The Harbour Girl (26 page)

This was not what I expected, she thought. We’ve had no time together, no time to talk; on Christmas Eve he’d fallen into bed and was instantly asleep and didn’t wake even when the baby cried during the night to be fed, and he was still asleep when she’d got up on Christmas morning.

‘Our Fred allus sleeps in after a trip,’ Nan had said when Jeannie went downstairs. ‘He gets worn out.’

Jeannie had busied herself with Jack and this time hadn’t contradicted her, not over the use of her dead son’s name, nor when she had chucked the child under the chin and said fondly, ‘Now then, young Harry.’

Now Harry had gone out, leaving the three women together: Nan knitting by the low light of the oil lamp, Connie lost in thought as she perched on a hard chair as if ready for flight, staring into the fire; and Jeannie, nursing Jack, thought that her first Christmas as a married woman was almost over. Another week would bring in a new year and a year after that a new decade.

She looked down at the sleeping, satiated Jack, his milk-dribbled mouth still gently sucking, though he had abandoned her superfluous breast. What will those years bring us? she thought. Not riches, that’s for sure, and never having had them I’d not wish for them; but security, food in our bellies, a roof over our heads – that’s what’s important. She smiled and gently touched her baby’s soft cheek. Your da to stay at home sometimes would be nice, and a brother or sister for you.

The baby gave a sudden cry of wind and she picked him up and patted his back. Nan looked up from her knitting and gazed from Jeannie and the baby to Connie.

‘Better put ’kettle on,’ she said. ‘Fred’ll be home soon.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WHEN HARRY CAME home, jubilant, three days later to say he had been taken on by the Humber Steam and Fishing Company and hoped for a ship the following week, Jeannie didn’t mention her concern about Nan; she didn’t want him to worry whilst he was away. Connie had come in on Boxing Day and told them the foreman had taken her back in her old job at the fish quay, although he had warned her that any more time off and she would be out.

‘Did he ask how you came to be bruised?’ Jeannie asked and Connie shook her head.

‘No, but I think he knew. He asked if I was still living at home and I told him I’d found temporary lodgings.’

Harry heard some of the conversation. ‘I just happened to mention to Billy Norman that I’d seen you, and that Des Turnby had given you a beating. He knows Des and his lads so it’ll get back to ’em that folks know about it.’

Connie looked at him with frightened eyes. ‘I hope he doesn’t come lookin’ for me,’ she said in a small voice.

‘He won’t come here,’ Harry assured her. ‘I’m bigger than him.’

But when you’re away he might, Jeannie thought, and wondered if Des Turnby would come and warn her and Nan off befriending Connie.

‘I’ll leave as soon as I can,’ Connie said. ‘I’ll give your nan ’first shilling like I promised and look for somewhere else to live.’ She bit on a fingernail. ‘But everybody knows everybody else on Hessle Road; he’d soon find me.’

‘Then you’d better stay here for a bit longer,’ Harry said. ‘Nan won’t mind an’ while I’m away you can sleep wi’ Jeannie and ’babby.’

Jeannie looked sharply at him, and Connie must have seen the protest in her face for she quickly said, ‘I’m fine down here in front of ’fire.’

‘Better there than being woken up during the night,’ Jeannie said firmly.

Nan made no objection; in fact she appeared to have forgotten her original bidding that Connie should look for lodgings after paying her the shilling. After the New Year, Harry left on his voyage and Nan bought the same amount of food for the three of them and seemed to accept Connie’s presence.

‘What’ll I do, Jeannie?’ Connie whispered. ‘Shall I pay Nan for my keep at ’end of ’week?’

‘Give it to me,’ Jeannie said. ‘Then she won’t be reminded that she asked you to leave. I’ll put the money in her purse when she’s not looking.’

But when she did that, at the end of the following week, worryingly she saw that Nan’s purse was almost empty, apart from a few coppers. Yet she had gathered up the money that Harry had brought home from his last voyage.

It wasn’t much, I know, Jeannie thought. But if it’s all spent, then we must be living on credit. She attempted to ask Nan if she was managing all right, but was brushed off with the rejoinder that she had always looked after the household purse and didn’t need any advice from Jeannie.

‘Stay a little longer, Connie,’ she said one evening. Nan had gone outside to the privy. ‘There’s no hurry for you to leave,’ and once again, Connie gave her the money for her board and lodgings, keeping only a few pence for herself.

