Heart and Home

by Lyn Andrews

Genres: Sagas; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

HEART AND HOME is a poignant saga of shop girls in 1930s Liverpool from Lyn Andrews, the Sunday Times bestselling author of FROM LIVERPOOL WITH LOVE and THE HOUSE ON LONELY STREET. Not to be missed by readers of Dilly Court and Katie Flynn.

Cathie Kinrade is all too used to hardship. Growing up on the Isle of Man in the 1930s, she sees her da set sail daily on dangerous seas while her mam struggles to put food on the table. Cathie has little hope for her own future, until a chance encounter changes her fortunes for ever.

Fiercely determined, Cathie leaves for Liverpool, a bustling modern city full of possibility. With a lively job as a shop girl in a grand department store, and a firm friend in kind-hearted Julia, Cathie has found her niche. But the discovery of an explosive secret could put everything at risk. And when love comes calling, Cathie's new friends fear that she may be set to trust the wrong man with her heart...

Release date: December 3, 2015

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One



1933

‘Mam, I won’t do it! I won’t!’ As she faced her mother Cathie Kinrade’s cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes flashed with mutinous determination. She was small and slight for her age – she had just turned fifteen – and the faded paisley print dress, being two years old now and too short for her, added to the illusion that she was still only a child. That was something Cathie herself would have realised was no longer true even if both her parents had not impressed upon her that, having left school, her childhood was behind her and from now on she must earn a living and contribute to the household.

Lizzie Kinrade sighed heavily and looked up from the kitchen table where she had just finished rolling out the pastry for the pie she was making for supper. She wiped her hands on her stained cotton apron and looked with annoyance at her eldest daughter. ‘Cathie, don’t start on that again! You have to get work, and what else is there here in Ramsey for the likes of us?’ Her gaze strayed around her small kitchen, which, apart from the tiny scullery, was the only room on the ground floor of the stone cottage where she and Barney had lived all their married life. It opened directly on to the street and was both kitchen and living room. They had only the essentials in the way of furniture – which was just as well, she thought; when they were all at home you could barely move. Upstairs there were two small bedrooms; the minuscule yard at the back contained the ramshackle privy, a tin bath hanging on a nail in the wall and her washing tub. It was all they could afford and although with six children it was definitely overcrowded she considered herself fortunate that she had a good, hard-working husband, a roof over her head, food for the table, fuel for the fire and that she had not lost any of her children to hunger, disease, war or the sea as many women had on this small island.

Cathie clenched her hands tightly and pursed her lips, shaking her dark curly hair around her oval face; this was one battle she was determined to win no matter how much friction it caused. She had thought long and hard over this decision and was not going to give up on it.

‘I know I’ve got to get work, Mam, and I will, but I’m not going to gut fish!’ Inwardly she shuddered at the very thought of standing on the quay all day in all weathers, up to her elbows in the blood and guts of herrings, which would then go to be smoked or pickled, or mackerel or bass or cod or any other fish. All her life she’d witnessed the women and girls in their filthy, blood-stained aprons, wielding long sharp gutting knives as they worked by the Fish Steps in the Market Square beside Ramsey’s outer harbour, which was where the fishing fleet tied up. They all looked hard and weather-beaten and they stank of fish. It was a pervasive odour that seemed to get into the very pores of your skin and no amount of washing, even with carbolic soap, could eliminate it. No, she’d decided that she wanted something better. Ever since she’d been a small child she’d been fascinated by the shops in Parliament Street, Ramsey’s main thoroughfare, establishments that were far beyond the reach of her mother’s very limited budget. She’d loved to stand and gaze at the displays of fashionable dresses, jackets and coats in rich fabrics and the magnificent hats and soft leather gloves and handbags. Of course she’d soon realised that she would never be able to afford to buy clothes like that. Indeed she’d come to understand that she’d never even be able to get work in such shops. Girls of her class and education could only expect to be employed in very menial jobs, but that didn’t stop her dreaming and hoping that one day she might in fact achieve something better; something that would help to contribute to their standard of living, for her father and brothers worked very hard for little reward.

