Kate Hannigan

by Catherine Cookson

  It is only the constant thought of you that has kept me sane these past months in this Godforsaken hole. Imagine, three times thinking that I should see you within a few days, and then leave to be cancelled! I felt I should go mad. Everyone is so fed up, and would welcome orders for France. I long for orders for anywhere so long as I can break my journey at Newcastle…Do you love me, Kate?…Let me hear you say it. Write it, darling; you don’t write it enough, some of your letters are constrained…

  Constrained! Kate gazed into the fire. If he were only here now she wouldn’t be constrained, overboard would go every fear…Let there be a child! Let there be two, three!

  She thrust the letter into her bosom and began to walk up and down the kitchen…The years she had wasted in fooling herself! Empty, empty years. Why had she let anything stop them from coming together? His wife, who was nothing to him, her mother, Annie, her religion…yes, even her religion, which said this beautiful thing was wrong, this feeling of life that he infused into her by his very presence was sin. How could anything so fine be bad?…She couldn’t give herself where she didn’t love…Yet they would say it was. Oh, if he were only here…Rodney! Rodney!

  Annie came in, loaded down with her basket of groceries. She had an orange in her hand.

  ‘Look, Kate!’ she said. ‘Mrs Clarke gave me this.’

  ‘Dorrie Clarke?’ Kate stared at her, apprehension in her eyes. ‘What did she say to you? Did she ask you any questions?’

  ‘She only asked me how I was getting on, and said I was getting a big girl. And she asked about grandma, and said she must come and see her.’

  ‘Don’t speak to Mrs Clarke unless you must,’ said Kate. ‘And never tell her anything about me or…anyone else. If she asks, say you don’t know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell her anything, Kate,’ said Annie, who still carried the memory of a certain Christmas Eve vividly in her mind. ‘I didn’t want to take the orange, but she made me.’

  ‘All right, dear. Only be careful, she’s not a nice woman.’

  ‘Some of the shops are decorated,’ said Annie. ‘They must be lovely right down Shields,’ she added wistfully.

  Kate tweaked her nose: ‘All right, I’ll take you down later.’

  ‘Ooh, Kate!’ Annie put her arms around Kate’s waist. They clung closely for a minute.

  ‘There, now,’ said Kate. ‘Go up with grandma for a while, she must be lonely. Tell her I’ll be up as soon as I get the bread in the oven.’

  At half-past three Kate and Annie were dressed, ready to go out. They stood beside Sarah’s bed.

  ‘Sure you’ll be all right, ma?’ asked Kate, giving a final pat to the pillows. ‘You won’t be lonely?’

  ‘No, lass, no. I’m glad you’re going out for an hour. You’re in too much; you’re getting pale and thin.’

  She put up her hand and stroked her daughter’s cheek. Kate bent and kissed her.

  ‘We won’t be long, we’ll be back about six. I’ve set the tea, and there’s some fish cooking in the oven.’

  ‘Don’t you hurry yourself, it’ll be all right. Maggie’ll be up, she’ll see to the tea.’

  “Bye, grandma,’ Annie kissed the blue lips. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get back…about all I see in the shops.’

  Sarah smiled and watched them go out. She lay thinking, her eyes fixed on the bedrail…This dying took a long time. But she didn’t want to go just yet…if only she could outlast Tim, so Kate wouldn’t be left alone with him, even for a day. She knew the impossibility of her wish. Apart from his leg, which troubled him at times, he was as strong as a horse. She began to pray, but dropped off into a doze, which filled most of her days.

  Standing at the front door, Kate said, ‘We’ll wait a few minutes for the postman.’

  ‘There he is,’ cried Annie, ‘coming round the corner.’

  ‘It’s getting colder,’ said the postman. ‘Shouldn’t wonder if we don’t see more snow…There’s nothing for you, they’re piling up for tomorrow, I expect.’ He laughed and passed on.

  Something must have happened…but what? What? To know the worst that possibly could happen would be better than the sickening weight of this anxiety.

  She walked into Tyne Dock, with only a small part of her mind listening to Annie’s gay chatter…‘Would you, Kate?’ Annie was asking.

  ‘Would I what, dear?’ Kate brought her attention back to her child.