‘I don’t need much,’ Connie said. ‘There’s nowt I want to buy, and besides I feel safe here.’

‘I wish I could go out,’ Jeannie said. ‘When Harry comes home I’m going to ask him to make the arrangements for the christening and my churching, and I’m going to ask my ma if she can come. The weather’s not bad, although it’s wet, but she’s used to that so I think she will. I want her to see Jack.’

She glanced towards the scullery door and heard Nan come in from outside. ‘Will you stand as Jack’s godmother, Connie?’ She knew no one else she could ask, and knew that Connie was fond of the child.

‘Oh!’ Connie’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘Do you mean it? Honest? Oh, yes, I will. Nobody’s ever asked me such a thing afore. I’d be, I’d be – what’s ’word I’m lookin’ for?’

Jeannie smiled at her exuberance. ‘Erm – honoured? Privileged?’

‘Yeh,’ Connie agreed. ‘But –
special
. I’d feel special if I was asked to be a bairn’s godmother, cos I don’t think I’ll ever be anybody’s real mother.’

‘You shouldn’t think so poorly of yourself, Connie,’ Jeannie chided her, but then surreptitiously put her finger to her lips as Nan came into the room. Twice that day Nan had referred to the baby as Harry, and chucking him under his chin had told him that his da would soon be home.

Mid-morning the next day, as Jeannie was changing Jack, someone knocked on the front door. ‘Nan,’ she called. ‘Are you there? There’s somebody at the door. The front, not the back,’ she added, as she heard Nan lift the back door sneck.

‘Who’s this?’ Nan grumbled as she came through from the scullery. ‘Trouble, I’ll be bound. Nobody ever comes to ’front.’

I did, Jeannie thought, though I suppose I was trouble. It’s somebody who doesn’t know us, anyway.

But it was someone who knew her. She heard Nan muttering that they’d better come through; when she looked up she felt a sudden rush of joy as she saw her mother standing in the doorway.

‘Oh, Ma! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.’ Jeannie burst into tears. ‘I was going to write and ask you to come!’

Mary took Jack from her and gently kissed his warm cheek. ‘I couldn’t wait,’ she said softly, and then kissed Jeannie. ‘I couldn’t wait a minute longer to see you and my grandson.’ She turned to Nan, who was hesitating as if not knowing where to go or what to do. ‘Isn’t he a fine boy, Mrs Carr? And Jeannie looks so well; you’re obviously taking great care of her.’

Nan wore a puzzled frown until Jeannie said softly, ‘I think this calls for a cup of tea, don’t you?’ and then Nan turned to the range, lifted the kettle and shook it, then put it on the hook.

‘Is there enough water in the kettle?’ Jeannie asked her, knowing that she had used most of the water for bathing Jack. ‘Does it need filling again?’

‘Oh, aye, reckon it does,’ the old lady muttered, taking it off the hook again. ‘I’ll just …’

‘I think she’s failing,’ Jeannie said in a low voice as Nan went into the scullery. ‘And she’s getting very forgetful. She keeps calling Jack Harry.’

‘Don’t correct her,’ her mother said. ‘You know who she means. It’ll embarrass her if you tell her.’ She smiled down at the child on her knee. ‘He’s beautiful, Jeannie. He looks just like you did when you were a bairn. Now, I want you to tell me everything. How are you getting on in this fine town?’

‘I don’t know it, Ma,’ Jeannie confessed. ‘I only know Hessle Road. I’ve not had the chance yet of looking at any of the other places. There’s a huge dock in the centre of Hull, and several others, but I’ve only seen St Andrew’s and the Humber Dock. The town’s much bigger than Scarborough. And there’s a fair,’ she added. ‘Only I didn’t know about it until it was too late. It was on the week after we got married. Nan says it always comes in October.’

Mary hummed a refrain of the old ballad ‘Scarborough Fair’ to Jack, and Jeannie smiled.

‘Hull Fair stays for a week. Mebbe I’ll be able to go this year,’ she said. ‘But tell me about Tom and Sarah, Granny Marshall and Granny Anderson, and Susan Wharton and – everybody.’ She didn’t want to ask about Ethan, but she wanted to know.