Lizzie sat down in her old, scarred, bentwood rocker and looked wearily at Cathie. In appearance the girl resembled her; with her dark hair and eyes and small but sturdy stature, she bore all the traits of her Celtic ancestors, like many people from the south of the island. However, in nature Cathie took after her father. Bernard – Barney – Kinrade was tall and well built, with blue eyes and fair hair – although now there was more silver in his hair than gold – attributes that harked back to the Viking heritage of the people of the north. He was a rather taciturn man and could be stubborn, but he didn’t gamble or drink. Any man who went out to sea with a belly full of ale was a fool, he often remarked. He was superstitious, but then all fishermen were, she conceded. His was a hard and dangerous life – the sea had claimed many lives – but he never complained.

‘Cathie, we’ve argued this down to the bone and there’s nothing more to be said. You’ve to work, and that’s an end to it. Do you think Jack and Jacob wanted to go out on the boat with your da? Do you not think they wanted an easier, safer way of earning a living? Of course they did but what else is there for us? It’s fishing or farming and we’ve no land to work. We’re not fortunate enough to have a shop, a business or a house big and grand enough to take in paying summer visitors. The lads couldn’t get an apprenticeship and for most other types of decent employment in this town you’d need a better education than any of you have had. I’ll have a word with Madge Gelling tomorrow and see if you can start at the Fish Steps on Monday. There’ll be no more arguments.’

Tears of anger and frustration pricked Cathie’s eyes but before she had time to utter another word her younger sister Ella piped up.

‘I won’t mind working with Mrs Gelling and the others, Mam, when I leave school. I heard their Nora saying it’s great getting your money at the end of a long week. It makes it all worthwhile.’ From beneath her heavy fringe of dark hair she shot a surreptitious but triumphant glance at Cathie, who glared back at her. Ella shrugged. Cathie was just plain stupid if she thought she could get a good job.

‘Oh, shut up, Ella! You just want to cause trouble; it’s all you ever do!’ Cathie cried, knowing full well that her sibling delighted in goading her. Fenella – called ‘Ella’ by the family – was almost thirteen and had been a torment to her for as long as she could remember.

‘Don’t speak to your sister like that!’ Lizzie snapped as she got to her feet, trying to head off a squabble. Those two fought like cat and dog and always had done. Her head had begun to ache and she still had a day of chores ahead of her before she could rest for a few hours by the fire after supper. Tomorrow was Sunday and they would all attend St Paul’s Church in the Market Square, for Barney insisted they ‘keep the Sabbath’. Tonight they would all take their weekly bath here in the kitchen, which meant hours of heating up water on the range. She would have to make sure that their clothes were clean and pressed and any rips or tears were neatly mended and their boots and shoes polished, ready for church in the morning.

‘Ella, take little Hal and go and see if there’s any sign of your da and the lads yet, while I put on the porridge – they’ll be starving,’ she instructed, and then turned to ten-year-old Meggie. ‘You start to peg out the washing in the yard for me, girl. I’ll come out as soon as I can to help and to make sure that there’s not a wind getting up that may bring the rain.’ Preoccupied by a seemingly endless list of tasks, she turned to five-year-old Harold – Hal – the baby of the family, and, despite his protests, bundled him into an old cut-down jacket of Jacob’s to keep out the chill March wind.

While her mother was preoccupied Ella pulled a face at Cathie and hissed, ‘You’ll have to gut fish and then you’ll stink of them and no one will want to come near you!’

Snatching her cardigan from the back of a chair, Cathie slammed out before she too could be instructed to undertake some job. She wanted a bit of time on her own, away from her mam and Ella and Meggie and Hal, and before her da and her brothers came home and the kitchen filled to bursting. Then it would be hard to hear yourself speak, let alone think.

She shivered as she stepped out into Collins Lane and pulled her cardigan more closely around her. The narrow lane seemed to act like a funnel for the wind coming in off the harbour. Collins Lane ran between the West Quay and Parliament Street, Ramsey’s main thoroughfare where all the best shops were located. But Collins Lane, at its widest point opposite the cottages, was barely three feet in width. It was so narrow and crooked that the sunlight hardly ever managed to penetrate to brighten or warm it. They lived in the middle of a block of three stone cottages which were overlooked by the wall of the warehouse on the opposite side. She stood for a few seconds debating which way to go; then she turned left and headed down towards the quay.

It didn’t take her long to reach the end of the lane: ahead of her lay the harbour, divided by the swing bridge. In the outer harbour the fishing boats were already tying up, the boat her da and brothers worked on amongst them. They didn’t own it; if they did they would be considerably better off. She shivered in the wind; she had no wish to see her da just yet – he’d only ask where she was going – nor had she any intention of heading towards the Market Square where the fish would already be being unloaded and the women gathered on the steps ready to start the gutting.