  ‘Would you come into the Borough Road church and see the crib? Rosie says it’s lovely.’

  ‘You want to see it?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Annie said. ‘Rosie says they’ve got real straw and a real cave and two new shepherds this year.’

  ‘All right. We’ll go before we get the tram for Shields.’

  They took a short cut to the Borough Road church, and knelt on the stone steps of the Lady Altar and gazed at the crib, with its infant child and kneeling Mary and Joseph. The flickering candles seemed to endow the group with life.

  Annie’s lips moved as she said her rosary, and her face was wrapped with the wonder of it all. But Kate knelt stiffly, uttering no prayer.

  It was nearly a year since she had said a prayer of any kind, and she asked herself, would her prayers for him be answered? If she believed all she had been taught then the answer was no. For God gave you only the things which were good for your soul; such as poverty and pain! And, unless you made friends with these, life was impossible for her and her kind. Rodney would be considered anything but good for her.

  But in spite of her reasoning her heart suddenly cried, ‘Oh! Mary, Mother of God, don’t let anything happen to him. Please, keep him safe. Do what you like to me, for I know I deserve it, I know I am proud and vain of my knowledge, thinking I am above my own people, and I criticise my religion…but only keep him safe, and I will try to be better. I will do anything, anything…’

  She suddenly stopped her wild plea, the bargaining side of prayer, which her reason had come to abhor, made her ashamed…never praying unless one wanted something. She stood up and turned to the main alter…‘Thy will be done,’ she said, and felt better.

  She sat in a pew opposite the statue she had described to Rodney on that faraway night, sitting in the car on the top of the Felling hills, and, when Annie, face radiant with mystical happiness, came to her, she drew her close and, pointing to the statue, whispered, ‘Tell me, dear. Do you like that statue, or does it frighten you?’

  Surprised, Annie looked at her. ‘The statue of Our Lord frighten me?’ she whispered back. ‘No, Kate. But it nearly always makes me want to cry. Then I think, He was only like that for three days; ’cos He came Himself again on Easter Sunday, didn’t He?’

  Kate nodded, and realised that Annie would never be afraid of the things that had frightened her…except Tim. Christ had certainly risen for Annie.

  ‘Which school do you like the better, the Borough Road or the one you are at now?’ Kate asked, as they walked to the tram.

  ‘Oh, the one I’m at now! It’s a lovely school. But I don’t like their church; I went in with one of the girls when there was a service on. I didn’t like it a bit; God didn’t seem to be there…Oh, I love our church; don’t you, Kate?’

  Kate was not obliged to answer, for they boarded a tram. But she thought, some temperaments make good Catholics, others bad. Mine is in the latter category. But Annie will be a Catholic all her life, and I must never say or do anything which might spoil her faith. It is so beautiful and clean now, and, unlike mine was, without fear. If I have other children, will I bring them up as Catholics?…The question, involving so much not touching on religion, was unanswerable.

  Her thoughts returned to Annie and her shining faith, and she knew that it would have hurt and puzzled her had she been told she had committed a sin through attending a service in a non-Catholic church. But it would not have really touched her faith, for she was one of those lucky people, born to believe without questioning. Kate wished she had been born that way too.<
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  Her neck would carry a mark for life as ‘a result of her stand in sending Annie to a protestant school, but her conscience, which had troubled her at times, was suddenly easy. She felt she had deprived Annie of nothing; the Catholic religion, she thought, would always be Annie’s choice, and she had given her the best education possible under the circumstances.

  It was dark when they returned home, and bitterly cold, with thin snowflakes lazily dropping here and there. Mrs Mullen was waiting for them at her own front door.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she demanded.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is mother worse?’ Kate asked anxiously.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Mullen, pulling Kate into the doorway. ‘You, Annie,’ she went on, to Kate’s amazement, ‘go on round the back way and sit with your grandma. And if your granda asks where Kate is tell him she’s gone for…groceries, or meat…or anything. Go on now…don’t stand there gaping…go on!’

  Perplexed, Annie did as she had been told.

  ‘Doctor Prince has been,’ said Mrs Mullen.

  ‘What!’ Life whirled through Kate’s veins; her head reeled with its force.

