The Harbour Girl (47 page)

Jeannie had been promoted to forewoman of her team on the fish quay and been given a rise in wages. The rooms in her house were constantly occupied, although Doris and Jim had moved out as she thought they would, making way for an older single man who was quiet and well behaved and in regular work. All of her lodgers paid on the dot, none was in arrears and no one gave her any trouble. Perhaps the regular visits of Mike and Billy and the occasional appearance of Ethan assured them that as a young widow she wasn’t friendless or unprotected.

The previous year she had heard through Mrs Norman that Connie had given birth to a son and had gone to see her. She found her in a miserable state, living in one damp dark room and reliant on handouts from the Poor Law. Jeannie had felt sorry for her and taken her some of Jack’s baby clothes. She’d sat down to talk to her and suggested that as Connie had no contact with her mother she should write to her father in Brixham and ask if he could help her.

‘The child is his grandson,’ she said. ‘And his – well, his wife, even if they haven’t been able to marry, was Harry’s mother, so young Harry here is her grandson too.’

Jeannie didn’t hold out too much hope, as Rosie had told her that she had written to her mother to tell her about Harry’s being lost at sea, and that he had been married and had a child. A postcard had come back with a few words expressing her sorrow and asking Rosie to send condolences to Harry’s widow, but saying nothing about Jack.

Nevertheless, she helped Connie write the letter, guessing that she wouldn’t do it on her own, and a reply came back from Connie’s father within a fortnight to say that she was welcome to stay with them until she got on her feet and that there was plenty of work down there that she could do.

‘A fresh start for you, Connie,’ Jeannie had said, thinking of the relief for them both that they wouldn’t have to meet or compare their children. When she told Dot what had happened, she put up the money for Connie’s train fare to Brixham.

During that first summer after Harry was lost, Jeannie scraped enough money together to take Jack on the train to Scarborough. She wanted to visit Granny Marshall who, although unwell, constantly asked Mary about her first great-grandchild. Jeannie wanted to visit old friends and Josh’s family too, and more than anything to show Jack the sands and let him dip his toes in the sea.

She also wanted to re-evaluate her life. She needed to think about her past, and if possible decide what she wanted to do with her future. She knew that her mother wanted her to come back and live with her in Scarborough, but she told her she wasn’t ready to make that decision, saying that she couldn’t yet leave the people who had supported her when she was at her lowest ebb. She told Mary of the fish parcels she had found on her doorstep, the box that had held a potato, a carrot, an egg and a small screw of paper containing a scraping of tea. Gifts from people who had very little themselves.

In truth, though, she wanted to look out from the harbour walls, breathe in the salty air and remember her childhood when life had seemed so simple, when the days were long and sunny and without constraint. Did Ethan ever think of those days, she had wondered, now that he was living in Hull and making a hard though successful living? Does he remember them with affection, and – she had paused in her thinking as she’d watched the ships leaving the safety of the harbour and heading for the open sea – will he ever forgive me?

Jeannie was dressing Jack in the warm gansey and socks she had knitted for him, telling him that the next day was going to be his birthday and he would be having cake, when someone tapped on the back door. It was early for visitors, so she opened the door cautiously.

‘Ethan!’ she said when she saw his big frame filling the doorway. He was carrying a parcel. ‘Will you come in?’

‘Only for a minute,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d catch you before you went to work. I’ve brought a present for Jack. Isn’t it his birthday tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ she said, amazed that he had remembered again, as he had last year. She led him through into her room. ‘I’m just about to take Jack to Dot’s or I’d offer you a cup of tea.’

‘No, that’s all right,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop. I’m leaving on the midday tide so I wanted to bring his present before I went. It’s a wooden train,’ he said, bending down to give Jack the parcel. ‘I hope he likes it.’

‘He’ll love it,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘It’s very good of you.’

Ethan smiled at Jack, who had taken the parcel from him and sat down on the floor and was now trying unsuccessfully to undo the string. Then he turned his gaze to Jeannie.

‘How are you coping, Jeannie?’ he asked. ‘It’s been a while since I came. It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about you, it’s just that, well, I know you needed time to come to terms with the loss of Harry.’

That wasn’t the reason, she knew very well. Being the man he was, he wouldn’t have wanted her to be gossiped about because he as a single man came calling too often. It was different for Mike, who was almost a surrogate grandfather to Jack, and for Billy, who occasionally did jobs for her, for he was now married to Rosie and they came together.

‘I’m managing,’ she said, looking back at him. ‘I have to. But I manage very well with the support of my friends.’ She smiled at him so that he knew he was included. ‘Those who call and ask how I am.’

‘We’ve all been concerned about you, Jeannie,’ he said softly. ‘Nobody more than me.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I appreciate it.’ She glanced away, looking down at Jack, who having given up on the string was now struggling to tear the wrapping paper. ‘But sometimes I’m lonely, even with Jack to comfort me. I need love to sustain me and I’ve been deprived of that. No, that sounds ungrateful. I don’t mean that I haven’t the love of friends and family. Without all of you who’ve been so kind and thoughtful I wouldn’t have survived.’

She laughed then, as Jack with a great shout of triumph tore the paper and revealed the toy train. ‘And Jack, of course, he’ll always love me – his love is unconditional.’ But there was a catch in her voice as she continued. ‘It’s being without someone special in my life that’s the hardest of all.’