She crossed the harbour by the iron swing bridge which divided it into an ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ and could be ‘swung’ open to allow boats to pass through. She intended to head out towards the seafront along the promenade, away from the town, but she’d only gone a few yards when she heard her name being called and she turned to see her brother Jacob hastening across the bridge towards her, a grin on his face.

‘Where are you off to, Cathie? What’s the matter? Have you escaped Mam and the Saturday chores?’ He fell into step beside her and despite her desire to be alone she couldn’t help but grin up at him. They got on well and had always been close.

‘I’ve come out to escape the lot of them! Our Ella’s being a torment – as usual,’ she replied.

Jacob tutted in mock disapproval. Like his father he was tall, well built and fair and at eighteen was considered by quite a few girls to be handsome. ‘Squabbling again? What over now?’

‘Oh, she was just being hateful, sucking up to Mam and saying she won’t mind working with Mrs Gelling when she finishes school, and then taunting me that I’ll stink of fish!’

Jacob frowned. He was aware of the arguments. He could understand Cathie wanting a better job but he also knew that for his sisters there wasn’t much else on offer.

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the wide promenade that faced the sea and led out towards Mooragh Park, Jacob seemingly oblivious to the sharp edge to the wind, although Cathie now wished she’d put something warmer on. The sea looked choppy, its surface broken by white-topped wavelets. However, the sun was struggling to break through the clouds so she hoped it might get a bit warmer as the morning wore on. Overhead the gulls wheeled and dived, their strident cries grating on her nerves.

It was Jacob who broke the silence. ‘So, you’re still determined not to gut fish.’ It was more a statement than a question.

Cathie nodded. ‘There’s got to be something else, Jacob. I worked hard at my lessons. I can read and write and do my sums well enough and Miss Costain said I have a “pleasant way” with folk and should look to “improve” myself. Surely I can do something better than gut fish?’

‘All that’s not enough, Cathie. I know it’s hard but, well, you know we need every penny.’

She stared out across the wide sweep of the bay, her gaze settling on the half-mile-long Victoria Pier at the end of which a ferry boat was tied up. There were regular sailings to England, Scotland and Ireland, and in the summer months the ferries brought hundreds of visitors and day trippers to the island. Across the sea was England and . . . Liverpool. Oh, she’d heard such tales of that city and its magnificent buildings, its huge ocean liners, its wide streets full of shops. Shops that were enormous compared to those here in Ramsey and even Douglas. She’d only ever visited the island’s capital once and had never been off the island. ‘There’s a whole world out there, Jacob, full of chances and opportunities. Why shouldn’t I go to Liverpool? I’d get a decent job there. Why shouldn’t I make something of my life, “improve” myself, like Miss Costain said? I might even get a job in one of the big shops there, something I’ve always dreamed of! I have to try, Jacob!’ Impatiently she pushed a few wisps of dark hair, tousled by the wind, away from her forehead. ‘I don’t want to be poor all my life. I don’t want to be like Mam, always tired, always worried. Why can’t I have hopes and dreams and a better life?’

He smiled down at her a little sadly. He was very fond of her and knew he was the only one she’d confide in. But she was still so young and didn’t realise that for the likes of them hopes and dreams were a luxury which seldom became reality. You had to take whatever hand life dealt you; no use raging against it. ‘Why can’t you have hopes and dreams? Because for us, Cathie, they’re like circles drawn in the sand. When the tide comes in it washes them away.’ He paused. ‘I . . . I didn’t want to follow Da into fishing but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I got used to it and most of the time it’s not too bad. We have to be grateful for what we’ve got; isn’t that what Mam’s always telling us?’ If he’d had a choice he would have liked to have become a carpenter. He enjoyed working with his hands – he often fixed things around the house, and the boat too – but to have become a tradesman he would have had to serve an apprenticeship. His parents didn’t have the money to pay for his indentures and so no one had been prepared to take him on.

Cathie bit her lip. It seemed as if there was no escape for her and yet she wanted so much more from life. But maybe Jacob was right. Maybe her wishes and dreams were simply circles in the sand.

‘Come on, let’s go home before we’re chilled to the bone. I’m starving,’ he urged more cheerfully.

