell keep her mouth shut? This Kate Hannigan wasn’t Jessie Daley. Besides, having the doctor for a fancy man she was in with the toffs. Best keep clear of them, money was power; and most of the houses around here were owned by the Westoe toffs. You could be put on the street and never know the reason why…Well, why didn’t she say something instead of standing there like that? She certainly was putting up a good bluff; but it had taken the wind out of her sails, she looked like a corpse, but not a frightened one…no, nothing frightened about her, she wouldn’t run…Ah, she was going through, and without a word too!

  They watched her turn and walk away, the child walking behind her, tearing the thumb of her glove with her teeth. No-one spoke. They were suddenly deflated; even Mrs Luck voiced no thought, merely rolling her folded arms tighter in her shawl. It was as if they were fed by one artery, so general appeared their sense of defeat. All at once they seemed to remember they were busy women and were wasting time. They dispersed in twos and threes, Dorrie Clarke and Mrs Luck together. ‘Well, you showed the bitch,’ said Dorrie.

  Mrs Luck straightened her shoulders: ‘Yes, I showed the bitch.’

  ‘Nice way to spend a Christmas Eve! Who started this bloody business, anyway?’ said one of the two remaining women.

  ‘I think it was Dorrie.’

  ‘Aye, it would be. But, if my Sam gets to know I’ve been mixed up in this, he’ll bash me face in!’

  ‘Did you see Kate Hannigan’s face, Mary? D’yer think there could have been a mistake?…About the doctor, I mean. She looked so surprised.’

  ‘No, there’s no mistake; he’s her fancy man, all right. But she was a damn fool to let the bairn know.’

  When Sarah opened the door to Kate, the glad smile of welcome died out of her face. ‘My God, hinny…what’s happened? What’s the matter? Are you ill?’

  Kate said nothing, but walked past her. Annie followed, the thumb of her glove now a mass of tangled wool. Sarah closed the door and hurried after them into the kitchen, crying, ‘Kate, hinny, tell me what’s happened.’

  Kate sat down heavily on a chair by the side of the table and leaned her head on her hand. Annie stood in the dark recess which housed the wash-bowl; her eyes gleamed out of the dimness in mute appeal to her grandmother, but when Sarah put the same question to her, ‘What’s happened, hinny?’ she only dug her fingers into her lower lip and remained silent.

  Kate looked up at her mother…‘She’s been telling people the doctor is her da…They’re all saying he’s my…that I’m…’

  There was a strangled silence in the kitchen.

  ‘No, Kate!’ Sarah’s voice was horrified and incredulous.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate dully. ‘They were baiting Jessie Daley; I told them they should mind their own business, and they turned on me. It was Mrs Luck and her crowd. If they think that, others do…everybody must…’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Sarah, ‘what’ll happen if he hears?…Oh, and him such a nice man too…But how can they say that, Kate? You didn’t know him, did you?’

  To the question behind the question Kate replied, ‘No, ma, I didn’t know him; I never saw him before he came upstairs when she was born.’

  ‘Oh, what made her say such a thing?’ Sarah looked at Annie. ‘What made you say it, hinny?’

  Annie simply stared back, her eyes becoming wider, threatening to slip beyond the boundary of her face.

  ‘Come here,’ said Kate quietly.

  Annie came slowly forward, and the look on her face broke the ice in Kate’s heart. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ she said, ‘you won’t get into trouble…Only tell me, what made you say it? Has anyone ever said it to you?’

  Annie shook her head.

  ‘You just made it up?’

  Annie nodded quickly.

  ‘But you knew it was a lie, didn’t you, and it was wrong?’

  ‘They said…’ whispered Annie. ‘Yes?’ prompted Kate.

  ‘Well…they said I hadn’t got a da at all, and I wanted a da, and I just made on the doctor was my da. And I told Rosie, and she told Cissy Luck…Oh, Kate, I was only making-on.’