‘Well, Granny Marshall’s tongue is as sharp as ever, but my ma didn’t come with the herring this year. She didn’t want to leave Andrew.’ Her mother laughed. ‘That’s my guess, anyway. Susan Wharton is going to marry her butcher, and Tom …’ – she hesitated – ‘our Tom and Sarah are going to be wed at the beginning of next year. He’s doing really well at the yard, Jeannie, and he’s got the promise of a regular job there.’

‘So you’ll be alone, Ma.’ Jeannie gazed at her mother with wide eyes. ‘And I’m too far away to see you very often.’

‘Ah, don’t worry about me, bairn,’ her mother said. ‘I might be alone but I’ll not be lonely. I’ve plenty of company by the harbour and—’

‘Plenty of work?’ Jeannie interrupted. ‘Harry says that smack fishing is about finished.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ her mother agreed. ‘But there are still plenty of nets to mend. Josh keeps me busy with them and so does Ethan.’ She glanced at Jeannie as she mentioned Ethan’s name. ‘You haven’t asked about Ethan,’ she said.

‘Oh!’ Jeannie said vigorously. ‘Yes, how is Ethan? Has he still got his smack?’ He called it after me, she thought, but perhaps he’s sold it now and bought another with a different name.

Mary nodded. ‘He’s still got it, and half shares in another. He’s doing well is Ethan. Do you recall Pamela Osborn? She’s a year or so older than you.’

‘Vaguely,’ Jeannie said. ‘She was a chandler’s daughter. What about her?’

‘Oh, I heard that she and Ethan are walking out together. Don’t know if it’s true or not.’

Jeannie felt an icy chill touch her. But he said there would be no one else for him, she remembered. It hasn’t taken him long to change his mind.

‘Where’s that tea?’ Mary whispered. ‘I’m fair gasping. I’ve had nothing to drink since first thing this morning.’

‘I’ll go and see what she’s doing,’ Jeannie said. ‘She doesn’t usually take so long.’

Nan was standing in the yard with the empty kettle in her hand. She looked at Jeannie in an uncertain manner. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with this,’ she said. ‘What’s it for? I’ve got a headache.’

Jeannie took it from her. ‘Let me fill it for you, Nan,’ she said softly. ‘Come inside and see if the bairn is all right.’

‘Yes,’ Nan said vaguely. ‘I will. He shouldn’t be left on his own.’

When Jeannie had boiled the kettle and made the tea, her mother said quietly, ‘Will you be able to manage with this one’ – she glanced towards Nan who was staring into the fire – ‘and the bairn as well?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Jeannie told her mother that a friend had been staying with them, but not about Connie’s family or her bruises. ‘I’ll ask her to stay on. I know she’ll be glad to. She’ll help me and bring in some money until I can earn again. I’m fit enough to start mending but I can’t do that until after the christening and my churching.’

Her mother clicked her tongue in a disapproving
tsk
sound. ‘The sooner the better then, Jeannie.’

As she spoke, someone hammered on the back door. ‘Shall I go?’ Mary said, for Nan had not moved on hearing the knock.

Jeannie had just sat down and picked up the child to feed him. ‘Please, Ma. If you will.’

When Mary came back, she said there was a man asking for Connie Turnby. ‘I told him there was no one here of that name, but then he asked to speak to Nan Carr.’

Jeannie swallowed. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, handing Jack to her mother and buttoning up her blouse. ‘Connie’s the friend I was telling you about.’

At the door with his foot over the threshold was a thickset man, not tall but very broad across the shoulders. His face was weather-beaten, with purple thread veins around his nose, and his ears protruded from beneath his thinning hair.

‘Yes?’ Jeannie said. ‘Mrs Carr isn’t well. Can I do anything for you?’

‘Not well, isn’t she?’ he sneered. ‘Well tell her from me that she’ll feel more than sick if she doesn’t send that bitch of a girl back home to her ma afore ’day is out.’

‘Who are you?’ Jeannie asked, though she could guess and quaked at his words. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.’

‘Connie Turnby is who I’m talking about and we want her back home.’

‘So that you can beat her up again, Mr Turnby? Is that what you want? And you’re not even her father.’

‘I’ve never laid a finger on her,’ Des Turnby blustered. ‘Never in my life.’

‘That isn’t what I heard,’ Jeannie said bravely. ‘I heard from a reliable source that you often beat her.’