  ‘Listen…There’s not much time. He came about fifteen minutes after you had gone. Now he told me to tell you that he’s leaving Tyne Dock station at a quarter to seven…he’s for across the water…but he’ll be at the station just after six.’

  ‘For France,’ Kate said dully, the new life ebbing away at the thought.

  ‘Yes. Now get yourself off, it’s twenty to six now. You’ll be there by six if you hurry…Here, give me your basket.’

  Kate turned without a word and ran down the street.

  There was no tram in sight, so, lifting her skirts, she raced along the road, her heart crying, ‘Rodney! Rodney!’ with each flying step…Two hours wasted, and he going to France!…She heard a tram coming, and stopped it. When she got to Tyne Dock she took another to the station, arriving there just on six o’clock.

  Rushing up the steep, narrow slope of the booking-hall, she found her way momentarily obstructed by a tall fur-clad woman, with a chauffeur in attendance. The latter, she noticed, had a club-foot, and for a second she wondered how one faced life under such a handicap. How one’s thoughts flew off at a tangent, especially at times of greatest stress.

  Rodney was not in the booking-hall, but she assured herself he would come, it was just six o’clock. She would get a platform ticket…the respite would steady her.

  She was turning away from the booking let when the chauffeur with the club-foot spoke to the clerk. His question startled her, and she stared at him. For he had asked, quietly, ‘Has Captain Prince…you know, Doctor Prince passed through here recently?’

  The irritated clerk snapped, ‘How should I know? Think I write down the names of everyone who buys a ticket?…Damn silly question to ask.’

  Kate looked at the woman in the fur coat, and was more perplexed still when she heard the chauffeur say to her, ‘He left half an hour ago, my lady. He caught the five-thirty to Newcastle.’

  He seemed to hover over the woman, and, when she said, ‘We’ll go to Newcastle,’ he answered, ‘Very well, my lady!’

  As they walked away Kate noticed that, although he did not touch her, he seemed to lead her down the long slope.

  A car started up in the darkness beyond, and Kate guessed they had gone…Who was she? Not Mrs Prince…His mother then? No, she was too young…And why had the chauffeur lied?

  She stood, perplexed at the situation, staring out into the night, until a tall, lean, khaki-clad figure came striding towards her from out of the blackness.

  Her heart leaped, and she seemed to grow taller within herself. Then he was there, close to her. Their hands met, and gripped. His dark eyes glowed into hers. They stood for a second, caught up in ecstatic silence, then, turning without speaking, they showed their tickets and passed through the barrier. By mutual consent they made their way to the far end of the platform, which was totally deserted…And they were in each other’s arms, without having spoken a word.

  Their lips clinging, their bodies endeavouring to merge, they swayed as they stood, holding this moment, willing it to go on for ever.

  When at last he released her she leant against him, limp and trembling. His lips continued to move over her face, kissing her eyes and her brow, murmuring words which gave her an inward glow. Presently she said, ‘Darling, is it France?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered, still caressing her.

  ‘Oh, why was I out?’

  ‘Yes, why were you?’ he asked. ‘The bottom seemed to drop out of everything when I found you weren’t there…Didn’t you receive my letter, dear?’

  ‘I’ve had none for a week.’

  ‘What! But I’ve posted you two this week; the last one three days ago telling you about this move. I really expected to be here yesterday, but everything’s been in such a devil of a mix-up.’

  ‘It’s the Christmas post,’ said Kate; ‘they must have been held up…Oh, darling, I’ve been so worried!’

  ‘Have you, my love?…In a way, it makes my heart glad to know that…Let me look at you. Come here,’ he said, drawing her into the weak gleam of a gas jet. ‘How do you do it?’ he cupped her face tenderly in his hands. ‘You are more beautiful each time I see you…Oh’ - he drew her into his embrace again - ‘how am I going to let you go? Oh Kate!…darling! darling! I love you…Oh, God!’

  They clung to each other desperately, hungrily.

