Katy's Men (23 page)

Fleur
said sulkily, ‘To see that woman, I suppose.’

Matt
refused to be drawn and only answered curtly, ‘To see how the business is running. It pays for your keep, remember.’

He
went reluctantly and because he had to, and not only to see to the business. He drove there in the Vauxhall, making a mental note to sell it. Turkey was in the war now, since Guy Fawkes day, and Matt believed now that the war would be a long one. There was no sense in leaving the car to gather dust in the garage.

Katy
was in the driving seat of the Dennis, Ernie at her side, and ready to drive out on the day’s work. Then she saw the Vauxhall swing in through the gateway with Matt at the wheel. Her heart leapt instinctively and her first ridiculous thought was that she wished she was not wearing the overalls. She got down from the Dennis and walked towards him as he came to meet her, but they stopped a yard apart by mutual unspoken agreement. They smiled ruefully, lopsidedly at each other because there was an invisible wall between them now. The easy days of comradeship when they had worked together, were over. They both knew it.

He
said, ‘Hello, Katy.’

‘
Hello, Matt.’

He
asked, anxiety mixed with hope, ‘Is there any news of Louise?’

Katy
shook her head wordlessly, the fret and fear surfacing as they did every day in some moment when she was not busy.

Matt
said, ‘I’m sorry.’ And in an awkward attempt to get away from a subject which pained her, he asked, ‘How are you getting on?’

‘
We’re coping. If you go into the office, Annie will show you the books.’

He
stared at that. ‘Annie?’

‘
I took her on to handle the office work. I’m out on the road most of the time. I told you about the Army taking the men besides the lorries.’

‘
Aye, you did. I wondered if you would manage.’ ‘We have — just.’

But
while they were talking it was only on the surface and their eyes were exchanging other messages — of hunger and despair.

Katy
felt no sense of guilt because Matt had briefly supplanted Louise in her thoughts. She could think of him though her child was a prisoner in a foreign land because she had enough love for both her child and this tall man, and both were tearing her apart. But while thoughts of Louise were always with her, Matt was here now. She could not prolong this and said, ‘I’d better get out on the road and try to earn a few shillings.’

Matt
agreed heavily, ‘Aye. You do that. I’ll talk to Annie.’

But
when Katy drove the Dennis out of the gates and glanced behind her she saw him still standing where she had left him, outside the office, watching her go from him.

Katy
worked mechanically through the morning, her thoughts elsewhere. When she returned to the yard at mid-day she found Matt outside the office again but this time Annie and Beatrice were with him. The little girl was excited: ‘Uncle Matt gave me a ride in his motor car. He went
fast
!
’

Katy
addressed Beatrice but her eyes were on Matt. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

Beatrice
said ecstatically, ‘It was
lovely
!
’

Matt
said, ‘It was like old times.’

Katy
thought, Old times, past times.

Annie
broke in proudly, ‘I showed him all the books.’

Matt
said, ‘You’ve done very well, both of you.’ He glanced across at Ernie who was sweeping out the back of the Dennis, and amended, ‘All of you.’ His gaze returned to Katy: ‘Will you be able to carry on?’ And then, without waiting for her answer, ‘I think when I go back after this leave I’ll be sent over the pond and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

Katy
had been expecting this but she still flinched inside under the blow. Then Annie laid a hand on Matt’s shoulder and said sympathetically, ‘And you want something to come home to.’

That
could be interpreted two ways and Katy put in quickly, ‘We’ll cope.’

Matt
studied her a moment, then nodded. ‘I think you will.’

Annie
appealed to Katy, ‘I’ve been trying to get him to stay for a bite of dinner.’

Matt
shook his head, ‘Thanks, but I think I should get back to Fleur.’ He frowned as he thought of the reception he would receive but then strode to the Vauxhall, cranked it into life and swung into the driving seat. He looked back at Katy for long seconds then drove out of the yard. She was left staring at the empty gateway where a faint wisp of exhaust smoke hung a moment in the air then was dispersed on the breeze, leaving no sign of his passing.

