A Child of Jarrow (35 page)

Kate stood shaking and trying not to cry. She throbbed where Mary's nails had torn her skin. She cursed herself for losing her temper so quickly. Catherine watched her warily from Rose's side.

‘What you looking at me like that for?' Kate accused. ‘You can help me clear up the mess.'

Kate bent to the task of picking up the broken plates that had fallen off the dresser, before anyone could see the tears flooding her eyes.

‘What did I tell you, Rose Ann?' John said in contempt. ‘That one's bad through and through. Should've taken the belt to her before she could answer back.'

Kate carried on, hot with shame at her outburst. Only later did it occur to her that her stepfather might have been maligning Mary and not her. After all, she lorded it over them all. Perhaps he approved that the uppity Mary had been taken down a peg or two. Whichever it was, it achieved one thing. John did not stop Catherine sending chatty letters to Stoddie to comfort him behind enemy lines.

The summer wore on in uneasy calm. There were no more raids on Tyneside, but Mary was not speaking to any of them and sent Catherine away with a sharp word when she tried to visit. The girl contented herself with playing in the street, organising the other children into games during the long evenings and staying closer to home. She showed flashes of affection towards Kate, helping her at the clippy mat when it rained, and buying her a pear on her birthday.

‘Me favourite!' Kate cried in delight. ‘Come here, hinny, and we'll share it together.'

For a few brief minutes they sat on the step in the sun while Kate peeled the ripe pear and handed half to Catherine. They munched and slurped the fruit.

‘Don't waste it,' Kate cried, seizing the girl's fingers and licking them as the juice ran down, before Catherine could wipe them on her pinafore. They smiled shyly at each other. Then Rose's voice came querulously from inside.

‘What you doing? Kate! I need helping to the netty.'

Kate sighed and stood up. ‘Ta, pet,' she said, resting her hand for an instant on her daughter's head. They held each other's look and Kate wished she could find the words to say how much the gesture had pleased her. No one else had thought to buy her a birthday present. Mary might have if they'd been speaking, but they weren't. The child must have saved up her tram fares to school to buy such a treat and scoured Shields for fresh fruit.

‘Kate! Haway and help me!' Rose shouted again.

Kate hurried inside and by the time she returned from the privy with her lumbering mother, Catherine had disappeared to play. Yet Kate was encouraged by her daughter's softening towards her and wondered if it was partly because Mary was absent and not filling the girl's head with spiteful words about her.

Then one Saturday, Catherine surprised her by announcing, ‘I'm ganin' to Cissy's party this afternoon. Will you do me hair nice, our Kate?'

‘Whose party?' Kate questioned.

‘Cissy Waller's, round in Phillipson Street,' Catherine said, hopping excitedly round the kitchen.

‘You never told me you'd been invited.' Kate was surprised but pleased. The Wallers were a respectable family in one of the grander upstairs houses.

‘Everyone's ganin',' Catherine beamed. ‘Belle's gone off to get ready. Will you put a new ribbon in me hair? And can I have a clean pinny?'

‘No, it needs ironing,' Kate answered.

‘Please, Kate!' she begged. ‘I'll iron it.'

Kate laughed. ‘All right. Pop a coal in the iron and I'll clear the table. Mind you don't burn yoursel'.'

She supervised Catherine's ironing, listening to the child chatter about the afternoon's party.

‘We're having games - and cake - and loads of sweets. Cissy said. Best party in the street.'

‘Is Belle calling round for you?' Kate asked.

‘Aye, she will,' Catherine nodded.

Kate was pleased that her daughter had asked her to do her hair and not Rose. She had noticed how the child avoided standing so close to her grandmother since the sour smell of her incontinence had grown more noticeable in the summer heat. Rose sat with legs swollen and sweating in her chair, trying to catch any breeze by the open kitchen window, issuing fretful orders for cups of tea or help to the privy. As it was, Rose was dozing, unaware of the excitement.

When Catherine was ready she skipped out into the yard and waited by the gate. Kate noticed for the first time how quiet it was in the back lane. Only two small boys were throwing pebbles at a tin can. A sudden unease stirred within.

‘What time's the party?' Kate called.

‘Two o'clock,' Catherine said, peering up and down the lane.

Kate glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was a quarter past two. Her stomach clenched. From the yard gate it was possible to see into the back of the Wallers' house. She forced herself to go and look. The upstairs windows were open, the net curtains lifting in the breeze. Behind them she could see children running around in some game, the noise of their laughter and excited squeals clear across the deserted lane.

