never struck us. I think we sort of thought that he knew, that somebody must have told him earlier on. But nobody had; not until six years ago when he was seventeen and it was Lizzie herself who let the cat out of the bag. You know, Lizzie is one of those women who can’t carry drink. Give her a couple of gins and she’s away; she’ll argue with her own fingernails after a couple of gins. And it was on a New Year’s Eve, and you know what it’s like on a New Year’s Eve. She got as full as a gun an’ started bubbling, and Rory, who up till that time had been very fond of her, even close to her, when she hadn’t got a drink on her, ’cos this is another funny thing about him, he can’t stand women in drink. Well, I don’t remember much about it ’cos I was only a lass at the time, but as I recall, we were all in the Connors’ kitchen. It was around three o’clock in the morning and I was nearly asleep when I hear Lizzie blurting out, “Don’t speak to me like that, you young . . . !” She called him a name. And then she yelled, “I’m your mother! Her there, Ruth there, never had it in her to give breath to a deaf mute till I went an’ had you.” And that was that. From then on he never has been able to stand her. An’ the pity of it is she loves him. He went missing for a week after that. Then he turned up one night half starved, frozen, and in the end he had the pneumonia. He had been sleeping rough, and in January mind. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill him. Now do you begin to understand?’
‘I’m flabbergasted, Janie. To think that I’ve known him all this time and he’s never let on. And we talk you know, we do; I thought we knew everything there was to know about each other. Me, I tell him everything.’ The tall length drooped forward. His head bent against the driving snow, he muttered now, ‘I’m that fond of Rory, Janie, ’cos, well, he’s all I’d like to be and never will.’
‘You’re all right as you are, John George; I wouldn’t have you changed.’ Her voice was loud and strong in his defence.
‘You wouldn’t, Janie?’ The question was almost eager, and she answered, ‘No, I wouldn’t, John George, because your heart’s in the right place. An’ that’s something to be proud of.’
They walked on some way in silence now before she said quietly, ‘I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but the lass you’re gone on, why don’t you bring her up to the kitchen?’
He didn’t answer immediately but took her arm and led her across the road and up the street towards the beginning of Westoe and the select section of the town, where the big houses were bordered by their white railings and the roads were broad enough to take two carriages passing, and he said now, ‘I wish I could, oh I wish I could ’cos she’s nice, Janie, and bonny. Not as bonny as you, but she’s bonny. And she’s had a life of it. Aye, one hell of a life. And still has. Her da’s got religion on the brain I think. Her mother’s bedridden, and, you know, they spend Sunday praying round her bed, taking turns. The only time she’s allowed out is on a Saturday afternoon when she’s sent to Gateshead to visit an aunt who’s dying and who seems to have a bit of money. Her da wants to make sure of who she’s leaving it to and as he can’t go up himself and the other two lasses are in jobs—there was a brother, Leonard, but he ran off to sea, and good luck to him I say—Anyway, Maggie is allowed to go to Gateshead on a Saturday afternoon. That’s how I met her first, on one of me Saturday train jaunts.’
‘You go on a train to Gateshead every Saturday? I didn’t know that. Eeh! on a train . . .’
‘Well’—he laughed self-consciously—’not every Saturday, only when funds allow. And then not to Gateshead, but Newcastle. I take the train up half-way, say to Pelaw, and walk the rest. I love Newcastle. Aw, lad, if I had the money I’d live there; I wouldn’t mind rent collecting around Newcastle.’
‘Aren’t there any slums up there then?’
‘Oh aye, Janie, plenty. But I don’t look at the slums, it’s the buildings I look at. There’s some beautiful places, Janie. Haven’t you ever been to Newcastle?’
‘No, I’ve been across the water to North Shields and Cullercoats, and once I went as far as Felling on this side, but no, I’ve never been to either Gateshead or Newcastle.’
‘Rory should take you up, he should take you to a theatre.’
‘There’s a good theatre here, I mean in Shields.’
‘Oh aye, it’s all right, but it isn’t like Newcastle.’
‘They get the same turns, only a little later.’
‘Oh, I’m not thinkin’ about the turns, nothing like that, it’s the buildings you know. I suppose it was a wrong thing to say that he should take you to a theatre, but I think he should take you up to Newcastle to see the lovely places there, the streets and buildings.’
‘I never knew you liked that kind of thing, John George?’
‘Oh aye, an’ have ever since I was a lad. It was me da who started it. On holiday week-ends we’d walk up there. Me mother never came, she couldn’t stand the distance and she wasn’t interested in buildings. It was because of me da’s interest in buildings and such that I was taught to read and write. He was standing looking up at a lovely front door once. They’re called Regency. It was off Westgate Hill; it was a bonny piece of work with a lovely fanlight and the windows above had iron balconies to them when a man came alongside of us and started crackin’. And it turned out he worked in an architect’s office and he seemed over the moon when he knew me da was interested in masonry and such and was leading me along the same lines. That was the first time I heard the name Grainger mentioned. He was the great builder of Newcastle. And John Dobson, he used to design for Grainger and others. I’d heard of the Grainger Market, and had been through it, but you don’t think of who built these places. And then there’s Grey Street. Eeh! there’s a street for you. The best time to see it is on a Sunday when there’s no carts or carriages packing it out and few people about. By! it’s a sight. As me da once said, that’s what one man’s imagination could do for a town.’
Janie now blew at the snow that was dusting her lips and turned her head towards him and blinked as she said, ‘You’re a surprise packet you are, John George. Do you ever talk to Rory about it?’
‘Aye, sometimes. But Rory’s not really interested in Newcastle or buildings and such.’
‘No, no, he’s not.’ Janie’s voice held a dull note now as she added, ‘Cards, that’s Rory’s interest, cards. Eeh! he seems to think of nothing else.’
‘He thinks of you.’
‘Aye, he does, I must admit.’ She was smiling at him through the falling snow and she added now, ‘You’ve got me interested in Newcastle. I’ll tell him . . . I’ll tell him he’s got to take me up.’
‘Do that, Janie. Aye, do that. Tell him you want to see Jesmond. By! Jesmond’s bonny. And the houses on the way . . . Eeh! lad, you see nothing like them here.’
‘I think I’d like to see the bridges. I heard me da say there’s some fine bridges. Funny me never ever havin’ seen Newcastle and it only seven miles off. And there’s me grannie. She worked there at one time, she was in service at a place overlooking the river. She used to keep talking about the boats laden down with coal going up to London. It was funny, she never liked Newcastle. She still speaks of the people there as if they were foreigners; she’s always sayin’ they kept the South Shields men down, wouldn’t let them have their own shipping rights or nothing until a few years back. It’s funny when you come to think of it, John George, we know more about the people from Ireland, like the Learys and Rory’s folks, than we do about them up in Newcastle. I’m beginning to see the sense of some of me grannie’s sayings; she always used to be saying, “You could be closer to a square head from Sweden than you could to a man with a barrow from Jarrow.”’
John George laughed now, saying, ‘I’ve never heard that one afore.’
‘Oh, I think it’s one of me grannie’s make-up ones. You know, half the things she says I think she makes up. If she had ever been able to read or write she would have been a story teller. I’ve said that to her. Oh—’ She sighed now and shook her gloved hands to bring the circulation back into her fingers as she said, ‘We’re nearly there.’ Then on a little giggle, she added, ‘If the missis was to see you she’d think I was leading a double life and she’d raise the riot act on me.’
As they stopped before a side gate that was picked out by the light from a street lamp she looked at John George, now blowing on his hands, and said with deep concern, ‘Oh, you must be frozen stiff, John George. And no gloves.’
‘Gloves!’ His voice was high. ‘You can see me wearin’ gloves, I’d be taken for a dandy.’
‘Don’t be silly. You need gloves, especially goin’ round in this weather, scribbling in rent books. At least you want mittens. I’ll knit you a pair.’
He stood looking down on her for a long moment before saying, ‘Well, if you knit me a pair of mittens, Janie, I’ll wear them.’
‘That’s a bargain?’
‘That’s a bargain.’
‘Thanks for comin’ all this way, John George.’
‘It’s been my pleasure, Janie.’
