Katy's Men (11 page)

They
were at the ball as a celebration. Only that week, Joe Docherty had called Matt into his office at the yard and told him, ‘I’m going to make you a partner. It seems to me to be only fair. You’re doing nearly all the outside work and there’s no sign of me getting well enough to help you.’ That was true; Joe was even thinner and spent more time in his bed than before. He said, ‘You’ll still draw your wage as usual, but after the end of the year you’ll share in the profits.’

Matt
could hardly believe his good luck. To be a partner in a firm like this while still only in his twenties! ‘Thanks, Joe. That’s generous of you because I still don’t know much about this business.’ He pointed to the books on the desk.

Oh,
that!’ Joe waved a careless hand. ‘Mebbe you don’t but you know plenty about running lorries. I’ll teach you the office side later on.’ Joe laughed, coughed and took a bottle and glasses from a cupboard as he was still coughing. ‘Let’s have a drink to celebrate.’

Matt
grinned, ‘For your chest.’

Because
that was what Joe said when he drank during the day: ‘It’s good for my chest.’

Now
he coughed, laughed and coughed again, then wheezed, ‘Aye.’ They clinked glasses and he swallowed a mouthful of Scotch whisky. ‘That’s better, see?’

They
grinned at each other, old friends.

Matt
had told Fleur that he was now a partner and she had been delighted. She had also decided that it was time to secure her advantage with him and so she had set out to charm him. But she did not have to try hard or long. As they sat out one dance in the garden under Chinese lanterns, he proposed. After simulated surprise and confusion Fleur accepted him. As they drove home in a cab she teased, ‘I’ve never seen this yard of yours. It’s over the bridge, on the other side of the river, in Monkwearmouth, isn’t it?’

‘
I’ll take you to see it,’ Matt promised, and on the Sunday a week later he did so.

He
fetched her in a cab and it rattled through the streets of terraced houses down to the river, with children running barefoot alongside. Fleur looked askance at the yard under the looming shipyard cranes as he unlocked the gates with their lettering: J. Docherty. Haulier. Fleur read the legend and asked, ‘Shouldn’t it be Ballard and Docherty?’

Matt
shrugged, ‘There’s plenty of time to get that changed. It should be Docherty and Ballard, really. This was Joe’s business to start with.’

‘
Ballard and Docherty sounds better.’ And Fleur decided that was what she would call the firm when she was asked: ‘My husband? He’s a partner in Ballard and Docherty.’

She
looked at the yard and the office, dusty and untidy, then pointed to the stairs. ‘And what lies up there?’

‘
An empty flat.’ Matt shrugged, ‘It hasn’t been used for years.’

It
would not be used by Fleur, she was sure of that. She stared uncomprehendingly at the Dennis and said vaguely, ‘It looks nice and clean.’

Matt
said with pride, ‘I wash her off and service her every week. She runs beautifully.’

Fleur
smiled brightly, ‘I’m sure it does.’ And asked, ‘Why do you call it “she”? It sounds silly. It’s not a person, just a lorry.’

Matt
shrugged, irritated. He could not tell her he was fond of the Dennis. Instead he said, ‘Just habit.’

Fleur
had seen enough. She was sure this man was on his way up and she would marry him when it suited her.

But
this place where he made his fortune could remain his domain; she wanted none of it. She said faintly, ‘I’ve got a headache. Do you think you could take me somewhere for tea?’

When
the gates were repainted the name that was shown on invoices and receipts: Docherty and Ballard. Fleur did not know that and called the partnership Ballard and Docherty anyway. She was happy that her problems were over; she had secured her financial future. She was convinced of this when Matt rented a small house, bought some furniture and moved out of his lodgings. Fleur congratulated herself on making a good catch.

*

The morrow brought no solution to Katy’s problems. The summer slid by and the fear grew as the child grew inside her. She knew that, sooner or later, she would be found out and it was Rita who came on her one morning when she was being ill.

Rita
told Vera, vengefully, ‘That Katy, she’s throwing up.’