‘Look, there's Cissy!' Catherine cried. ‘And Belle. She's forgotten to come and get me.' Her daughter turned and grinned.

Kate felt punched in the guts. She stared at her in pity. The poor child did not realise she had not been invited.

‘I'm here!' Catherine waved across, jumping up and down to attract the attention of her friends. No one appeared to notice. ‘They can't hear me. I'll gan and knock on the back door.'

Kate put out a hand to stop her. ‘No, Kitty. It's no use.'

Catherine stared at her in astonishment. Her face creased in a frown. ‘I'm missing the party,' she said indignantly, shaking off her mother's hold. The girl ran out of the yard and across the lane. As she clattered up the back steps, Kate could hear jaunty piano music strike up opposite. Her stomach twisted in fear for her daughter as she watched her knock on the neighbours' door. No one answered. Catherine hammered harder.

Suddenly the door swung open and Cissy appeared, flush-faced. Crowding behind, Kate glimpsed other girls, their hair tied up in fancy ribbons like Catherine's. Kate held her breath. Please God, let her in! She was too far away to hear what was being said, but she could read the expression on her daughter's face. The eagerness of moments before had vanished.

Cissy's voice was raised. There was laughter from the others. Then the door slammed shut. For a stunned moment, Catherine stood on the steps gazing red-faced at the closed door. Kate gulped. Damn them for their cruelty!

‘Hinny,' she called hoarsely. ‘Haway home, pet.'

Catherine turned and retreated, head bent in humiliation. As she came through the gate, Kate put out an arm in comfort.

‘I'll give you a penny to gan to the pictures - it's not too late,' she offered.

But Catherine ducked away and would not look at her.

Kate swallowed. ‘Never you mind them, hinny,' she said angrily. ‘They count for nowt.'

Catherine turned and raised huge tearful eyes at her. The child's look of desolation made Kate nearly choke at such unfairness. She reached out and grabbed the girl, before she could dart away.

‘You listen to me, lass,' Kate urged. ‘The day'll come when you'll be laughing at them. You're worth twice as much.' She gazed at her forlorn daughter, willing her to be strong. ‘You'll see your day with them - get your own back. By God, you will!'

And as she stared past the girl at the house beyond, filled with bitter fury, she vowed there and then, she would live long enough to see that day.

Chapter 42

The winter months that followed the brief spell of calm at Number Ten William Black Street were gruelling. Food queues lengthened and more women left the home to work long hours in the armaments factories along the riverside. News from the front was grim. In December, the Allies retreated from Turkey after huge losses at Gallipoli. Conscription was introduced in January of 1916, and by February the Germans had overwhelmed the French at Verdun.

Prices soared on tea and tobacco and other foodstuffs. When the cheap halfpenny post was abolished, Kate ordered Catherine to stop writing to Stoddie.

‘We can't afford the paper, never mind the stamp,' she said firmly. Besides, the Scotsman had only written once to the child and never to her, and Kate knew it was foolish to hold on to the dream that he would return and marry her. Jack had been right: Stoddie had probably said the same to other lasses and had meant nothing by it. Maybe he would never return, for there seemed no end to this war.

When Catherine protested, Kate had sent her off to queue for beer at Daglish's drink shop in Cuthbert Street. Kate did not like to admit that the decision was partly to do with the arrival of a new lodger, Danny MacQuade. He was handsome and genial and liked to spend his pay from the yards on drink. John approved of him because he was Catholic Irish and a Fenian, and many cold dreary nights were made more bearable by Danny's whisky and ready smile. He soon made no attempt to hide his interest in Kate and, to her astonishment, John did not answer his blarney with fists and swearing.

‘Let's drink to your beautiful daughter,' Danny would toast. ‘The prettiest girl in Jarrow by far, so she is.'

‘You could do worse,' John grunted. ‘She's hard-working. Bit too fond of the beer, mind. And the lads.'

Danny winked at her. ‘I'll drink to that,' he grinned.

‘What she needs is a good strong Irishman to keep her in her place.' John gave a lecherous laugh. ‘That's where she's gone wrong.'

Kate put up with the jesting because Danny's was good-natured and she looked forward to the drinking at the end of a hard day of scrubbing pub floors, queuing and making meagre rations go round. She enjoyed the attention he gave her and the daring kisses and squeeze of the waist when John had staggered to bed. He began to drop hints that it was time he found himself a wife and Kate dared hope it might be her. Sometimes she felt guilty about Stoddie, but Danny was here and in work and could provide for her daughter now. Stoddie was out of reach and might never return. If there was a chance of becoming a respectable wife she would seize it.

