A Child of Jarrow (43 page)

She opened her eyes in dread. Was he about to tell her Alexander had left a devoted wife and several bereft children?

‘His dates,' he said, holding on to her. She searched his face. ‘He died in nineteen-o-six. July.'

Kate let out a cry of anguish. ‘Just after Kitty was born!'

‘But don't you see what that means? He couldn't have come back for you. He never even lived long enough to know you'd had the lass.'

She began to shake. ‘No, he couldn't, could he? Or sent me money for the bairn.' She gripped him. ‘Did it mention a wife? D-did Alexander marry?'

Davie looked at her with compassion in his weathered face. What good would it do her knowing the stone had been dedicated by his ‘loving wife Polly'? He could at least save her that extra anguish. Davie shook his head.

Kate felt light-headed with relief. ‘So he might have come back in time ...?' She searched his face for reassurance.

‘Aye, he might well have,' Davie comforted.

Kate was engulfed by a fresh wave of desolation. ‘He had a blood disease,' she said quietly. ‘He must've died of that.'

Suddenly Kate crumpled and gave way to bitter tears of regret. Davie quickly pulled her to him and wrapped his strong arms about her. She sobbed into his shoulder, grateful for his kindness.

After a while, he stroked her hair and said softly, ‘Kate, we're both on our own now. And it's like coming home for me when I stay here. Why don't we get wed?'

She pulled away and looked at him in astonishment. But his look was earnest.

‘Wed?' she exclaimed. ‘What you want to marry me for?'

He smiled bashfully under his bushy moustache. ‘ ‘Cos I care for you, lass. Always have done - even when my Molly was still alive.'

She stared at him as the full implication of what he had said sunk in.

‘All that time?' she whispered.

‘Aye. I could see it was Stoddie you cared for, not me,' he said without rancour, ‘and I would never have said anything ... but with Molly passing on ...' He squeezed her shoulders as if to give him courage. ‘What do you say, Kate?'

She was full of confusion. She did not love him, but he was a good man and in time she might grow to be fond of him. Yet she hesitated.

‘What about Father?'

‘He could live with us,' Davie said generously, mistaking Kate's fear of John's refusal for concern. ‘And my pay from sea will keep him happy in drink, I wouldn't wonder.'

‘But there's Kitty ...' Kate was still uncertain.

‘I'd be happy to take on the lass,' Davie insisted. ‘I've always had a soft spot for her.' He gave her a considering look. ‘And maybe in time, we could give her a brother or sister to help care for.'

Kate laughed drily. ‘I'm forty years old, Davie man. What you want with an old woman like me?'

He leaned forward and daringly kissed her cheek. ‘You're still a bonny woman to me.'

Kate touched his bristly chin in affection. ‘I'll think on it,' was all she would promise.

When Kate told John that Davie had asked her to marry him, he blustered but did not say no. Catherine's reaction came as a complete shock.

‘You're never going to say yes to him?' she said in horror.

‘I might,' Kate was stung into replying.

‘What about me?' Catherine demanded.

‘Davie's happy to take you on as his daughter—'

‘Never!' she cried. ‘He's not me da - he's a common stoker.'

Kate flushed in anger. ‘Those are Mary's words, I bet. Don't you turn your nose up at Davie McDermott. He's as honest and hard-working a man as ever you're likely to meet. I thought you'd be pleased he wants to marry your mam.'

‘Well I'm not!' Catherine said tearfully. ‘Where am I supposed to sleep if he moves in with you? On the settle like a lodger? There'll be no place for me.'

‘He'll be away at sea half the time,' Kate floundered.

‘You just want me out the way, don't you? You'd rather have him than me any day. I bet you wish I'd never been born!'

‘Don't be daft ...'

‘Well, don't worry, I'll not stop,' Catherine cried. ‘If you marry that man, I'll go.' She gave Kate such a look of anger that her heart went cold. ‘And I'll never come back!'