  Then, in a little while, she asked, tentatively, ‘Must you go tonight?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered bitterly. ‘We are to leave Newcastle just after eight…Christmas Eve, too! The men are in a devil of a way…We should all have had leave, but they’ve tried to tell the men that the unexpected seven days they got last Christmas was really embarkation leave, and that we should have been in France months ago. There’s been a dreadful bungle somewhere. The few who managed dying mothers and wives got twenty-four hours! I had my business to set in order…Which reminds me, darling. Come, sit down here; if I hold you I can’t talk sensibly, and there is something I want to say to you…Oh, wait…’ He again drew her to him. ‘You’re too sweet, you’re too…Oh, I can’t bear it!…’

  The dark desolate station vanished, together with the cold and the falling snow.

  ‘Oh, dearest; I’m sorry; I’m quite mad. You’re like a heady wine…Come, sit down!’

  They sat close together on the station seat. Her eyes moved over his face as he spoke, and her heart cried out, ‘Don’t go tonight. Don’t! Don’t!…I’m mad, too.’

  ‘It’s about money, dearest,’ he was saying. ‘If anything happens to me, you’ll be all right; I’ve seen to that. But it’s money for you to carry on with that I want to talk about. I’m going to make you an allowance, through my bank…I wanted to write to you about it, but it’s so difficult to put these things into a letter. I’ve wondered how on earth you’ve managed this last year.’

  Money! He was offering her money! An allowance…Money would buy coal and food, and extras for her mother, and clothes for Annie, who was growing so quickly that her things had to be lengthened and she had to cut down her own for her. Her own stock of clothes was rapidly diminishing. Soon there would be none to remake, which had worried her. But now, an allowance! The dreadful, soul-destroying burden of poverty would be lifted…No! What was she thinking? She couldn’t take money from him…Money! That was the term in which the women of the fifteen streets thought; you gave so much and you got so much!…This was the only lovely thing in her life. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t bring it down to the level of their thinking.

  ‘Please! Please, Rodney, I can’t! Don’t talk about it.’

  ‘Why not, darling?’

  ‘I can’t explain. Only don’t, please!’

  ‘Don’t be silly; you must! I have more money than I know what to do with; a great-uncle died some years ago, leaving me shares in a steel works. And now, with the war, the money’s simply piling up…So,
darling, you must let me do this.’

  ‘No, Rodney. No! Oh, don’t let us waste these precious minutes talking about it…You see, it’s because I don’t want to spoil this…our…oh, I can’t explain…Darling, don’t you see?’

  ‘No I don’t. I only know that you must be in need of money and that you’re being silly. I’ll send it to you whether you give me leave or not.’

  ‘No, don’t do that…Promise me you won’t do that! How could I explain from where the money was coming? My mother…everyone would think that I…’ She shrugged. ‘Well, what does it really matter what they think? It’s what I think that matters. No, Rodney; whatever our relationship, I’ll never be able to take money from you.’

  ‘That’s utterly ridiculous!…Dearest!’ - he held her hands tight against his breast - ‘I want to buy you things…clothes, furs…’

  ‘Furs!’ Kate broke in. ‘Oh, Rodney, I forgot to tell you. Someone…a lady, was enquiring for you in the booking-hall, just before you came. Talking of furs reminded me.’

  ‘Enquiring for me?’ Rodney’s mind flew to Stella. He hadn’t seen her, she’d been out when he arrived; she was, he understood from Mary, on various committees. No letters had passed between them during the months he had been away, so it was hardly likely she had come to see him off. ‘What was she like?’ he asked.

  ‘Tall and pale, with very large eyes. She had a chauffeur with her…he had a club-foot.’

  ‘Good God!’ Rodney exclaimed. ‘That woman! to come to the station enquiring for me!’

  ‘You know her?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Know her! She’s a nightmare! She’s Lady Cuthbert-Harris.’

  He went on to tell Kate briefly about her.

  ‘Why did the chauffeur lie, I wonder?’ said Kate.

  ‘Oh, Henderson knows how to manage her, and he’s devoted to her, poor fellow. She’s a dreadful woman, really. I should like to know, though, how she knew I was leaving here at this time…’ He suddenly thought of Swinburn, who, besides the Davidsons, was the only other person who had known. But why should he tell her? What was his motive? Devilment, perhaps. It would need thinking about later. There would be time enough for that…But now: