that's what you are. " Her head rolled round, nodding on her fat neck, and she stared into the back of the car.
Rodney, head bent, was pretending interest in a paper, but the light from the street lamp shone on him.
"God Almighty!"
Rodney did not look up, the children sat silent, their eyes wide with mingled amusement and fright.
"Ah, you can bowyer head," cried Dorrie.
"Yes, bowyer head. Yes; go on, bowyer head. I've seen me day with you. By God, I have.... I said I would, didn't I? And what Dorrie Clarke says she does.... God looks after his own. You thought you were a doctor! Ha, ha! Why, you weren't fit to lick Doctor Kelly's boots 1
An' what are yer now? ... Yer not even half a man 1' Rodney lowered the paper and sat staring straight ahead, his face pallid. Two women came out of Slade Street and, hearing Dorrie, hurried towards the car.
"Come away, you old fool," said one; 'you'll get yersel' into trouble.
"
"Whati' she turned on them. The get into trouble for tellin' that sod the truth? Take yer 'ands off me; I'm goin' to tell him some more ...
about his fancy piece."
"Come away, woman."
"Leave me alone 1 Get yer 'ands off!" She wrenched herself free and fell heavily against the car door. Steadying herself, she turned her face to the window again: "Went off and left yer, didn't she? High an'
dryl No half man for Kate Hannigan. An' yer put notices in the paper.... God Almightly, it was a laugh!
"Come back to Erin, mavoumeen, mavourneen," she sang, beating time against the window with her hand.
"What would jer give to know where she is, eh? Yer other leg, eh?
Dorrie Clarke could tell yer. Yes; I could tell yer. What dyer think about that?"
Suddenly she was wrenched away from the car, and Peter was saying,
"Mrs. Clarke! If this happens again, I'll put the police on you."
He got into the car without another word and drove away.
Dorrie Clarke stood leaning against the wall where he had flung her.
"Another bloody upstart I Polis on me, indeed!"
"Ye'll get yersel' in the cart, Dorrie, mind," said one of the women.
"Do yer really know where Kate Hannigan is?" asked the other.
"Of course she doesn't," her companion said; 'it's the gin that's talkin'. "
"Gin is it!" yelled Dorrie.
"Gin is it I Yer think I don't know where she's gone! A ... ah! A ...
ah I It's me that knows a thing or two."
"The doctor'd likely pay a pretty penny to know, Dorrie," the woman persisted.
The take his dirty money! " cried Dorrie.
"Not me. Why ... if I was starvin', if I was crawling' in the gutter for a crust, like this...."
She went to get down on her knees, and the women pulled her up, saying,
"Don't be such a damned fool, Dorrie t' " If he was handin' me a plate of golden sovereigns, I tell yer, and going down on his one good leg to do it, I'd . spit in his eye 1 And he'll never get Kate Hannigan .
never!
"Cos yer know why?... She's dead! Dead as a doornail I' " Dead 1'
exclaimed the women.
"Yes, dead," said Dorrie.
"Yer think I'm drunk an' it's the gin talkin' ... but I can still use me head.... She's dead this long while.... Can't yer see? If she wasn't dead shed've been back and snaffled him. But she's dead, I know for certain she's dead, an' in Hell, sizzling, where she should be."
One of the boys who had followed Dorrie suddenly cried, "Ee, look there!" He nudged the woman nearest him and pointed to the tram which had stopped across the road.
"My God!" she exclaimed.
"Well, of all the things that could happen!"
Dorrie Clarke blinked her bleary eyes at the approaching Bgures; her slack jaw wobbled from side to side and, as the tall woman and girl walked past the group, she slowly slid down the wall to the pavement.
Annie lay staring into the dark, waiting for the alarm to go. For some mornings past she had woken up long before the alarm had gone and lain quiet, thinking about Rosie Mullen and the north. Early last Christmas Eve morning she and Rosie had been down to Jarrow slacks to gather wood; there had been a rough tide during the night, which always meant there would be wood and lots of other things, including rotten vegetables, lining the bank. It was funny, but she imagined she could smell the stinking cabbages now. Perhaps it was just the smell of this house, for, no matter how Kate cleaned it, it always smelled like old cabbages.
She had forgotten what Rosie Mullen's face was like. She could see her as a dumpy whole, but her face was never clear. Would she ever see Rosie again? she wondered Always there was a sick longing within her for Rosie and all that she stood for, the docks, the slacks, the fifteen streets, the Borough Road church and the children. The children in this town of St. Leonards were not like the children in the north. Apart from speaking quite differently, they didn't play the same games; and the ones who were supposed to be poor didn't look poor.
A girl had taken her round an old part of Hastings, which was as close to St. Leonards as Tyne Dock was to Shields, and pointed out the slums to her. The slums had appeared houses of moderate affluence and very quaint, some even beautiful. She couldn't see how those people could be poor, not poor, anyway, like the poor back home. She longed to be able to talk to Kate about it, but whenever she mentioned the north Kate turned the conversation. On her
