Blood Ties: Part 3 of 3: Family is not always a place of safety

She’d gone to clean as usual, first thing, and, happily, seen nothing of her father, and had been buoyed all day – well, once the sickness went – by the joy she was feeling. Terry was a gem, and she kept going over and over everything; unlike her father, he would not have a word said against her by Irene, and, though she was fearful about the inevitable confrontation, she cared less. Why should she care? Irene’s opinion no longer mattered. Only Terry’s, and Terry loved her, and would not let her down.

They walked round to the pub for six-thirty, almost as soon as Terry had got in from work. He’d be away for a few days from tomorrow, on another European job, so it was important they do it as a matter of urgency – Kathleen knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it from her dad for very long, and she needed Terry by her side when he was told.

They knocked on the front door and waited, it not escaping their notice that Terry was still officially barred from the Dog and Duck. He’d not set foot over the threshold in over two months now, and cared not at all. Well, Kathleen mused, wondering still what had passed between the two men, except for the time when he’d had the conversation with her father which could so easily have meant she was still slaving away on the other side of this very door. It still made her shudder to think that, if he hadn’t passed her in his lorry that day, she might never have seen him again.

Her dad looked confused as he slid the bolts to unlock the doors.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, looking from one to the other as he let them in. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here for the tournament.’

Kathleen stepped forward and hugged her father, who smelled exactly as he always did of the woody aftershave he’d used for as long as she could remember. He returned her hug tightly, then let her go and stepped back, his face, seeing their expressions, now becoming anxious.

‘You on your own, Dad?’ Kathleen asked. Then, ‘It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong. We just have something important to talk to you about, that’s all.’

‘No, he’s not on his own!’

Kathleen felt her heart plummet. It was Irene’s voice. She appeared at the back of the bar just as they stepped into the taproom. ‘So if you’ve sneaked in here asking for money,’ she said, lifting the counter and coming around it, ‘you’ve no bleeding chance. We’re completely skint.’

Kathleen glanced in dismay at Terry, who was eyeing Irene with cold distaste. And then beyond Irene, she felt further dismayed, as Monica had appeared too. Seemed the routines had changed somewhat since she’d stopped doing all the donkey work. But no, it looked like Monica had just come in from work. She certainly didn’t look as if she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing any toilets.

Kathleen’s stepsister gave her a long slow appraisal – head to foot and back up again. What little bond they’d shared seemed to have vanished completely, and Kathleen supposed it was probably for much the same reason; that her underling wasn’t there to be bossed about any more. ‘Oh look,’ Monica said sarcastically, ‘it’s Kathleen and her old man. Literally.’ She then grinned smugly at her own joke, threw down the tea towel she’d been holding and got herself a glass so she could pour herself a drink.

John glared at her, but he still looked as uncomfortable as Kathleen was feeling. And once again, seemed unable to speak up himself. ‘You alright, Terry?’ he asked instead, touching the younger man’s forearm. ‘Why don’t you sit down, the pair of you, and you can tell me what’s up.’

‘There’s nothing up,’ Kathleen responded, looking pointedly at Irene, who had now crossed the room and stood behind John, hands on hips.

Neither sat. ‘Kathy?’ Terry said, gently, squeezing her hand. ‘Do you want to tell them, love?’

In for a penny, Kathleen thought, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. She’d rehearsed this. And also a mantra to keep in her head. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is my life. They can’t hurt me.Be brave.

‘It’s just as well you’re all here anyway,’ she started. ‘Because we’ve come round to let you know that we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant. We don’t know how far yet, but a good few weeks I think. Anyway, that’s it. That’s our news.’ She paused and held her father’s astonished gaze. ‘And we’re both really happy about it,’ she finished.

She felt the pressure of Terry’s hand holding hers and was grateful for it, too, as now she’d made her speech she felt lightheaded.

Low blood pressure, she remembered, from her visit to the doctor’s. Perhaps she should sit down. But she didn’t. In a situation like this, her height mattered to her.

