The Urchin's Song (8 page)

‘Hmm.’ Vera flicked at the items with a critical finger. ‘Not bad, but a bit shabby round the edges.’ She was playing the game, and Josie, Cyril and Vera were all aware of it, but protocol had to be maintained before serious haggling commenced. ‘Is that the best you can do, then?’

‘The best?’ Cyril raised his eyes heavenwards, apparently wounded beyond words, and then he smiled as Gertie, shyly stroking one of the dresses with the tip of her finger, said, ‘I think they’re bonny.’

‘A lady after me own heart. Here, hinny’ - he drew a small slab of hard toffee out of his pocket - ‘I was just wonderin’ what to do with this stickjaw afore you come.’

Ten minutes later Josie and Gertie were the possessors of vests, drawers, petticoats and two dresses each, along with the grey coat for Josie and a smart hat to match it. The whole lot had come to twelve shillings, which seemed an inordinate amount to Josie, but which meant - Cyril had mournfully assured them - he wouldn’t be eating all week, the great loss he’d had to incur.

‘They’re good stuff, really good stuff, lass,’ Vera had murmured once they were making their way into High Street East, for the walk to Central Station further along in High Street West. ‘An’ kept real nice. You want to give the right idea when you’re lookin’ for work, now then, an’ these are a cut above.’

Josie nodded, her arms tight round the brown-paper package containing the clothes. She would pay Vera back every penny but she knew better than to mention it now.

Although the beautiful clock-tower and brick façade of the station on the High Street side was familiar to Josie, she had never ventured inside, and now, as she accompanied Vera and Gertie into the building, her first impression was of the height of the arched ceiling. It seemed to rise up and up, and it was when she was turning round in a circle to admire it fully that she became aware of a small figure darting out of view outside.

Jimmy.
She glanced at Vera who was pointing out the weighing machine to an entranced Gertie, and the other machine which apparently enabled the user to punch out their name and other details on to a tin strip. She had been keeping an eye open from the moment they had left Northumberland Place, but he must have been trailing them all along. Was her da with him?

‘Here.’ She handed the parcel of clothes to a taken-aback Vera, securing the poker from her friend who had been holding the instrument of protection since the market. ‘If you want to get the tickets I’ll be back in a minute. I’m just going to have a word with Jimmy.’

‘He’s here?’

‘Outside.’ Josie flicked her head towards the entrance.

‘Alone, lass?’

There was a grim warning in Vera’s tone, but although Josie knew what she meant, she said quietly, ‘Stay with Gertie, Vera. Nothing can happen, even if he’s not alone.’

Jimmy wasn’t alone. When she emerged from the entrance to the station she saw them immediately, the small boy and the big man standing on the pavement opposite. Her father had his arm in a sling but the sight aroused no emotion in Josie except to make her grip the poker more firmly. Nevertheless her stomach was trembling as she approached them, their faces reflecting a surliness which made them even more alike. Her father spoke before she reached them. ‘What the hell do y’think you’re doin’ gallivantin’ about?’ he growled. ‘Get your backside home where it belongs.’

She did not answer him for a moment, and then she said in a voice even she recognised did not sound like her own, ‘We’re not coming back.’ And then, more loudly, ‘We’re not coming back ever.’

‘My belt says different.’

Again she didn’t answer immediately, but as her hand instinctively flexed on the handle of the poker she saw his eyes flicker to it. ‘You won’t ever use your belt on me again, nor your fists either. And you’re not coming within six feet of Gertie. I meant what I said last night; if I have to I’ll go to the police and tell them everything.’

‘Everythin’?’ Her father gave a hic of a laugh, his eyes fixed hard on her pale face. It had started to snow again in the last minute or two, small light flakes that were without substance. ‘An’ what’s that - that me eldest two trollops took themselves off whorin’? “So what?” they’ll say. “Plenty do.” An’ you’ll report that I wanted to take me bairn for a walk one night, eh? They’ll think you’re doolally, lass. Ripe for the asylum.’

‘I’ll take my chance on that.’ Her head was up and her shoulders were back, and then as Jimmy chimed in with, ‘Da’s done nowt,’ she snapped back fiercely, ‘Oh, he’s done nothing, all right. He never does anything except sponge on the rest of us. He’s never done a day’s work in his life. No,
he’s
done nothing - but what he’s made Ada and Dora do is not going to happen to Gertie.
No matter what
- you hear me, our Jimmy?’