Kate was shaken to the core by her daughter's vehemence against marriage to Davie, and began to have doubts. Perhaps she was better off alone if it would cause such conflict under her roof. When the day came for Davie to rejoin his ship, she told him regretfully, ‘I cannot marry you. The lass has taken against the idea. It wouldn't work.'

For the first time she saw his mouth tighten in annoyance and his brown eyes blaze at her. ‘It would've worked fine well,' he cried. ‘You're just hiding behind the lass.'

‘No I'm not,' Kate protested.

‘You won't let yourself care for another man,' Davie said angrily, ‘one that honestly loves you. Alexander's dead and Stoddie's married another. But I'm here! What are you frightened of, Kate? That I'll treat you as bad as all the other men in your life? ‘Cos if that's how little you think of me, then it's best we never marry!'

He seized his duffel bag, swung it on to his shoulder and marched to the door. He turned, his expression desolate. ‘We're sailing for South America - a year at sea. When I come back I'll look for lodgings somewhere else.' Before she could say a word, he was striding out of the house, the door banging behind him.

Kate sank on to the settle, trembling. What he said was so true! She did fear marrying him. He was nice to her now, but once he was master in their house, would he not turn tyrant like John? That was how men were with women like her, women held in contempt by all around them, women whispered about behind their backs for their immorality and weakness. They were the drudges that the world believed should be grateful for not being thrown out on the street.

Kate could not stop shaking. When had she turned into such a woman? When had her opinion of herself started to slide until she thought herself unworthy of anyone's love? When she'd first become pregnant? When cowardly Alexander walked out of her life? Or was it the gradual poisonous drip of John's scorn, of Jack's unhealthy interest?

She sat all alone, too numb to cry. Catherine had gone out on her bicycle to avoid saying goodbye to Davie. John was drinking somewhere. She lay down on the settle and curled up like a frightened child, hugging herself and trying to stop trembling. The clock ticked as loud as a hammer. Half an hour passed. Davie would be boarding his ship. An hour. Kate dozed.

The clock struck four and woke her. Davie was gone. How achingly empty she felt. What had he said to her once? Stand up for yourself, Kate. Don't let John or the lass lead you a merry dance.

Her head throbbed. What was she doing lying here feeling sorry for herself? If she did not move now, it would always be like this, taking second place to the wants of others. She had done that for too long.

Kate jumped up and grabbed her jacket. When was his ship sailing? Three o'clock, four, five? She dashed for the door and across the yard, not bothering to close the gate behind her. Kate picked up her skirts and began to run. Out of the lane and down the long Jarrow road to Tyne Dock. Her bad foot ached as she pushed herself on, her chest wheezing with the effort, pulse thumping in her throat.

Which quay was Davie's boat sailing from? What was it called? She hurried on, stumbling down the hill, sobs catching in her throat. If Davie sailed without her ever saying sorry for her churlish refusal, she might never see him again.

As she gained the end of Leam Lane and the familiar streets crowded around her, she remembered the name of the ship.

‘The India Star.' She stopped a man in passing. ‘Do you know where she's sailing from?'

He shrugged. ‘Where's she going to?'

‘South America,' Kate panted.

‘Probably down Shields,' he grunted. ‘You'd best get the tram.'

Kate let out a sob. ‘I don't have the fare and it sails this afternoon!'

He took pity on her and fished out a penny. ‘I hope he's worth the bother.'

Kate took the penny with a cry of thanks and dashed for the tram stand. It seemed to take an age for one to appear, rattling along its rails. Once aboard, she panicked. Where should she get off? Kate asked the other passengers in the dim hope that one of them might know.

‘The India Star?' a boy answered. ‘It's off the Mill Dam - by the Customs House. Least it was this morning.'

Kate almost kissed him. Squeezing her way through to the steps of the tram, she jumped off at the stop before St Hilda's pit. The cobbled lane to the Mill Dam quayside snaked down between blackened housing and rough public houses. As a child she had been warned off from begging round there by her mother, in case slave-traders captured her and spirited her away on a ship.