Vera
sought out Katy, in the office by then, though pale and apprehensive. The old woman’s beady eyes roamed over Katy where she sat at her desk and she ordered, ‘Come here, my girl!’ When Katy stepped up to her the crone shot out a hand to feel at the girl’s body and crowed, ‘He’s bairned yer! Your fancy man’s bairned yer!’ And as Katy shrank away from her, ‘You can pack your duds and leave! Now, this minute!’ Because Katy had committed the unforgivable sin. Vera could turn a blind

eye
to ‘followers’ when it suited her, to keep this girl who worked so well — and so cheaply. But pregnancy offended Vera’s sense of proprieties, and Katy’s presence in this house would besmirch the reputations of the Spargos. Vera put her head out of the door and shrieked, ‘Arthur!’

He
came waddling across the yard and demanded testily, ‘What’s the matter now? I’m sending the men off to their jobs.’ They were all busy in the yard, starting up engines and harnessing horses, but their heads were turned towards the office now, curious.

Vera
shouted, ‘You’ll have to stay back and do the books yourself!’ She grabbed Katy’s wrist and shoved her out of the office into the yard. ‘This one’s got herself into trouble and she’s leaving.’

Startled
and caught off-balance, Arthur said the first thing to come into his mind: ‘Not Ivor!’

Katy
had lived through these last months in worry and misery — heartbreak. She had loved again and been cheated again. Now she was being humiliated, held up before the men in the yard as a figure of shame. She saw Ivor standing across the yard, a gloating smile on his face, and she called out so they could all hear, ‘Not Ivor! Never! Though he’s tried often enough and once tore the blouse off me! And his father tried until I threatened to tell you.’

Some
of the men grinned at Ivor’s and Arthur’s embarrassment, but others among them who had daughters eyed their employers with distaste. Vera was enraged at this rebellion, tried to drag Katy back into the office and hissed at her, ‘Shut your dirty mouth!’

‘
I’ve kept my mouth shut too long.’ Katy dug in her heels and refused to leave the yard. ‘I’m going but I want my money, what’s due to me.’ Then, remembering Betsy’s departure, ‘And I want it in my hand, not thrown in the dirt for me to grub for! And a cab to take me to the station and you can pay for that.’

‘
I will not!’ Vera was now red with rage and brandished her fist at Katy, who looked back at her with contempt. Vera threatened, ‘You’ll get nothing now!’

Katy
did not yield, but lowered her voice so only Vera could hear: ‘You’ll give me what I ask, mine by right, or I’ll go to the justices and tell them the father is Arthur or Ivor and I don’t know which.’

Vera
gaped at her then countered, ‘They’d never believe you! You might perjure yourself but you couldn’t prove it was either of them.’

Katy
pointed out grimly, ‘Arthur and Ivor couldn’t prove it wasn’t.’

Vera
said, uncertain now, ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘
Yes, I would,’ replied Katy, chin set determinedly. ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’

Vera
hesitated for some seconds but Katy’s gaze did not waver and finally she muttered, ‘Keep your mouth shut and pack your bags. I’ll get your money.’

Katy
insisted, ‘And a cab.’

‘
And a cab.’ Vera spat that out like something sour.

Katy
did not care. In less than an hour she descended the back stairs, leaning under the weight of her cheap, old suitcase. The cabman waited in the hall, took the case from her and shoved it into the cab. He looked vaguely familiar to Katy, a stocky man with a walrus moustache.

But
Vera was waiting by the kitchen door and glared as Cook, tearful and fortified by gin, ventured, ‘Good luck, lass!’

‘
Thank you,’ Katy replied. Then again, when Vera handed her the pay due to her: ‘Thank you.’ She would not abandon her manners. Vera said nothing, fearful of provoking the girl into the action she had threatened, but her little eyes followed Katy venomously as the cab rolled away. When it had passed from sight, Vera swore, ‘I’ll get my own back on you, trollop! You’ll weep for this one of these days!’