Cathie didn’t reply, still caught up in her thoughts. Her eye caught a young woman walking along the sandy beach. She was reading a book, apparently totally engrossed in it. Oh, wouldn’t it be great to be like that, she thought enviously. Dressed in a warm, fashionable coat and a smart hat, so carefree that she could stroll along at this hour of the morning totally engrossed in a story or poem or whatever it was she was reading. She obviously didn’t have any chores to do, or cares or worries either.

Jacob had seen her too and he frowned, his gaze going out to where the sea was washing against the harbour wall. The tide was coming in and the currents out there were strong; beyond the wall a wave, larger than the rest, was forming. ‘What’s she doing down there?’ he asked, more to himself than his sister.

‘It looks like she’s reading something. That’s a lovely tweed coat she’s wearing. Wouldn’t it be great to have all the time in the world to just walk and read. I bet she doesn’t have to work at anything,’ Cathie replied wistfully.

‘If she doesn’t get further up the beach she’s going to get wet,’ Jacob announced, pointing from their vantage point, which was higher than the beach where the wave was now increasing in size and gathering speed. He frowned; the young woman could possibly be in some danger.

Catching his meaning Cathie now realised the young woman’s predicament. ‘Shout to her then! Warn her!’

They both yelled but the woman either didn’t hear them or was ignoring them.

‘She can’t hear us! Come on, we’ll have to go down on to the beach,’ Cathie urged.

They both scrambled hastily down and over the stretch of pebbles towards the sand, still shouting. At last the woman looked up and then in response to their cries, turned and saw the white-crested wave crashing in towards her.

She uttered a shrill cry and tried to hurry across the sand but before they could reach her the wave caught her and swept her off her feet. She almost disappeared in the cold creamy foam. Only her head, now minus the hat, could be seen.

Cathie screamed, ‘Jacob, we’ve got to do something! She’ll be dragged out!’

The lad raced forward and waded in, his legs working like pistons, until he reached her, followed by Cathie, ignoring the fact that neither she nor Jacob could swim. She gasped aloud as the icy cold water hit her.

‘Can you catch hold of her?’ she yelled, struggling on through the swirling water to reach her brother.

Jacob didn’t reply but he at last managed to grab hold of the woman’s arm as she thrashed helplessly in the sea. ‘Hang on to me, miss! I’ll pull you out!’ he shouted.

Heedless of the cold water now surging around her Cathie at last reached Jacob’s side and between them they managed to drag the woman out of the sea. ‘You’re safe now, miss! It’s all right! Just hang on to us!’

All three of them were soaked and shivering but the young woman was ashen with shock, her auburn hair plastered to her skull. ‘Oh, thank you! I . . . I . . . didn’t see it . . . I . . . just didn’t think . . .’ she stammered through chattering teeth.

‘It’s a spring tide, higher than usual, and they come in so fast, miss. It’s the currents, you see; that’s why they’re so dangerous. You’d have been pulled out into deeper water. But we’d better get you home now,’ Jacob said grimly.

She dissolved into tears of shock. ‘Into . . . deeper water! I . . . I . . . can’t swim! If . . . if it hadn’t been for you both . . .’

‘Neither can we, miss,’ Cathie informed her quietly. Many fisherman and their families were unable to swim; it wasn’t unusual.

‘I . . . I’m so . . . sorry!’ Salt water was dripping from her hair and mingling with tears of remorse. ‘I’m . . . I’m . . . Violet Christian. I . . . I live just up there.’ She pointed to the row of large Edwardian villas that lined one side of the promenade. Some were guest houses but many remained private homes.

Slowly the saturated little group made their way up towards the promenade, hampered by their wet clothes. As they drew near to the house Violet Christian tried to push her dripping hair back from her face; she was still shivering violently with cold and shock. ‘Oh, it was so utterly . . . stupid of me to ignore the incoming tide! I should have known better – and if it hadn’t been for both of you and your . . . assistance I might well have been pulled out and . . . drowned! You must come in, you’re soaked through too,’ she urged as they helped her climb the four broad steps that led up to a heavy door topped by an ornate glass fanlight.

Cathie and her brother exchanged glances. To live in a house like this you had to be well off and they were certain that they wouldn’t be welcomed in with open arms, even though they’d helped her. Soaked to the skin they must look like two urchins.

