The Harbour Girl (33 page)

One day she ventured into the town. The day was sunny and promised to be so all day. She packed up a slice of bread and cheese for her midday meal and decided that she might as well stay out for most of the day. There was no reason to rush back. Connie would be at work until tea time and there was no one else for her to visit or talk to, except for Mrs Norman, and she didn’t want to bother her too often.

She had some kind of freedom now that she had the pushcart and Jack seemed to be happy in it. She’d padded beneath his head so that he was slightly elevated and he looked around as if noticing his surroundings, chortling and kicking his legs.

Jeannie stopped at the end of Hessle Road, wondering which way to go. Twice before, when she had come to Hull, she had come on the train, so this was the way she went now, heading for the railway station to get her bearings.

The Paragon railway station itself was a most imposing and grandiose terminal and linked to a splendid hotel, something she had failed to notice on her previous visits, so nervous had she been. The town was much larger and more prosperous than she had anticipated; there were numerous grand buildings holding banks and building societies, theatres, hotels and rooming houses on practically every street she walked down. It was also busier and noisier than she had expected, full of people, horse trams, waggonettes and drays, and children, some of them barefoot and ragged.

The town had been built on the proceeds of whaling, fishing and commerce. This she was told by a woman whom she had asked for directions as she walked towards the town docks. The woman was a mine of information, having lived in Hull the whole of her life, she said.

‘Finest town in ’country,’ she vowed. ‘Though if you’re poor, it’s no better than any other, I suspect. It was founded on whaling in case you don’t know, and more recently on fish. Folks come from all over ’country to fish from our waters and to use our dock.’

Jeannie nodded, but the woman seemed determined to continue. She had a confident, unabashed manner. ‘They’ve got a grand fish dock at ’top of Hessle Road; St Andrew’s. Fishing has really took off since that was built, and it’s freed up ’rest of town docks for other commerce.’

She cast an eye over Jeannie. ‘You might wonder how I know all this. Well, I’ll tell you.’

Jeannie was beginning to wish she had never asked for directions and found her own way, but the woman continued.

‘My family used to live on Hessle Road; my da was a fisherman, but now he sells it, rather than catches it. He’s opened a fish shop!’ Her voice rose with pride. ‘He and my ma cook it and sell it hot with ’taties. ’Finest food you can buy, and ’cheapest. He sleeps in his own bed at night and meks enough money not to worry about his future.’

‘I’m so pleased,’ Jeannie said, edging away. ‘It’s good to hear a success story.’

The woman followed her. ‘Aye, it is.’ She shook her head. ‘But I miss being on ’road and so does my ma. It were a special place. Everybody looked out for everybody else. Still do, I expect,’ she said wistfully.

As Jeannie finally managed to get away at last, the woman called to her, ‘Nice little babby cart you’ve got there. Did somebody mek it for you?’

‘Yes,’ Jeannie said. ‘A friend.’

After visiting the vast town dock to see the commercial shipping moored there, she walked over a swing bridge and alongside the Junction Dock, bearing towards the estuary. At last she stepped on to the wooden boards of the Victoria Pier and went to the rail to look over the Humber to Lincolnshire on the other side. The estuary was packed with shipping, with sail and with steam: a steam trawler alongside a trawling smack, a yawl with a coble on board; coal barges and oceangoing vessels were steaming towards the mouth of the estuary. Many of the vessels were trawlers laden with their catches of fish and there were some, though not many, sailing smacks, which were heading towards St Andrew’s Dock.

Jeannie narrowed her eyes as she observed them. These vessels were the ones she had grown up with, like the one her brother had sailed in when he was so sick and decided against going to sea; like the one Ethan had sailed on as a boy, whose mast he had been tied to during the dreadful storm; and – she leaned forward the better to see – and yes, one of them was very similar to the
Scarborough Girl
; could almost be the same, except of course it wouldn’t be. To her knowledge, Ethan never came to Hull. There were two figures on board and one was sheeting in a sail.