The
days of his leave slipped by and Katy kept count of them but he did not come to the yard again. She arranged the work schedule so there were no jobs on the day he was to go back to his regiment. She stayed in the office all that day but he did not come. She had not thought that he would, but just in case . . . As the shadows of a winter dusk filled the yard she knew that he would not come, would be on the train racing south by then.

She
knew him, that he would keep faith and would be true to Fleur, the woman he had married, and that was why he had stayed away from Katy. She was temptation.

She
had not lost him because she had never possessed him in the first place. Now she was sure she never would.

Chapter Eighteen

MONKWEARMOUTH.
JULY 1916.

‘
They’re dying in their hundreds over in Flanders!’ Annie Scanlon said it, her face drawn with horror. They were talking in the office, Katy already feeling warm although dressed only in her overalls on top of her underwear. They had suffered two years of war and now the battle of the Somme, the ‘Big Push’, had begun. Annie went on, her lips quivering, ‘That lad Benny Pennington, Hetty Pennington’s son, he’s home on leave from the Navy and he stopped in London for one night before coming up north. He says the ambulance trains are coming into all the stations day and night, bringing the wounded.’

Katy
nodded, ‘Aye. I’d heard that.’ And inevitably she had wondered if Matt was safe. He had written once, just to say that he was in Palestine, a stilted, formal letter. As it had to be, she understood that.

They
were talking in the office and now Katy picked up the job list. ‘I’ll start the Dennis and get going.’ Ernie Thompson had finally persuaded the Army to take him and had gone off to the war. Katy had managed to find a boy to help her with the lifting of cargo on and off the lorry. She could not take on a man because the shipyards on the three rivers of the North-East, Tyne, Wear and Tees, were working all out to replace the ships lost to the U-boats. The men the Army had not taken were now in the shipyards. The fifteen-year-old Danny was a cheerful, willing worker but she could not ask him to start the Dennis and warm it up as Ernie had done.

As
she walked across the yard she reflected that the engine would not take long to warm in this summer weather. And now she thought of Louise as she had earlier thought of Matt. There was not a day she did not think of the man and her daughter. She had nightmare visions of Matt lying dead or terribly wounded. And of a big-eyed, skeletal Louise, because the government claimed the naval blockade had left the people of Germany starving.

Katy
shuddered now despite the warmth of the sunlight and the pink-faced Danny, his cap so big it seemed to rest on his ears, stared at her, puzzled. But then Katy saw the postman sauntering in at the gateway and she turned back to take the letters from him. She fanned through the few envelopes, looking for a letter — from Germany or from Matt — but was disappointed. She passed on to Annie all the post except one envelope addressed to herself in a sprawling, ill-educated hand. There was something about it that struck a chord of memory and she ripped it open and glanced first at the signature.

The
letter was from her sister, Ursula. Katy thought absently that it was little wonder she had not recognised the writing on sight because she had not seen it since she left home ten years ago. She scanned it quickly, then read it through more slowly to take in its full import. There was a good deal about how the family should stick together, letting bygones be bygones, forgiving and forgetting, but essentially the message was simple: her father was at death’s door.

‘
Annie, will you write to everybody on the job list and tell them I’ve been called away on urgent family affairs. I’ve got to go to Newcastle. Danny, will you sweep out the yard and do any jobs Annie finds for you. I’ll see you when I get back.’

It
was a strange house in a strange street in Wallsend. Katy saw the neighbours standing at their doors watching her curiously as she passed. She was much better dressed than any of them. The front door was open and she walked along the uncarpeted passage and knocked at the first door she came to. The passage needed sweeping, there was a stale smell of cooking and two near-naked little boys, dressed only in vests, played on the stairs but stopped to stare at her.

Ursula
opened the door, blinked at the smartly dressed Katy for a moment but then her expression changed from surprise to relief and she held the door open to admit her sister. ‘By lass, I’m glad to see you.’ But that was the end of their greetings. They stayed apart and there was no exchange of pecks on the cheek.