‘No, miss, but thank you. Now that you’re safe, we’ll get off home. It’s not far,’ Cathie replied as Jacob pressed the brass doorbell. The sound echoed through the hall inside.

‘But I . . . I can’t let you go without some . . . reward. And I don’t even know your names!’ Violet exclaimed, looking perturbed.

The door was opened by a young girl in a maid’s black dress, white cap and apron. She looked with horror at the dripping, dejected trio on the doorstep. ‘Miss Violet! Oh, Lord! Whatever happened to you?’

‘I . . . I was foolish enough to get caught in a tide surge and these . . . kind, brave people . . . helped me.’

‘Oh, miss! Come inside. You must get out of those wet things or you’ll catch your death of cold!’ She moved forward to escort her mistress inside but Violet turned again to Jacob and Cathie.

‘Please tell me your names?’

‘Well, it’s Kinrade. Jacob and Cathie Kinrade,’ Jacob replied.

‘Jacob and Cathie, if there is anything . . . anything at all that I can do for either of you, just ask. You probably saved my life; there was no one else around. I really do mean that. Anything, anything at all I can do.’

Jacob nodded his thanks and took Cathie’s arm and they both went awkwardly down the steps.

‘She most likely means that now but she’ll forget what she said later on, when the shock wears off. Come on, Cathie. It’s going to be a long, cold walk home.’

Cathie nodded glumly; already she was so cold she could barely feel her feet. Had Miss Violet Christian really meant what she said? The name was familiar – the Christians were a well-known family in this town. Suddenly a thought struck her. Could Violet help her realise her dreams? The notion sustained her as she trudged along beside Jacob.



Chapter Two



Their appearance when they walked into the kitchen was met first with shocked silence and then with cries and exclamations.

It was Lizzie who recovered her composure first, rushing to fuss over them both. ‘What in the name of heaven have the pair of you been doing? Come over here to the fire! Get those wet things off before you catch a chill! Ella, go upstairs and find some dry things for your sister. Jack, get up and let your brother sit in that chair!’

Barney Kinrade finished his tea and got to his feet, taking in the sight of the dripping, shivering pair of miscreants and suspecting some form of trouble was behind their appearance. It usually was. ‘So, lad, just what have you been up to? Where did you go sneaking off to?’ he demanded grimly, annoyed that Jacob hadn’t stayed to help them unload the catch.

‘I didn’t “sneak”, Da. I shouted to our Jack that I was going after Cathie. She looked upset and I wondered why,’ Jacob replied quietly. Lizzie handed him a towel and he started to dry his hair, still trembling in his wet clothes although the heat from the range was slowly beginning to dissipate some of the chill.

Jack, the eldest at nearly twenty, nodded his agreement, although he hadn’t passed that piece of information on to his father: he’d been aware that it would have been viewed as “shirking”, but had reckoned that his brother would no doubt explain the reason for his disappearance later.

As dry clothes were brought and more towels handed out and hot mugs of strong tea dispensed, between them Cathie and Jacob informed their parents and siblings of the events of the morning.

When they’d finished Lizzie shook her head and tutted reprovingly. ‘If you hadn’t gone running off like that, Cathie, then neither of you would have got a soaking, and you left your sisters with your share of the chores. Not a thought in your head but what you wanted to do.’ She sighed. ‘Still, if you hadn’t been there then that young woman would have been in serious trouble.’

Barney fixed his son with a disapproving glare. Jacob was old enough to know better. The boy had been foolhardy – in fact they both had. So, Miss Violet Christian couldn’t swim, but neither could they. ‘You young fools, you’d all have been in trouble if the current had dragged you out. They’d have had to send out the lifeboat and then there would have been an almighty fuss!’

‘We couldn’t have just left her, not done anything to help, Da!’ Cathie protested, though she was now beginning to realise the danger they’d put themselves in.

‘Neither of you should even have been there. What’s got into the pair of you? Taking a walk along the Mooragh Promenade when you both had work to do.’

‘We’re sorry, Da, but surely you’ll admit it was fortunate we were,’ Jacob apologised, aware what terrible heartache they would have caused their parents had tragedy befallen them both.

‘And she was so grateful, Da! She really was!’ Cathie enthused. ‘She wanted us to go into the house – well, we wouldn’t do that – and she said if there was anything at all she could do to help us . . .’