  Looking at her child, Kate realised the hurt and loneliness that must have preceded this game of ‘making-on’. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the pity of it. She had done everything in her power to make up to Annie for the lack of a father, but it would seem nothing one could do would ever fill that gap. ‘How long have you pretended he was…your da?’

  ‘Just this morning, round at the shop.’

  ‘You’ve never said it before?’

  ‘No, never, Kate. I made it up in the lavatory.’

  Kate looked at Sarah. ‘It isn’t something fresh they have just got hold of ma. They must have thought this…for a long time; I could see it in their faces. But, oh, the irony of it, that she should play into their hands by picking on him.’ Great tears welled up into her eyes; she dropped her head suddenly onto her arms and sobbed.

  Sarah stood mute, mechanically rolling and unrolling the corner of her apron. She had never seen Kate cry since she was a child…not even when she came home that time did she cry! And now the sound of her sobbing was more than she could bear. ‘Don’t, hinny, don’t,’ she pleaded; ‘he can’t know, and nobody would dare say anything to him; and you know it’s all lies. Oh’ - she turned to Annie - ‘why did you say such a thing?…What made you?’

  Kate put her hand out blindly and drew Annie’s shivering body to her. ‘Don’t blame her, ma; please. She’s not to blame.’ She sat up and dried her face with her handkerchief, and unpinned her hat and put it on the table. Then, taking Annie’s two hands in hers, she drew her close to her knees: ‘Dear,’ she began, ‘now listen carefully to what I am going to say…’

  Annie listened, but the softness of Kate’s voice and the love and understanding in her eyes in no way eased the blow when it came. ‘You are not to ride in the doctor’s car any more, and you are not to wait for him at the corner…you understand? You must keep out of his way…If you can’t avoid him, then you must tell him…well, tell him you are going a message, or you’ve got to hurry home. But you mustn’t wait about for him. Now promise me you’ll do as I tell you.’

  No amount of blinking would keep the scalding tears from falling, or quick swallowing dislodge the lump that was choking her; nothing that could ever happen could be as bad as this…Not to see the doctor again, not to sit beside him on the beautiful leather seat in the front of the car and see him laughing down at her, and to watch his long brown hands coming forward to lift her down, and the thrill as he whirled her through the air…or not to stand at the corner and see him wave to her, when he couldn’t stop…not to do any of these things, never, never again…

  ‘Answer me, dear.’

  Annie tried to speak, but couldn’t. Kate suddenly pulled her to her breast and held her close. ‘There, there, my dear, don’t cry like that. Stop now!’

  Sarah, too, had her apron to her eyes when the front-door knocker banged once. In answer to Kate’s startled glance, she said, ‘It’s all right, hinny, it’ll be the insurance man, that’s his knock.’

  ‘You won’t ask him in?’ said Kate.

  ‘No, hinny.’

  Sarah took some coppers from a cup in the corner of the cupboard and a book out of the chiffonier, and went through the front-room.

  ‘Come on, dear,’ sa
id Kate to Annie, ‘dry your eyes. We’ll still go to Newcastle and…’ She got no further, the blood slowly mounting to her face as she heard the voice at the front door speaking to her mother…Surely she wouldn’t let him in…He was in, in the front-room. She pushed Annie, who was staring, as if petrified, towards the door, to one side, and in the matter of seconds she made and reversed a decision…to escape upstairs; no, to see him and finish this thing once and for all. As the strands of the web are like steel bands to the fly so she felt the fine-woven strands of circumstance holding her to this fate, of which she would be free, for she saw nothing but disaster for all those concerned and the fulfilling of the prophecies of the women of the fifteen streets…She would put an end to it and stop their evil tongues, and still for ever the desire that was eating into her. In that minute she realised how this could be accomplished. The decision surprised her, for she had scorned it before today. But she saw it now as the only way out of this enveloping tangle. She felt it was inevitable; these things had to happen; life was planned; do all you could, learn, try to be different, you were brought back to the path that was set for you the day you were born…And, if you happened to have made a mistake as she had done, you were dragged back. But anything was better than following the dictates of her heart…Goodbye to Mr Bernard, and Mr Rex, and Miss Tolmache…but, oh, goodbye to Mr Bernard and evenings of strange delight!…Why should she be called upon to do this? Why had he come into her life, when he could have no part in it? And now she had to give up all she valued because of him. Hostility welled up in her, but died as she met his eyes as he stood in the doorway, looking at her…Why must he look at her like that? He had no right to do it…She felt suddenly weak and sick…Oh, God, why had he come? He, too, playing into their hands.