‘You’ve got it all wrong, lass.’ There was a faint wheedling note in Bart’s voice now; he could see his living slipping away from him in front of his eyes. And Patrick - he’d given the little Irishman his word and taken money on the deal. He felt fear tighten his stomach; he’d seen what Patrick arranged for folk who double-crossed him. He never dirtied his own hands, oh no, he was too wily a customer for that. Patrick always had a crowd of alibis when the deed was done. He’d already be more than a bit put out that Bart hadn’t shown last night with the bairn. ‘Look, I swear to you, on me own life, right?’ he said persuasively. ‘I had nowt to do with Ada an’ Dora goin’ down that road.’

‘You can swear all you like but it won’t make any difference.’

‘You’re upset, you’re not thinkin’ straight, lass, an’ that’s understandable after last night. But I don’t hold you no grudge for me arm. It was a misunderstandin’, that’s all.’

She stared at him, wondering if he knew how much she hated him. She hated him so much it had swallowed all the fear and panic.

‘An’ there’s no need for you to be walkin’ about with that thing neither.’ He nodded at the poker. ‘What’ll people think?’

‘That I’ll use it if I have to.’ It was flat, but something in her manner must have conveyed he wasn’t going to manage to sweettalk her.

His attitude changing, he snarled, ‘You’re a bit bairn an’ you’ll do what you’re told if I have to skin you alive.’

‘I’m not a bairn.’ Her voice was low and very bitter. ‘I’ve never been a bairn, none of us have, you’ve made sure of that, but I tell you one thing - me and Gertie are going and you can’t do anything about it.’ As she saw his hand rise as of old, hers holding the poker jerked aloft, and for a moment they stared at each other through the snowflakes which were now whirling more thickly. Whatever he read in her face made her father’s hand fall limply to his side, but now their mutual hate snaked between them like a live thing, and it was only a man who had been passing by, saying, ‘Here, what’s goin’ on? You all right, lass?’ as he paused at the side of them, that broke the contact.

Josie didn’t answer. Her legs felt funny, weak, but she turned and walked quickly across the road and into the station without looking back. This was the end, really the end, but when would she ever see her mam again now? But she couldn’t think like that; she’d sort out something, she would. She had to see her mam. Oh, Mam, Mam. And then Gertie and Vera were there in front of her and it was all she could do to stop herself bursting into tears.

Vera stared into the drawn little white face in front of her. Bart had been out there sure enough, it was written all over the lass’s face, but she wasn’t going to waste time asking her about it now. Once they were on the train to Newcastle she’d breathe a mite easier.

The iron-framed glass roof covering the platforms gave a spacious, airy feeling in summer, but with thick snow blanketing out the light, the station was gloomy and grey. The 9.54 a.m. was steaming away and ready to leave as they boarded, but although Gertie was vocal in her excitement the final confrontation with her father had knocked all the stuffing out of Josie. It wasn’t until after they had stopped at Monkwearmouth, East Boldon and the following two stations that the colour came back to Josie’s cheeks, and Vera felt she could ask her what had happened.

Josie briefly explained, finishing with a shrug of her shoulders and a glance at Gertie, who was oblivious to them both, her nose pressed up against the window and her eyes popping out of her head at the changing scene outside the train, which was occasionally shrouded in deep billows of smoke from the engine.

‘I’ll look out for your mam, hinny, you know that. There’ll always be room for her with us, young Hubert an’ all, if need be.’

Josie smiled and nodded but said no more. She couldn’t explain to Vera that she felt the weight of her mother - and Hubert, to a lesser extent, and even their Jimmy, bad as he was - like a lead brick crushing down on her heart. Vera would brush such sentiment aside, saying Josie was doing the only thing she could in getting Gertie out of harm’s way. And Vera was right, she knew she was right, but . . . It didn’t make it any easier.

The train chugged its way into Felling Station, and then Gateshead East, and by the time it stopped at Newcastle Central in a great exhalation of steam and puffs, it was exactly ten thirty-two.