Barney frowned. For hundreds of years the Christian family had been the most powerful on the island, living in a grand mansion on the Milntown Estate, until recently waited on by a small army of servants. The Great War had changed all that. Although the descendants of the illustrious and revered Sir William Christian, or ‘Illiam Dhone’ as he was known in the Manx tongue, had died out there were still minor branches of the family and many were wealthy. ‘Take no notice of what she said, Cathie. She’s a Christian. Why would the likes of them go out of their way to help one of us?’

‘She might, Da. She said she meant it,’ Cathie persisted, unwilling to give up on this one hope of evading the hated gutting.

Barney’s frown deepened. ‘Forget what she said, Cathie.’

‘But, Da . . .’

‘Don’t argue with your father, Cathie! Haven’t there been enough arguments in this house lately? And wasn’t one of them at the root of this morning’s . . . episode?’ Lizzie reprimanded her sharply.

Jacob tried to catch his sister’s eye but she wasn’t taking any notice. He’d tried to warn her not to put too much faith in Violet Christian’s promise.

‘What have they done for us so far, Cathie? Who do you think has the largest share in the Girl Violet and half a dozen other boats? And who takes the biggest share of the catch?’ Jack asked grimly, referring to the boat he, Jacob and his da worked on. His views were with his da on this matter.

Cathie looked puzzled. ‘You mean she . . . they . . .’ she faltered. ‘It’s named after her?’

Barney nodded. ‘It is. Violet Christian’s father owns the largest share in it. So, we’ll hear no more of her doing anything to help any of us. Put the experience behind you, but mind you learn from it.’

Lizzie nodded her agreement and became brisk. ‘Ella, Meggie, you can come with me. I’ve some shopping to do and your da and the lads all need a rest. They were out all night, they’re tired. Cathie, when you’ve warmed up, bring the washing in and fold it. Then you can tidy up this kitchen. Oh, and keep an eye on Hal too, he’s playing in the lane with Tommy Corkish from next door.’

‘Are we going to Parliament Street, Mam?’ Ella asked, thinking of the better-class shops and feeling rather smug that Cathie was to remain at home.

Cathie bit her lip, disappointed, for she liked going to Parliament Street even if they couldn’t afford to buy anything there; she loved watching all the fashionably dressed women and girls who could.

‘We are not! I’m going first to Kermeen’s in Peel Street to see what I can afford for dinner tomorrow and then into old Ramsey for the rest of my shopping,’ Lizzie replied firmly, referring to the butcher’s and the small, cheaper shops in the narrow streets behind St Paul’s Church.

Cathie got to her feet as her mother shepherded her sisters out. Any hope that Violet Christian might help her were fading fast. There was nothing she could do now except turn up at the Fish Steps on Monday morning.

It was on the Tuesday morning, a grey, damp and chilly day, that she trudged reluctantly down towards the quay. The boats hadn’t gone out on Sunday so there’d been no fish on Monday, although she’d accompanied her mother to the home of Madge Gelling that day and it had been arranged that she should start this morning. Madge had explained that it was ‘piecework’ and she would be paid according to the amount of fish she gutted, so the faster she worked, the more money she’d get at the end of the week. She was bound to be slower than the others to start with but she’d soon catch up.

Now her hair was tied back and covered by a cotton kerchief, she wore her oldest clothes and under her arm was tucked a heavy coarse calico apron that would almost envelop her but would hopefully protect her clothes from the worst of the mess. On her feet she wore a pair of short rubber boots and knew that in a few hours her feet would be freezing cold.

The Market Square was always crowded with people. A group of men, all wearing suits and hats, had assembled outside the Union Hotel, and she realised that these were the buyers who had come from the outlying small towns and villages. Townsfolk mingled with fishermen and chatted and women gossiped with the market stallholders and there was the usual sprinkling of boys playing truant from school in the hope of earning a penny or two running errands. In the far corner by the stone steps that led up from the wall of the quayside the women and girls were already waiting for the barrels of fish to be manhandled across to them. They were all similarly dressed; some of the girls were laughing and joking, but the older women seemed more preoccupied and rubbed chilled hands together. Cathie’s heart sank still further as her nostrils were assailed by the strong odour of fish as she approached them.

‘So, you’re here to start work, Cathie,’ Madge Gelling greeted her. She was a big buxom woman whom Cathie judged to be around her mam’s age. Her greying hair was snatched back in a tight bu