Only Catherine was a problem. Despite Danny being kind and friendly towards her, she was rude to him, pretending she did not hear when he called her over and offered her sweets. After a few weeks she would run off rather than sit on his knee and listen to his jokes.

‘Why won't you like him?' Kate asked her in exasperation.

Catherine fixed her with a stubborn look. ‘I like Dr Dyer. He gave me a ride in his motorcar.'

Kate was baffled. ‘What's Dr Dyer got to do with anything?'

‘He's canny and he's got no wife. Why can't you court him?'

Kate looked at her dumbfounded. ‘Don't talk so daft! He wouldn't look twice at the likes of me.'

‘He thinks you're canny,' Catherine persisted.

Kate was flustered. She liked the young doctor who had delivered her daughter, but he was as beyond her reach as Alexander. She would not make that mistake again and she would not have the girl making a fool of them all with her fancy notion.

‘You haven't been making up stories about me and the doctor, have you?' She took hold of Catherine roughly. The girl avoided her look. ‘Don't you dare say owt about it. You'll land us all in trouble with your silly tales. There's nowt between me and Dr Dyer and never can be. I'm courtin' Danny, whether you like it or not. He might be your da one day if you're lucky.'

‘Never!' Catherine said with a look of horror.

‘Don't you go spoiling me chances of a good man,' Kate cried in alarm. ‘Even Father thinks he's a canny match.'

Catherine tore out of the house without another word and did not come back until after dark. She grew more wilful by the day, vomiting up the precious food Kate cooked her and refusing to go to school. She woke her at night with strange babbling and several times Kate found her wandering about the yard in her nightdress, letting in the bitter cold air. Kate could not fathom her behaviour and blamed it on the worsening war.

Then one raw spring evening, Kate came in feeling mellow after sharing a drink with Maisie after work. At once she noticed that Danny's canvas bag was gone from the settle where he slept at night. Rose's face was in shadow, but Catherine sat at her feet, subdued and quiet.

‘Where's Danny?' Kate asked in confusion.

‘He's scarpered,' John snarled from his chair.

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Didn't want you after all,' John sneered. ‘More interested in the bairn, the Fenian bastard. Found him out the back when I went to feed the hens - hands up her skirt—'

‘John, that's enough,' Rose interrupted, her voice heavy.

Kate's stomach heaved. She stared at Catherine, but the girl looked away.

‘I d-don't believe you,' she stuttered. ‘Danny's a grand man. He wouldn't...'

‘Well, I gave him a taste of McMullen medicine,' John said grimly. ‘Kicked him down the street. You'll not see him again.'

Kate was stunned. One minute she was courting the handsome Irishman and dreaming of marriage, the next he was gone. It did not make sense. And all over the lass! How could he have done that to her? Kate was filled with disgust and disappointment.

‘Are you sure ...?'

Rose leant forward so that her chiselled, pained face showed in the firelight. ‘He was a bad ‘un and you're well shot of him. We'll hear no more of it.'

Kate clenched her fists and fought back bitter tears. ‘Kitty - I'm sorry,' she gulped, leaning down to hold the child. But Catherine flinched away from her touch.

Kate forced herself to get on with the chores, though she wanted to run to the bedroom and howl into the bed clothes. She hated Danny for his betrayal, appalled that he could have been molesting her daughter while winning her with sweet words. Danny had thought so little of her virtue that he even took advantage of her child. No wonder the girl had been acting so strangely of late.

Kate fought off nausea to think of it. She would not be so easily taken in again, by God she would not! She was destined to the purgatory of the unmarried mother. Well, if that was her fate, she would let no man touch her heart again.

Danny MacQuade was never mentioned after that, but his memory lay like a festering sore between Kate and her daughter, a source of guilt and resentment to them both. Catherine hardly spoke to her mother, just threw mutinous looks and turned her back. Kate found herself shouting at Catherine all the more for her increasingly unruly behaviour. But the damage had been done. She had not been there to protect her daughter from Danny's lecherous attention and now Catherine seemed to be punishing her for it. Kate lost count of the times neighbours came complaining to her door at the nine-year-old's fighting in the street.

‘Look at the eye she's given my Sally!' one woman berated. ‘You should keep her indoors till she learns her manners.'

But the more Kate scolded her daughter, the more aggressively Catherine behaved among her friends. Kate saw how the girl bullied the others, pushing them around if they would not do as she commanded. Her tendency to bossiness was now backed by a brawny strength. ‘I'll fight ye!' Kate heard the loud threats and despaired to think her child was turning into a wild McMullen. It was as if the wicked things that Danny had done had unhinged her, for Catherine had shied away from fights in the past.

