Northern Girl (15 page)

‘Oh, I apologize if I act like a little girl,’ Yvette said, looking slightly embarrassed, ‘but it’s so good to buy gateau again.’ She took a mouthful, and after swallowing it, declared, ‘I think you will find that most girls are happy to eat gateau. How old is she … your little sister?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Dominic apologized. ‘You misunderstood. She’s not a child, she’s eighteen.’

‘Oh!’

‘But you are right. Most girls do love gateau. Well, not just girls, you know!’ he added, plunging his fork into his portion.

Yvette continued, ‘You are very fond of your sister?’

‘Yes, I have two older sisters too. But Madeleine … well, she is the reason I’m in England right now. I am here to help her. I hope!’

There was silence between them for a second, then he suddenly changed the subject by asking, ‘And you?’

‘Oh, my home is in Amiens, and I am also here to help someone. My friend who lives in Southampton.’ Seeing the puzzlement on his face she explained, ‘It’s on the south coast, not too far. Anyway, she married an Englishman, a sailor. She was sure it was the right thing to do at the time. But a year later, it’s all gone wrong. He drinks heavily, and she spends too much time alone. Her English isn’t good, so she finds it hard to make friends, and she’s very low right now. So I try to cheer her up.’ Then she added with a shrug, ‘But I can’t make the problem go away, there is only so much I can do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dominic sympathized, alarmed by the similarities between their two situations. What if Madeleine ended up as unhappy as Yvette’s friend? He was sure that Tom wouldn’t be as selfish as this southern chap, but there was still the huge problem of the language barrier. He felt slightly nauseous, and was unable to finish his gateau.

Yvette, seeing the same distant look on his face that she’d noticed on the boat, slid her hand across the table towards his. ‘And you? I think you have a lot on your mind, too, and I really hope that everything works out for you. I have to go and catch my train now, but if you like I will leave you my address, and maybe we can let each other know what happens?’

‘I’d like that,’ said Dominic, feeling the same odd sense of loss at their parting as he had on the boat. As they exchanged addresses it was all he could do to stop himself from pleading, ‘You will write, won’t you?’

He picked up her valise, and they walked together to the next platform, where her train was already waiting. The hissing and billowing steam, and the slamming of carriage doors made for a hectic goodbye. As the final whistle blew, they looked at each other as if words were needed. But neither spoke. The train began to rattle and shudder as it moved, and Dominic walked down the platform beside it, while Yvette seated herself at a window. When he raised his hand to give a final wave, she smiled in response. Then he walked back to the café, where he’d left his case with the woman behind the counter.

‘Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t yer?’ she commented, assuming that he was catching the train standing at the platform near the café.

‘No, I’m OK, I need to get a taxi now,’ he said, hunting in his pockets for loose change. Not finding anything smaller, he handed her half a crown.

‘Wow, two and six! Ta very much!’ she exclaimed, before telling him where to go for a taxi.

Thankfully, there were plenty of free seats on the train he took from King’s Cross, and after placing his valise on the rack, and hearing the slamming of the carriage doors, followed by a loud whistle, he stood up to take his jacket off. But the train, jerking as it moved off, hurled him back into his seat. Feeling embarrassed, Dominic had to stand up again to remove his jacket, which he did quickly, before pushing it up into the rack.

The only other person in the compartment was hidden behind a newspaper, for which Dominic was grateful as he stumbled again. He stared out of the window to avoid any eye contact. It was going to be a long journey. About eight hours, the stationmaster had told him. He looked at his watch. It was two thirty in the afternoon, English time, so he decided he’d have to find accommodation for the night when he arrived in Darlington. It would be far too late to go to
anyone
’s house, never mind that of a family he wasn’t even sure was expecting him. And anyway, he’d still have to get a train from Darlington to Bishop Auckland after this, which, according to his map, was a further twelve miles. Then a bus from Bishop Auckland to Evenwood, which
was another five miles, and after that he had to find the house, Tom’s house. No, he definitely wouldn’t be able to do it that day. He’d speak to the ticket collector, maybe he could recommend a hotel. At least, Dominic thought, it means I’ll arrive at Tom’s house early, and I won’t be tired.

That decided, he laid his head back and attempted to relax. He gazed through the window. The steam had thinned now, and he could see endless tiny terraced houses and back gardens, where people were busying themselves earnestly, preoccupied by their own little problems. Like me, he thought. Remembering his meeting with Yvette, he wondered anxiously if they really would meet again, or if it had just been a pleasant little interlude.