Nothing was going to stop her running down there now. The quayside was a confusion of carts and lorries, men rolling barrels and humping sacks and fishwives calling their wares. How would she ever find Davie in all this crowd? Still, she hurried closer to the quayside, straining over the heads of others to try to see the name of the ships anchored there. There was no sign of the India Star.

A terrible thought struck her. Even if the ship had not sailed, Davie would be far below deck stoking up the fires in the furnace of the engine rooms. She would be too late to speak to him. She had missed her chance, her one final chance of happiness.

Someone touched her on the shoulder and she jerked round in panic.

‘What you doing here?'

‘Davie!' Her heart hammered. Here he was in front of her! Suddenly she was incapable of speech.

‘You on your own?' he asked suspiciously. She nodded. ‘You shouldn't, it's dangerous.'

She smelt the drink on his breath. Had he been drowning his sorrows or drinking to freedom? Kate had to know.

‘I -1 thought I'd missed you.' She forced out the words. ‘I wanted to say - to say...'

Davie watched her with his usual guarded expression.

‘I want - I will,' she stammered. ‘When you come back from South America - I'll marry you.' Kate held her breath. ‘That's if you still want to—'

‘Want to?' Davie exclaimed. Then his face broke into a happy grin. ‘Course I want to!'

He opened his arms wide and Kate fell against him in relief.

‘That's grand,' she cried, tears blurring her vision.

‘You'll not change your mind?' Davie asked, unable to believe in his sudden change of luck. Minutes ago he had been trying to blot out his failure with Kate with a gutful of rum. Now she was in his arms.

‘I'll not change it, I promise,' Kate smiled tearfully.

And right there, in the middle of the teeming quayside, she kissed Davie on the lips like a wife saying farewell to her husband. She did not mind the bitter-sweet taste of rum or the scratchiness of his bristling moustache. For in her mind, she saw their names on a marriage certificate, proclaiming to the world that she was a respectable married woman. Her past would dissolve and she would meet people's look in the street with pride. She saw Davie sitting across the hearth from her, rolling his cigarettes, or lying next to her in the large feather bed, holding her tight in his sleep.

Joy bubbled up inside her. Catherine would come round to the idea. There was plenty of time for her to grow used to it while Davie was away. It was only natural for the girl to be a bit resentful of a new man coming into the family, when for so long she had had Kate to herself. But one day her daughter would thank her for giving her the father she craved. And Davie would be a kind father, given half a chance.

‘I'll be a good husband to you, lass.' He smiled at her warmly, as if reading her mind.

Kate thrilled at the words she had thought never to hear from any man's lips.

‘Aye, I know you will,' she smiled back.

Davie grinned and hugged her to him tightly. ‘I love you, Kate.'

A sob of happiness caught in her throat. ‘Show me then,' she laughed through her tears.

Davie kissed her back.

***

A CHILD OF JARROW is the second in a Trilogy. The third novel, RETURN TO JARROW completes the story of Kate and Catherine as they live through the momentous events of the first half of the 20th century.

Praise for RETURN TO JARROW:

‘Her finest yet - a wonderfully moving, deeply emotional tale'
The Daily Record

‘If anyone can claim to be the new Catherine Cookson then it must surely be Janet MacLeod Trotter. Her new powerful saga of a restless, rebellious working-class girl is inspired by Cookson's early life. And her writing, like Cookson's, can inspire laughter and bring a tear. This is a story to burn itself into your mind.'
Northern Echo

‘Penmanship of the highest quality ... This is a story of warmth and despair, based on facts and places and with excellent characterisation. It is a delicate yet strongly-woven book of biography and imagination. Rich in narrative, which twists and turns on every page. It touches many raw nerves of human experience. It should satisfy both the Cookson addict and those lovers of a good story.'
The Newcastle Journal

‘It is powerfully and skilfully written, and keeps you interested until the end.'
Sunderland Echo

* * *

Janet welcomes comments and feedback on her stories. If you would like to do so, you can contact her through her website:
www.janetmacleodtrotter.com