Something else worried Kate. It was months since the exclusion of Cissy's party and Catherine had soon been playing with her friends again as if nothing had happened. But Kate could not help feeling the girl had neither forgotten nor forgiven. She seemed angry and resentful with everyone, but especially with her. Kate could not control her. As summer came, she tried to occupy her with chores, taking in extra washing to try to make ends meet.

Catherine would be sent to fetch the washing and carry it back. She complained bitterly that her back was hurting and tried to get Rose to intervene.

‘I cannot carry it, Mam,' she whined. ‘Tell our Kate to stop picking on us.'

‘Kate, let her be,' Rose chided. ‘The lass is all done in after her long day at school.'

Kate flared. ‘She's a lazy little madam! And she'll help me with this lot or I'll skelp her backside.'

‘She's just a bairn.'

‘She's nearly ten,' Kate snapped. ‘You sent us out on the street at her age.' She threw her mother an accusing look. ‘Is that what you want for Kitty? ‘Cos if we don't get this washin' done, that's what it'll come to. I'm the only one workin' meself into an early grave round here. Look at me hands - red raw they are!'

Rose was stung into silence and resentfully Catherine stalked out, dragging the overloaded basket of washing.

But more often than not, she was nowhere to be found when Kate called her to help. She roamed the streets, a law unto herself.

One day she came rushing back in, her dress soaked and rank-smelling.

‘Where've you been?' Kate demanded.

‘Down the Slacks,' Catherine said defiantly, yet her look was shifty.

‘I've told you never to play down there.'

‘I was looking for firewood,' she muttered.

‘Get out of those stinking clothes now,' Kate ordered. ‘And if you ever go near that place again, I'll string you up like Jobling, so I will!'

Catherine slunk past her. That evening at tea, she sat subdued without a word to any of them and did not attempt to go out again. She kept glancing out of the window as if watching for something in the dying light. Just as Kate was lighting the lamp, there was a knock at the front door. In an instant, Catherine was out of her seat and bolting for the yard.

‘What's got into her?' John asked suspiciously.

Kate went to the door in dread. A man she did not recognise stood in the shadows, grasping his cap nervously.

‘This the McMullens'?' he asked gruffly.

‘Aye,' Kate nodded cautiously. John loomed at her shoulder.

‘What of it?' he demanded.

‘I don't want to cause any bother,' the man said, ‘but I was told it was your lass did it.'

‘Did what?' John demanded.

‘Nearly drowned our Billy.'

‘Never!' John exclaimed. ‘Not our Kitty.'

‘She was seen doing it - lad saw her from the Jarrow tram, holding his head under the water. If he hadn't got off and stopped her ...' The man swallowed. ‘Well, our Billy'd be a goner.'

Kate felt dizzy. ‘Mary Mother!'

‘Can you be sure?' John was still incredulous. ‘Maybes your lad's a liar.'

The man frowned in anger. ‘I've heard talk of your lass before, always daring the bairns to jump the timbers in the Slacks. This time she went too far and pushed him in.'

‘The Slacks?' Kate gasped.

‘Aye, missus, that's where it happened.'

Kate knew it to be true. Catherine had made no secret of being at the forbidden Slake. That must be where she went when she disappeared so often. Her blood ran cold to think what the girl had done there.

‘Must've been an accident,' Kate blustered. ‘Our Kitty would never harm a flea.' But even as she said so, Kate had an image of Catherine's face creased in savage glee as she swung a younger girl around by the arm until she screamed in pain for mercy. How many times recently had she glimpsed her picking on younger children and had turned away, not wanting to see? Too many.

The man's look was pitying. ‘The lad on the tram saw it all, missus. He stopped her drowning our bairn. Maybes it was a daft game gone wrong - or maybes it wasn't.' He gave her a warning look. ‘But you'll have to do sommat with her, missus, you really will. ‘Cos she's got to be stopped.'

‘Aye,' Kate gulped, ‘I'll see to her.'

The man nodded and jammed on his cap. As he strode away up the street, Kate called after him, ‘Sorry for your trouble!'

She returned inside with a leaden heart. What kind of monster had she bred? Maybe the priest was right in thinking no good could come from a child born in sin. John gave her a look of contempt.

‘She's your problem - you sort her out.'

Kate watched him retreat to his chair by the hearth. He wanted nothing to do with the punishment, as if it was only her fault for the way Catherine was behaving. She looked to Rose for support. Her mother's haggard look showed she had heard the exchange on the doorstep.

‘Fetch her in,' Rose said stonily. ‘She'll take her medicine.'