Katy
was ready to weep there and then, from reaction after the row and fear of what lay ahead. Her bold defiance had hidden a core of fear and the threat to go to the justices had been a huge bluff. She could never have shamed herself in that way, never have lied in that way, no matter how wronged. But she sat dry-eyed, her lip caught between her teeth as the cab rattled and swayed down the road to the Central Station. There she climbed down but did not seek a ticket for a train.

She
did not know where to go. She would not return home to be humiliated again by her father, and that was the best she could hope for. Realistically, she was certain Barney Merrick would turn her away from the door, refusing to harbour her, a fallen woman. So she had to find lodgings, and cheap ones at that.

The
cabman climbed down from his seat, hauled her suitcase out of the cab and asked, ‘Do you want a porter to put this on the train, lass?’

‘
No.’ Katy looked around her, wondering what to do, and said, ‘Put it down there by the wall for now, please.’

The
cabbie blinked but set the case down. Straightening, he said, ‘It’s just that the old girl said to take you to the station to get a train. Mind, she sounded as though she’d be better pleased if I had to take you to the infirmary.’

Katy
smiled faintly, ‘We didn’t part as friends.’ Encouraged by his sympathy she admitted, ‘She threw me out.’ Then she added hastily, ‘But I was ready to go and have been for some time.’ She stopped there because she did not want to go into further details as to why she had left now.

‘
Ah!’ said the cabbie, astutely, ‘you’re wanting some digs.’ He was looking at her with his head on one side now, puzzled. He asked, ‘Have you been one o’ my fares before? It seems like I’ve seen you . .’ He fumbled a short clay pipe out of his pocket and jammed it into his mouth under the walrus moustache. Now he pointed a finger at Katy and spoke round the pipe: ‘Got it! Weren’t you the lass — years ago now — that said I wasn’t to blame for a feller taking the paint off his cart? He said I backed into him and you told the pollis I didn’t.’

Now
it was Katy’s turn to eye him, and she recollected the incident. ‘I remember.’

‘
Ah!’ He pointed the pipe triumphantly. ‘I have a good memory for faces. And am I right, are ye wanting digs now?’

Katy
admitted hesitantly, ‘Well, yes.’

‘
I thought so.’ The cabbie took up the suitcase again and put it back in the cab. ‘One good turn deserves another so just you come with me.’

Katy
hung back, wondering if she could trust this stranger. ‘I can’t afford anything too expensive.’

‘
It won’t be that.’ The cabman tamped down the tobacco in his pipe with his thick thumb. ‘Not flash, either, just one room. It’s with a respectable auld woman that takes in a lodger to make ends meet. Anyway, seeing’s believing. You come wi’ me and if you aren’t satisfied I’ll bring you back here without charge.’

Katy
took a breath and said, ‘I’ll come.’ She climbed back into the cab and when it set off again she turned her mind to concocting a story. Ever since she had left home, and knew she was safe from her father stealing it, she had taken to wearing the ring her mother had given her. Now she took it from her index finger and placed it on the third.

The
house was in a quiet street in Bishopwearmouth, not far from the centre of Sunderland. The cabman said, ‘This is Mrs Gates.’ And to the old woman standing at her front door, ‘This is a decent lass wanting a room, nothing fancy nor expensive.’

Mrs
Gates was stooped and frail. She had a smile for Katy and stood back to allow her into the house then showed off the room, small but comfortable. Katy performed some mental arithmetic and decided she could just afford it. ‘I’ll take it, please.’

The
old woman eyed her and warned in a quavering voice, ‘I’ll tell you now, this is a respectable house. I don’t allow any shenanigans with young chaps, Miss—?’ She let the question hang.

‘
Mrs,’ corrected Katy, ‘Mrs Katy Merrick. And there won’t be any shenanigans.’

Mrs
Gates peered short-sightedly at Katy’s hand and her mother’s ring. ‘Oh, you’re married. I took you for a single lass. But I’m sorry, I don’t have any men in here, not husbands either. Men make for trouble.’