It
was
her! The
Scarborough Girl
. She could see the name quite plainly now. She felt a flutter of excitement, which quickly died; so he’d sold it after all. Well, that was men for you, full of promises which came to nothing. She felt sick when she thought that just as Harry had moved on from her, Ethan would have no use for the smack any more. They were both becoming outdated.

She sat on a wooden bench to eat her bread and cheese and then nursed Jack. She wrapped herself carefully in her shawl as he nuzzled into her breast and pondered yet again on her circumstances.

I could go home, she thought. Ma wouldn’t mind. I am after all a respectable married woman; but how would I explain being there without my husband? And what about the newborn? Will Harry want to see it? He said he’ll support us. Why did he have to say anything? I’d rather have been left in ignorance over his feelings for me than hear him say what he did.

Jack gave a little cry and she lifted him to her shoulder, patting him gently. He burped and she said softly, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. Are my angry thoughts giving you wind, my poor bairn?’

She put him to her other breast and watched the muddy brown water of the Humber, deep and strong, moving in-exorably on its journey.

The sun was still warm, the sky bright with slow-moving wisps of cloud, but Jeannie felt cold and shivered in the cool breeze that was carried along the estuary. She stood, wrapped Jack up and placed him back in his cart, and went for one last look at the shipping. She took a deep breath. I just have to get on with life as best I can, she thought. I’ll try to get some work, at least until my time. And after that … well, I’ll think about that later.

She took another breath, deeper this time, to give her energy for the walk back; a cormorant flew over, followed by a flock of herring gulls, screeching as they flew, and she smiled, though wistfully.

‘Listen to them, Jack,’ she said to the infant, who gazed up at her from his darkening eyes, eyes which would be like Harry’s and so a constant reminder of him. ‘Those are the sounds from the sea: of fishing, of deep briny water which gives us our living and sometimes takes it from us. And smell that!’ She closed her eyes and breathed in. Above the oily odour of fish meal came the essence of the sea, cleansing her nostrils, sharp, pungent and salty. The smell of home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IT WAS A much longer walk back than when she came into town. She thought she could walk alongside the Humber bank towards Hessle Road; from Nelson Street, where the pier was situated, she cut to Wellington Street and found herself between a dock and a dock basin and on the wrong side of a railway line; she took another turning and became completely lost. The pushcart trundled and jerked over rough paving and Jack was jiggled about no matter how careful she was, and her back ached with trying to keep it on an even keel. If only the cart had springs, like perambulators, she thought, but I suppose that’s why they are so expensive.

There were many people about, all going about their regular business, men with handcarts, women dressed in aprons and wearing clogs, and once more she asked for directions. She turned back along the dock, turned again to avoid another railway line, and became quite disoriented.

She wanted to weep. She was tired and Jack was grizzling, but there was nothing for it but to try to find her way back to where she had started and begin again. She asked a dock worker for further directions and reached a street called Blanket Row on the corner of Sewer Lane before she faltered again. Which way now? She was hesitating when she heard the rattle of wheels, the clip-clop of hooves and someone calling out, ‘Can I give a damsel in distress a ride home?’

Jeannie could hardly speak, such was her relief. ‘Mike! Rescue!’

‘What ’you doing down here, Jeannie?’ Mike jumped from his waggon. ‘Come on. Are you going home?’

‘I was.’ Her voice broke. ‘I was being too clever by half and thought I could walk home along the Humber bank.’

‘You can if you know ’way and if you’re not pushing a bairn in a cart. Come on, young feller.’ Lifting Jack out of his cart, he handed him to Jeannie, then picked up the cart and put it in the back of the waggon. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Exploring,’ she admitted. ‘I walked into town. I hadn’t been before and wanted to take a look to see what it was like. But it was a long way in, and’ – she gave a rueful grimace – ‘even longer coming back.’ She heaved a sigh and climbed into the front of the waggon, tucking the baby under her shawl. ‘I can’t believe that you’ve come to my rescue yet again.’

‘We shall get talked about.’ He grinned.

Jeannie laughed. ‘That’s what Nan said.’

Mike turned to look at her, then shook the reins and the horse responded. ‘You’re joking, of course?’