He studied the other passenger in the compartment. It was an elderly man, whose head was already rocking sleepily from side to side with the motion of the train while his newspaper dangled loosely from his hand. Dominic was relieved that he wouldn’t need to make conversation. It meant he could allow himself to day-dream about Yvette. He conjured up her deep brown eyes, so sincere and warm, and the angular cut of her straight black hair, which framed her pretty elfin face so exquisitely. With a sigh, he remembered her full lips, painted in a deep red lipstick that matched her coat perfectly. He smiled, only vaguely aware of the hypnotic clickety-click, clickety-click as the train made its way along the lines, taking him closer and closer to Evenwood.

At the Scout hut dance, Jessie’s eyes didn’t leave Maisie for a second as she demanded, ‘Who’s this whore that yer’ve picked up, then? Yer don’t hang around, ah’ll give yer that! Now ah see why yer didn’t bother ter let uz know yer were back.’ Tom had no opportunity to answer before, in the brief moment of comparative quiet at the end of the band’s first set, Jessie yelled, her words booming out across the hut, ‘Cat got yer tongue, then? Yer selfish git!’

The band lurched straight into a Glenn Miller routine, which never failed to get everyone on the dance floor. Tom, with an apologetic glance at Maisie, seized on the opportunity to get Jessie out of there. Grabbing her hand, he practically dragged her across the hut towards the exit. He was so angry that he ignored her protests that he was gripping her wrist too tight.

When they were near the cloakroom he said in a
dangerously calm tone, ‘You don’t change, do you? Bite first, ask questions after!’

‘What was ah supposed ter think? Yer didn’t even let uz know yer were back, then ah walk in ter find yer cosyin’ up to that … that whore!’

‘For your information, she’s no whore, she’s a clippie that I met on the bus bringing me from Bishop. And if you must know, I helped her out of a bit of trouble she’d gotten herself into, and that’s all it was. And d’you know what? I don’t care whether you believe us or not.
And
, what d’you mean I never let you know I was back? What about the note I left at your house?’

Jessie pushed a mass of curls away from her eyes and glared at Tom. ‘Oh aye, left me a note, did yer, and where exactly would that be, then?’ She leaned towards him for full impact. ‘Yer a bloody liar, Tom Dawson! Yer’ll say owt that comes inter yer head, ter get yerself out of trouble.’

‘Ask your mam where the note is, then,’ Tom interrupted calmly.

‘Me mam?’ Jessie looked confused. ‘What’s she got ter do with it?’

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Tom. The penny had suddenly dropped. ‘You didn’t get the note! That explains this warm greeting of yours, then.’

Jessie, impatient now, demanded, ‘What note? Ah don’t know what yer on about.’

‘The note telling you I was home, and asking you if you’d meet us here tonight! That’s what note.’

Jessie slumped down on a chair by the cloakroom,
fumbled in her bag and pulled out a ticket, which she gave to the girl in charge of the coats. Then, lighting one cigarette, she absentmindedly handed another to Tom. Tom helped her into her coat before asking, ‘What are you gonner do now, then?’

Jessie, buttoning her coat, answered, ‘Ah’m goin’ ter see me mam, that’s what ah’m goin’ ter do. See what
she’s
got ter say about all this!’

At that she disappeared into the darkness, and Tom was left wondering whether he should follow her.

His dilemma was short-lived, though, as his old mate George turned up, pushing his way through the revellers and calling out, ‘Come on, man! What yer playin’ at with these lasses? Yer must be ready fer another pint be now. Get yersel’ in ’ere, some of the other lads are here now, and they’re keen ter see yer.’

So Tom, having briefly considered the alternative, went back in with George, who, noticing Tom glance around the hut said, ‘She left, mate. She must’ve gone out behind yer, when yer were occupied with Jessie, like.’

Punching George playfully on the arm, Tom answered, ‘Bloody hell, you don’t miss a thing!’

‘Well, we always did foller yer love life wi’ interest, and it seems nowt’s changed. We had a little bet on, like, as to which one ye’d be leavin’ with. An’ we all lost, cause they’ve both gone!’