There
was just the one room, the floor covered with ancient, cracked linoleum. A small fire burned in the grate and an old basket chair stood before it. A table and two straight-backed chairs were set under the window and the bed was in a corner. Barney Merrick lay in the bed. He was sleeping, his breathing laboured, and grey-faced under the stubble of several days. The room had been swept and dusted and the windows cleaned. There was a smell of sweat but the sheets on the bed were clean.

All
this Katy took in with one swift glance. Ursula noted it and said defensively, ‘I’ve done what I could. The others don’t come near.’ And then, pointing to the basket chair, ‘Sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Katy
sat down cautiously but the chair held her with only a faint creaking. She was shocked by the appearance of her father, who had been a man of strength and high temper. ‘He looks awful. How did he get like this?’

Ursula
used an enamelled jug to fill the kettle from a bucket of water by the fireside, then she set the kettle on the coals and a small teapot on the hob to warm. ‘He had an accident a year or two back, fell down some steps when he was coming home drunk. It left him crippled and he couldn’t get work in the shipyards any more, only odds and ends of jobs. Then his wife died. She left him a few quid but he soon got through it. I think after that he just pawned stuff. I found a lot of pawn tickets when I came here.’

She
hesitated, then said with a rush, ‘You knew what he was like. I always took his part, thought he was great, but I found out about him at the end. I had money saved for my wedding, I’d put a bit away every week for years.

He
found it, took every penny and spent it on booze. So when he came round to me a few weeks ago and asked for a loan I told him to go to hell. I thought he wanted it for drink.’ Ursula wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand then made the tea as the kettle sang. She poured it into two chipped cups and sat down across the fire on one of the straight-backed chairs.

She
sniffed, ‘I wouldn’t have let him starve. One of the neighbours came in when they hadn’t seen him for a day or two. They knew where I lived and fetched me because he was in bed and they couldn’t get any sense out of him, he just wandered.’ They drank tea and Ursula went on, ‘I cleaned up the place and him, tried to get his temperature down and some beef tea into him, but he didn’t improve, so I got the doctor in.’ She lowered her voice: ‘He said Dad could go at any time. So I wrote to you.’

Katy
said, ‘Don’t blame yourself. You did all anybody could do.’

They
were silent for a moment, then Ursula looked up and asked, ‘How are you, then?’

‘
I’m fine.’

Ursula
looked down at the cup on her knee and ventured, ‘We heard you had a bairn and were living with a feller.’

Katy
eyed her sister and said directly, ‘I had a little girl but her father deserted me. I’m not living with any feller.’

Ursula
gave an apologetic flap of the hand, primly embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ Then she got up quickly, took a slip of paper from the mantelpiece and handed it to Katy. ‘That’s yours.’ And when Katy stared: ‘It’s Mam’s brooch.

She
always wanted you to have it. Dad must have got it back from that second wife of his, Marina, to pawn it for drink.’

Katy
reclaimed it the next day. When she came out of the pawnshop she stopped for a minute under the three brass balls of the sign and looked down at the brooch lying in the palm of her hand. It brought back memories of her mother — and Louise. Katy vowed that one day she would hand on the brooch to her own daughter. It was a promise made with determination and fear. She slipped the brooch into her bag and walked back to the room where her father lay dying.

She
and Ursula took it in turns to care for the old man and to sleep in the basket chair under a blanket. They did that for two nights because Barney Merrick, a fighter all his life, fought for it now. It was an animal reaction of the body. The mind was elsewhere. Often he would mumble incoherently when it was impossible to tell whether he was awake or sleeping. When he could be understood his talk was of old times, old places, old fights and old friends, all gone from him now. He never gave any sign of recognising Ursula or Katy, lost in his own world.

The
doctor came once when Katy was on duty and Ursula had gone to buy bread and milk. He was an elderly man, too old for war service, and he eyed Katy disapprovingly as he said, ‘He should never have been allowed to get into this condition. All he needed was some care.’