  ‘Hullo, there, Kate,’ he said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Hallo, Doctor,’ she answered quietly.

  He walked to the table and put down a long box he had under his arm, ignoring Annie as he did so, although he could see her standing close to the wall in the dim corner of the kitchen. He also ignored the fact, but for a different reason, that the three of them had been crying and that the atmosphere was strained. ‘A certain young lady had an appointment with me at eleven-thirty this morning, Kate,’ he said, ‘but she failed to put in an appearance, although she knew I had been to see Santa Claus last night, and that I would have a message for her, if not a present, from him…This is the first time this young lady has let me down; I thought she must be ill.’

  A strangled sob came from the corner. He looked towards Annie and back to Kate again. ‘Is anything wrong, Kate?’

  Kate didn’t answer him but turned to Annie: ‘Go upstairs, dear,’ she said.

  Annie, her eyes lingering on Rodney, stood as if she hadn’t heard. ‘Annie!’ said Kate again, sharply.

  Annie turned away and made a dash for the stair door, fumbled blindly with the latch, then ran upstairs. They heard her footsteps overhead before speaking, and then it was Rodney again who asked, ‘What is wrong with her, Kate?’

  ‘She is getting out of hand; I’m afraid she’s being spoilt.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re always saying she’s being spoilt. It’s nonsense, you couldn’t spoil Annie…no more than you could spoil…’ He had been going to add ‘you’, but withheld it and let his eyes speak for him.

  ‘She needs control,’ went on Kate hastily; her hands were joined together, the knuckles showing white. ‘She can’t get used to the idea of having…a father!’

  Rodney’s exclamation of ‘A father!’ covered Sarah’s gasp of amazement.

  ‘Yes, she doesn’t like the idea of me getting married.’ There, it was out; it was quite simple really, just a few words and everything was altered.

  Sarah dropped quietly into Tim’s chair. Rodney stared across the width of the table at Kate. Why was it, he thought, that her face always swam towards him; no matter what the distance, it seemed to bridge it until he felt it near his own, warming him with its radiance. She seemed more beautiful than ever today because she looked sad. It was only a week since he had seen her. He had tried to keep away from the Tolmaches’ after his attendance on old Rex was no longer necessary, but it had been so easy to drop in to tea, once in a while, knowing that she’d be there. Only the once in a while had become a regular habit. Last week she had presided over tea. Sitting proudly beside Miss Tolmache, she had joined in the general conversation, and he had seen her in a new light, quite at ease, laughing and talking generally. She never wore uniform, but a grey dress with a white collar which gave her a Quakerish air. He had felt she was glad he had seen her thus, and had noted the pride with which old Bernard always watched her, and the tenderness in her eyes when she looked at old Bernard or cleverly turned some remark, purposely set by him to be parried…And now, what was she saying?

  Kate thought, he’s not listening to me…he’s got to listen: ‘Doctor, I think it would be better if you gave Annie no more presents.’ She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘It has been most kind of you, and I am grateful…But now…well, Patrick thinks…well, we won’t be quite in the position to buy her these kind of things.’ She pointed to the box on the table. ‘Patrick says…’

  ‘Yes, Patrick says,’ said Rodney in a cold voice; ‘go on.’ His mind raced…what has made her do this?…Something has happened…Who is this Patrick?