‘No. I’m not. I can tell you now that she’s no longer here.’ She hugged Jack closer as they trotted through the busy streets. ‘She said I hadn’t to let you into the house when I was on my own. She said that folk would talk.’

Mike grinned. ‘I’m flattered that ’old girl thought I still had a breath o’ life left in me. She’d forgotten that I’m old enough to be your father. Harry’s da and I were mates.’

‘It was because you are a widower, I think,’ Jeannie said.

He shook his head and sighed. ‘I don’t think she ever forgave me for being alive when Fred wasn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘She never quite got over that.’

‘Maybe not,’ Jeannie agreed. ‘During the last few weeks before she died she sometimes referred to Harry as Fred, as if she’d forgotten that he’d gone.’

‘Are you settling in at ’new house?’ he said after a while. ‘Are you managing all right? What did Harry think?’

‘He wasn’t pleased,’ she told him. ‘In fact he was quite angry; he said Nan had lived in the other house for a long time, it was where he was brought up.’

‘It was, but he was forgetting that there’d been no money going in for some time either. Nan must have been scrimping and saving to even pay ’rent.’

‘Yes, I think she was.’ Jeannie gave a deep sigh and on a sudden whim went on, ‘Harry wishes he’d never got married. He told me so. He says he’ll support me and he wants us to be friends – though we’ll not be – but he doesn’t want to be married.’

Mike turned and stared. ‘Never! He couldn’t wish for such a thing.’

Jeannie’s shoulders drooped. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything, but she felt the need to talk to someone and Mike had always been kind.

‘That’s what he told me,’ she said again in a quiet voice. ‘He said he wouldn’t have married me if it hadn’t been for Nan insisting; and she
did
. The first time I came to Hull looking for him and talked to Nan, she said he would have to marry me; she didn’t want the shame of it, and told him he should –
would
– honour his commitments.’

Mike nodded. ‘That sounds like Nan,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity there aren’t more like her.’

‘Yes,’ Jeannie conceded. ‘But she’s not here now, so Harry can say and do whatever he likes.’ She gave an even deeper sigh; she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air and every breath she took might choke her with the stench of fish meal and the pungent odour from the smoke houses. ‘And what he did say was that he didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to marry me.’

Mike was silent, but as they turned on to Hessle Road he said, ‘If he’d been my lad I’d have said he’d made his bed so he’d have to lie on it. So what are you going to do? What’s Harry going to do? He’ll surely not leave you? He’s got to support you and ’bairn. If he doesn’t his reputation’ll be torn to shreds.’

‘Two bairns, Mike,’ she whispered. ‘I’m pregnant with another. And I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll have to find work; I can’t rely on Harry’s promises to support us. I think he’s full of good intentions, but …’ Her words tailed away. Sooner or later Harry would resent having to support her, and whenever he came home from a trip he would call in at the nearest hostelry to drown his sorrows.

Mike asked if he could drop her off near the end of the terrace as he was going back to St Andrew’s Dock for a meeting. He had said little after she’d confessed she was pregnant, but had just listened; it was as if he was shocked by what she had told him and she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed him. Where will his loyalties lie? she thought. He’s known Harry since he was a boy, the son of his best friend. I’m just a newcomer.

The house was cold when she entered, the fine grey ash in the grate burned through. There would be no dinner unless she built a fire so that was the first thing to do. She wrapped another blanket round Jack but he kicked them off, gurgling at her and clapping his hands, which delighted her. How fast he was growing and developing.

The bundle of twigs and small pieces of coal took ages to light no matter how she coaxed and blew on the flickering flame, but eventually it caught, drying out the damp wood and licking round the wet coal, issuing a spasmodic smoky blaze. Jeannie rocked back on her heels. It would take hours to heat a pan of soup or cook potatoes. She looked in her purse. Connie would be hungry when she came in after work; would she bring fish to cook, or maybe a pair of kippers? The last time Jeannie had eaten kippers she had had indigestion all night, and they hadn’t agreed with Jack either.