Nothing had prepared Josie for the size of the Newcastle station or, as they left by the main entrance in Neville Street, the different smell and feel of the town. The smell was due, in part, to the sheep- and pig-market and beyond that the huge cattle-market to the left of the station, which had the Royal Infirmary squeezed between them, but as they crossed over the road, Josie clutching the parcel containing their clothes and Gertie now in charge of the poker, everything seemed so much bigger and noisier than in Sunderland.

Still a little dazed by the train journey and the fact that it had taken such a short time to be transported into this strange world, the girls followed Vera past a cathedral on their left and into a wider street which seemed full of inns and hotels. After crossing what seemed like hundreds of different streets but in reality was only three or four, Vera said, ‘This is the bottom of Bath Lane. Remember that if you get lost any time. An’ you keep followin’ it until you turn left into Seaham Street an’ then Spring Garden Lane off Pitt Street. There’s a fine big park, Leazes Park, in Castle Leazes just over the way from our Bett’s, an’ it’s right bonny, with a bandstand an’ fountain an’ all sorts. You’ll like that, won’t you, hinny?’

This last was directed at Gertie, who was looking petrified at the mere thought of going astray in this massive, confusing labyrinth that was to be their new home.

‘Bett says the old castle’s down by the waterfront still,’ Vera went on, undeterred by Gertie’s silence. ‘Fancy that, eh? A castle in the middle of town. Mind, accordin’ to Prudence, our Bett’s stepdaughter who reads a bit, Newcastle has grown up around the castle. A wooden one, first of all apparently, an’ built by the son of William the Conqueror. An’ then, when it’d become an important port an’ trading centre, they built a wall right round the town an’ kept it all squashed up. It’s only been in the last hundred years or so that folk have moved outside the original walls, an’ Prudence would tell you that’s a good thing. Great one for change, is Prudence.’

Vera gave a loud sniff at this point and Josie shot a quick glance at the older woman. She got the impression Vera wasn’t too keen on her sister’s stepdaughter.

‘ ’Course, all the new houses an’ such meant more jobs,’ Vera continued as, having turned into Seaham Street, she had to raise her voice above the noise from the colliery to their left. ‘You ask Frank, Bett’s husband, to tell you about the time his old grandda helped build Grey Street. Two hundred an’ fifty thousand cartloads of dirt it took to fill in the burn that ran through the town, an’ Frank’s grandda always maintained it was a cryin’ shame. Sweet as a nut, that water was, an’ now some streets don’t have no more than a couple of taps atween ’em. Now, where’s the sense in that, I ask you?’

Josie and Gertie didn’t know where the sense was; they were both feeling they had little enough left of their own. But at least the gridwork of mean streets they were now walking in bore some resemblance to home and the familiarity was comforting.

It was half a mile from the station to Spring Garden Lane, and it was beginning to snow heavily by the time the trio reached Vera’s sister’s two-up, two-down terraced house. It was identical to hundreds in the tight network of streets stretching west from the Gallowgate colliery, but vastly superior to the grotesque squalor of the slums down by the waterfront. In Sandhill, and Pipewellgate - situated on the other side of the gorge - it was not unusual for as many as ten families to live in one house, Vera informed the girls with a shake of her head, and the proximity of the slaughterhouses meant folk died like flies in hot weather.

Betty’s house was towards the middle of the street, and on seeing it, Josie knew immediately Vera’s sister was not out of the same mould as her friend. The outside of the windows was filthy, the paintwork was flaking and dirty, and the step hadn’t seen a bath brick for years. She and Gertie glanced at each other but Vera had already opened the door, calling, ‘Yoo-hoo, Bett! It’s me, Vera,’ as she entered, gesturing for the girls to follow her into the house.

‘Ee, our Vera, as I live an’ die.’ A small and enormously fat woman appeared at the end of the hall, wiping her hands on the none-too-clean apron straining across her vast stomach. ‘What’s brought you, the day? Nowt wrong with Horace, is there?’

‘No, no, lass, nothin’ like that.’ Vera turned sideways in the narrow passageway, nodding towards her two charges as she said, ‘I’ve brought these two lassies, Bett. They’re in trouble an’ it’s bad. I was wonderin’ if you could put ’em up for a while?’

‘Here?’ And then as a small child clothed only in a grubby top and with a bare backside crawled round her feet, the little woman said, ‘Come here, you; where do you think you’re goin’? Need eyes in the back of your head with this one. Come away in, the lot of you, an’ have a sup tea.’