  Sarah looked from one to the other…Oh, what was this?…What was this? Why didn’t Kate speak? Why were they standing looking at one another like that?…And it couldn’t be true about Patrick Delahunty! Only last week she had laughed the idea to scorn. He had haunted the house for days, asking about her and when she was coming home. And look how often she had had to tell him Kate had gone back to Westoe, when she’d been sitting upstairs all the time. He’d been after her for a year now, and she wouldn’t even look at him…her Kate and Pat Delahunty!…He was a nice enough fellow…but not for her Kate. Oh no!

  ‘You were saying you were going to be married,’ said Rodney, his words falling like tinkling ice; ‘and Patrick says…What does Patrick say?’

  His eyes were black and hard and were boring into her. A quiver passed over Kate’s face. She couldn’t carry it through, she couldn’t, she couldn’t. Why must he…? It wasn’t fair. And, oh, he looked so hurt! She dropped her head.

  In the months to come she was to ask herself what they would have done had not Father O’Malley walked in the back door at that moment accompanied by her cousin Connie from Jarrow. The strident voice and loud, senseless laughter of Connie as she bid everyone ‘A merry Christmas’ might have slackened the tension if Father O’Malley had been the loving, trusting Christian that his cloth proclaimed. But he prided himself that he knew human nature and the baseness therein, and between Kate Hannigan and this doctor, whom he had grown to hate, having been forced to listen to his views across the table of the boardroom in the workhouse, he sensed baseness like a hungry dog.

  If Sarah could have put into clear thought her intuitive knowledge of the priest she would have been astounded and not a little frightened, and he, if he could have read her mind, would have credited her with possessing supernatural gifts. ‘Happy Christmas, Connie,’ said Sarah to her niece; ‘and to you, Father. It’s well you’ve come at this minute, you’re just in time to hear the news. Kate here…well…she’s going to be married.’

  ‘Married! Oh Kate!’ yelled Connie.

  ‘And who are you going to marry, Kate?’ asked the priest, in a tone of polite enquiry.

  Kate regarded him steadily. From now on he would think he had a tight hand on her life…‘Patrick Delahunty,’ she replied quietly.

  The pin-points of the priest’s eyes widened through his glasses: ‘Patrick Delahunty…well, well! I’m surprised at your common sense…A good, steady-going, God-fearing man; you’ve done well for yourself.’

  Kate’s head went up, a look flashing from her eyes, which the priest read only too well.

  ‘I’ve never
known him miss mass,’ he went on; ‘nor the altar rails on a Sunday morning for the three years he’s been over here. He’ll be a great influence on Annie…’

  ‘Oh, are you going, Doctor?’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Mrs Hannigan,’ said Rodney. ‘Good morning.’ He inclined his head towards Connie, where she stood, strangely quiet since she had heard the name of the man Kate was going to marry. ‘Good morning,’ he said to her, and, looking at neither Kate nor the priest, he went out through the front-room.

  Father O’Malley watched Kate’s gaze follow him…Patrick Delahunty, he thought; there’s something funny here. Why, I was talking to him at nine o’clock this morning and he said nothing to me…His mind suddenly switched to the doctor…That man’s dangerous, I’m never mistaken; and this one, she’s ripe for the Devil; and she’s too strong for Pat, she’ll have an influence on him. Well, God’s will be done!

  6

  The Path Is Mapped Out

  Sitting before the kitchen fire, at three o’clock in the afternoon, Kate reviewed the happenings of the past year, with not a little wonder at the change time and the simple personality of a man had wrought in her; her mind, compared with the turmoil it had been in a year ago today, was at peace. In a fortnight’s time, when she was to marry Pat, her life would change completely. No longer did she dread the idea; in fact, there were times when she actually looked forward to it, for, once married, she would be safe; there would be no more ‘wondering’ at what might happen, no more mistrusting herself; married to Pat, she intended her sole aim would be to make him a good wife…Last Christmas Eve, when she had sent for him and told him she would marry him and that she had already told her mother and Father O’Malley, he had asked no reason for her lightning change of front, but had simply taken her two hands in his and pressed her palms against his face, and, in his soft Irish voice, had said, ‘It’s a miracle. He has answered my prayers. If you ever live to regret this day, Kate, may my death soon follow.’