Katy
could have defended herself against the charge being levelled at her, could have pointed out that she had not known of his destitution and illness while others did,

that
she had come as soon as she had learned of his condition, that her father had turned her out and disowned her. But she said nothing. She would not argue over his body.

Barney
Merrick died in the last cold hour of the night. He did not wake. Katy was on duty, sitting by his bedside, watching him by the light from the fire because that would allow him to rest, rather than using the brighter gas lamp which hung from the ceiling. The flames flickering low in the grate cast shifting shadows on the walls and the old man’s face. In sleep it was austere but not hard. Katy hoped he had found some inner peace, wished he had been kinder to her — and she to him. She could feel only pity for him now, his cruelty forgotten. She acknowledged sadly that he would not have thought he had treated her harshly, would have been sure he was acting as much for her good as his.

When
he drew his last breath — Katy heard the quick, shallow intake and long sigh — she knew he had gone from her. She had a moment of loneliness then. She had lost Louise, could never have the man she wanted and her family were strangers to her. But then her own fighting spirit buoyed her up. She had a home of her own, a life of her own and one day she would find Louise and bring her back.

She
stood up and went to where Ursula sat sleeping in the basket chair and gently shook her awake: ‘He’s gone.’

Her
brothers and sisters came to the funeral and made some attempts at reconciliation but they tried to talk across too big a gap. Barney had left Katy with a

reputation
and she was a stranger to them, their husbands or wives. Ursula had gone some way towards surmounting this barrier due to the two days she had shared with Katy the duty of caring for their father. But even she was not close, not easy with her sister. If anything the men were kinder than the women but still uncomfortable. Their spouses eyed this scarlet woman with her fine clothes warily. Hadn’t she a child born out of wedlock? Didn’t her father say she was without a husband and living with another man, not the father of the child? Katy saw their glances and guessed their import. The clothes had all been bought before the war and she reflected grimly that the way business was going she would not be buying any more.

Katy
said nothing of the abduction of Louise. They could do nothing to help and she suspected the knowledge might only provoke further speculation about her, doubts as to whether she was wholly or partly to blame, had tailored a story to suit herself. Besides, Louise was hers, to love and worry over, and nothing to do with them.

It
was over at last, the interment as they all stood under a soft summer drizzle blown in from the North Sea, the cab ride back to the single room and a sandwich meal eaten with relief. Then the polite talk, the departure and the farewells and half-hearted invitations: ‘Come and see us!’ Katy set off for home.

She
took a cab because she had her suitcase to carry, she was weary from the last two days of nursing and broken nights and wanted to be home. As the cab swayed along behind the trotting horse she thought over the past few days. She decided she would take up the invitations and visit her siblings — but not for some months — or years. They needed time to get used to her. But that was something good come of this visit. And there was the brooch. She looked down at it now, pinned to the lapel of her coat. One day she would pass it on to Louise. She had been gone for two years and would be six years old in December. Katy closed her eyes, out of weariness and to try to picture her daughter now. Then she woke with a jerk, looked out of the window — and saw Louise.

It
was a mere glimpse. One moment the child was seen in a busy street and the next she was lost in the hurrying crowds. Katy shrieked,
‘Stop
!
’
She jumped out of the cab before it came to a halt, the startled cabbie on his box staring down at her. She ran back the way they had come, threading her way between the people on the pavement.

Katy
heard the cabbie, afraid he was about to lose his fare, shout, ‘Here! You come back here!’ She ran on, but slowing. It had been her, she was sure. Katy stopped, peering about her, eyes frantically scanning the crowd.
There
! She started forward then stopped because the little girl she saw now was not Louise, though about her size.
Now
! But again this was another small girl but not her daughter. Her shoulders slumped as she faced reality. She had been half-asleep and had been thinking about Louise, had awakened to see a small girl and thought it was her daughter. It was no more than wishful thinking. Louise was hundreds of miles away across the cold North Sea.