She saw Ethan’s expression freeze and realized that he thought she was speaking of Harry.

‘Harry wasn’t that person,’ she said softly. ‘He only married me because his grandmother told him to. He was obeying the rules that she had laid down, but he didn’t really believe in them, he told me that himself.’ She paused, and when she went on there was regret in her voice for what might have been. ‘He didn’t love me, and I know now that I didn’t love him. I was young and foolish and was swept away.’

Ethan took hold of her hand. ‘Is it too late for me? You know that I love you, have always loved you. My mistake was in not telling you. I was too shy to say anything and I thought you knew.’

Jeannie shook her head. ‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I told you I was young and foolish.’

‘You’re still young.’ Tentatively he stroked her cheek. ‘And you haven’t answered my question.’

‘What was the question?’

‘Is it too late?’ He held her gaze with his blue-green eyes. The colour of the sea on a sunny day.

Jeannie moistened her lips. ‘What about Jack?’ she whispered.

‘What about him?’

‘Can you love him? Another man’s child?’

‘He’s your child too, isn’t he? I love him already.’

It was too soon for promises, they both knew that, but each felt a lifting of spirits as they parted. Ethan’s trip would be a short one, for he said he would no longer risk his men’s lives or his ship on a long winter voyage, and there was a spring in Jeannie’s step as she walked to the fish quay after dropping Jack off at Dot’s. A smile lifted her lips, the first in a long time.

A parcel came from her mother the following day containing a present for Jack’s birthday, a soft toy she had knitted and stuffed which Jack clutched to him, crowing with delight, and a letter for Jeannie.

You already know that Josh is still waiting for an answer to his second proposal which came after the ill-fated voyage. He’s a persistent and patient man. He says that he will not leave Scarborough again – one voyage on a trawler was enough for him – and he’s fishing successfully from the smack. Stephen goes with him at weekends and occasionally Tom plucks up the courage to go too, although he still prefers dry land, especially now that Sarah is expecting their first child.

So what should I do, Jeannie? Do I spend the rest of my days alone, or shall I take a chance at marrying again? Josh will make a loving husband, that I am sure of, and I would once again have a family to look after. Stephen is anxious for it to happen and so are his sisters. But what is holding me back, my dearest Jeannie, is not knowing whether or not you are going to return to Scarborough, for if you do, then more than anything I would want you and Jack to live with me in your old home so that I can help you in your life.

Jeannie folded up the letter and put it on the mantelpiece. She hadn’t realized that her mother was waiting for her to make a decision about her life before making such a momentous one about her own. Well, she would write and tell her. But not yet.

A week later she waited at dawn in St Andrew’s Dock for the
Scarborough Girl
to tie up. It was bitterly cold, though not as cold as it had been the morning they had waited for the missing ships. She felt a pang of sadness whenever she thought of Harry, and wondered how he would have coped with another son in his life. It would have been difficult for him. But her memories of Harry were changing. She thought of how merry he had been when she’d first met him, as if he had not a care in the world to bother him, and it was this image she clung to when she looked at Jack, who looked so much like him.

‘Jeannie! What are you doing here?’ Ethan called as he jumped down on to the quayside. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘Cold? Me?’ She laughed. ‘I’m a fisher girl, aren’t I? I’m waiting for the sun to come up …’ – she hesitated – ‘and I’ve been waiting for my ship to come in.’

He looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Your ship?’

She nodded. ‘My ship. The
Scarborough Girl
. Isn’t she mine? Named after me?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. They both were, the smack and the trawler.’ His voice softened. ‘There was never another Scarborough girl for me, even though she moved to Hull.’

Jeannie put her hand to his face. His beard was long and thick and bushy and she knew he would shave it off now that he was ashore again, just in time for Christmas.

‘I loved you when I was eight years old,’ she said huskily. ‘How did I come to stray so far?’

Ethan put down his bag and took her in his arms. ‘You were led up the wrong path, but you’ve found your way home again.’

‘To you?’ she asked, her eyes bright with tears and hope and seeing him clearly as the fresh new dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of gold and the blush of a rose. She heard the plaintive cry of herring gulls circling above them and on the breeze she could smell the sea. ‘Where is home?’ she whispered.

‘With me,’ he said lovingly, kissing her cheek, and then her mouth. ‘Together. Always. Wherever we choose to be.’

About the Author

Val Wood
was born in Yorkshire and now lives in Beverley. She was the first winner of the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction.

Find out more about Val Wood’s novels by visiting her website at
www.valeriewood.co.uk

Also by Val Wood

THE HUNGRY TIDE

ANNIE

CHILDREN OF THE TIDE

THE ROMANY GIRL

EMILY

GOING HOME

ROSA’S ISLAND

THE DOORSTEP GIRLS

FAR FROM HOME

THE KITCHEN MAID

THE SONGBIRD

NOBODY’S CHILD

FALLEN ANGELS

THE LONG WALK HOME

RICH GIRL, POOR GIRL

HOMECOMING GIRLS

For more information on Val Wood and her books,
see her website at
www.valeriewood.co.uk

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First published in Great Britain
in 2011 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright © Valerie Wood 2011

Valerie Wood has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446438824
ISBN 9780593067017

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