‘Aw, man!’ Tom answered, just as they were reaching the other chaps. ‘It was neither nowt nor summat, all a bloody misunderstanding. You know what women are like.’

‘Ay, come on, Tom,’ his mates sympathized as he joined the group.

Harry said, ‘Ah thought the little blonde was all right, mind! ’Avn’t seen ’er around ’ere afore. Is she local, like?’

Tom grinned. ‘Ay, you talk about me! And you haven’t changed yourself, mind! Always were a one for the lasses, if I remember right, Harry.’

Harry laughed, but he was still waiting for an answer to his question, and gave Tom a nudge. ‘Well?’ he said.

‘She’s a clippie. I met her on the bus, but it’s a long story and I’d like to forget it for now, if you don’t mind. So come on, lads, what are you drinking? We might as well get stuck in, cause you can’t have a decent conversation with this din going on.’ Nodding with enthusiasm they followed him to the bar, where he bought the next round.

Meantime, Jessie, beside herself with anger and embarrassment, cursed as she struggled to fit her key in the front door. The house was in darkness, but she knew her mother wasn’t asleep, because she’d seen the bedroom light go out as she’d turned into the street. And anyway, she thought, what the hell was she going to bed at this time for? It could only be about nine or so. Unless, of course, she was keeping out of the way for some reason!

At that thought she ran up the stairs, barged into her mother’s room, switched on the stark light bulb, and stared at what appeared to be a pile of rags on the bed.
Seeing a slight movement under the pile, she marched over and yanked at it, and said, ‘Ah know yer there, Ma!’

Her mother, eyes wide open, sat bolt upright holding the bedclothes tightly against her. ‘Ah know what yer gonner say, our Jessie,’ she said, ‘but ah did it fer yer own good.’

‘Did what, Ma?’ Jessie questioned. ‘Just what
did
yer do, Ma? Or, more ter the point, have yer any
idea
of what yer’ve done?’ she yelled, yanking the bedclothes from her and chucking them across the floor. ‘Call yerself a mother! All yer care about is yerself!’ Jessie held out her hand, thinking how pathetic her mother looked at this moment. ‘Show uz the note, then,’ she said.

‘Ah can’t show yer the note,’ her mother muttered.

‘Just tell uz where it is,’ Jessie said impatiently.

‘It’s on t’ fire,’ her mother shouted, and, seeing Jessie’s shock, she talked rapidly, hoping to extricate herself. ‘’Eee came round ’ere brazen as brass, ’ee did. Tellin uz ter give yer the note as if nowt was wrong. Huh! well ah knew different, and ah thought if ah got rid of it, yer’d be saved the ’artache.’

‘Saved the heartache, my arse! All you bloody want, is ter keep uz here at your beck an’ call. An’ yer have the gall ter call Tom a selfish git! Huh! Well ahve ’ad it with yer!’ Seeing her mother sitting shivering on the bed she felt nothing but disgust. She threw the bedclothes back. Then she ran down the stairs, stopping only to grab her bag before slamming out of the door.

When she looked across the road and saw the twitching curtains, it brought home to her, and not for the first time, how grim her life was. It was going to be like that for evermore, too. ‘Piss off, yer nosey bloody parkers, and get back ter yer own hovels behind yer filthy net curtains!’ she shouted in frustration. And then she stomped off down the street without a clue where she was headed. Having humiliated herself at the dance, she couldn’t face going there. So she kept on walking, pushing her way through the lines of damp washing still hanging across the darkened back streets.

She stopped momentarily to strike a match, then cursed when she realized that she’d got coal dust all down the sleeve of her coat, from brushing against a coal-house door. Taking a deep drag on her cigarette, she glanced down the street, irritated by the high brick walls enclosing the back yards of all the houses at Tom’s end of the village. The only real difference between these streets and ours, she thought, are the people who live in them. Cleaner curtains and scrubbed steps apart, they look exactly the same. Bloody snobs! she said to herself, throwing the cigarette stub on the ground and stubbing it out with a twist of her foot. She stood there, trying to decide what to do next.

‘I know the first place ah’ll go,’ she said, setting off at a faster pace now. Five minutes later she found herself in the Dawsons’ back yard. She reckoned it must be about a quarter to ten by now, so Hannah would likely still be up. Taking a deep breath, she knocked tentatively on the back door.

She heard Hannah scurry through the scullery, lift the latch and call, ‘Who is it?’