Irene and Monica were both staring at each other, open-mouthed. Which was gratifying. An image she liked to think she would remember. But it was her father’s reaction that she cared about the most. After Terry, he was the person she most wanted to be pleased for them. Not to condemn, not to judge, just to be thrilled. Stupid society could go to hell, she thought. And she willed him to think that too. And little by little, as the news seemed to settle into his brain, she saw the ghost of a smile, then an actual smile, light his drawn features.

Is he thinking what I’m thinking? she wondered, returning his smile. That Mum’s grandchild is going to come into the world?

And then she was in her father’s arms, and he was shaking Terry’s hand and congratulating him, and there was a smiling exchange about Terry promising to ‘make an honest woman’ of her and for a moment it was as if Irene and Monica didn’t exist. And, of course, they were not having that.

‘Congratu-fucking-lations?’ Irene yelled at him, ‘is that all you have to say?’

She marched up to John, her face red and angry. ‘This little slut calmly tells you she’s going to be an unmarried mother, and you pat her – and him – on the pissing back? Oh this is going to be the final nail in our coffin, is this!’ She threw her hands up in the air, as if beseeching some deity. ‘Can you imagine it? Oh the shame. We’ll be the talk of frigging Canterbury, yet again!’

‘Not an unmarried mother, Irene,’ Terry quickly corrected her. ‘As I just told John, we’ll get wed just as soon as we can afford a proper do.’

‘Oh, and you think that’ll make any difference? People can count, you know!’

‘I dare say they can, and they will, but you really think we care about the sleazy opinions of folk who have nothing better to do than will ill on other folk and spread gossip?’

‘Er, excuse me! You’re calling folk sleazy? You? You, carrying on with that little dolt who’s half your age?’

Terry automatically put a protective arm around Kathleen and pulled her towards him. There was a little tic working in his jaw and Kathleen feared he might lose his cool completely. But his voice was level as he spoke. ‘Irene, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, so long as we’re happy about it. My fiancée and I. That’s all that counts.’

Irene flinched at the term. ‘Happy about it?’ Irene spluttered before turning to Monica. ‘Have you heard this? Aah, how sweet. They’re happy about it.’

Monica’s lip curled, and Kathleen wondered what she’d ever done to deserve the cruelty and derision she routinely got from her stepsister. And wondered again how one woman’s corrosive influence could be so strong that Monica could be so full of spite. She vowed instantly that she would be a better mother to her own child, and her hand went reflexively to her belly. ‘They don’t look right happy to me,’ Monica said to Irene. ‘And no wonder. Tongues’ll be wagging all over Bradford about this.’

Kathleen caught her dad moving out of the corner of her eye. Not much. Just standing up that little bit taller. ‘Irene,’ he said, addressing his wife for the first time, ‘she isn’t the first and she won’t be the last. She’s having a baby, my first grandchild,’ he glanced over at Kathleen. ‘And bugger what anyone else thinks!’

That seemed to be the spark that lit the flame. To Terry’s shock and Kathleen’s horror, her stepmother launched herself, fists flying, at her poor dad.

‘You horrible bastard!’ she screamed as she punched anywhere she could find a target. ‘Her! Having a baby! Her?’ She seemed apoplectic at the thought. ‘Up the duff, her?’ she seemed to be directing this now mostly at Monica, as if her daughter had failed her in not being pregnant first. In not having a man. In not coming up with the goods. And Monica’s expression said it all – that she was finally in accord with Kathleen, that their mam had really lost it, and that she was perplexed about why any of her vitriol should be aimed at her.

Terry bent and brushed his lips against Kathleen’s ear. ‘Come on, love,’ he whispered, ‘let’s get out of here. This is just sick.’

Irene turned on him. Her hearing was still fully functional, evidently. ‘Oh, sick is it? Sick? I‘ll tell you what’s sick, mate. An old bleeding man like you, preying on a young ’un who’s a bit backwards. That’s what’s sick, and you’re a fool if you think folk won’t let you know it. And I’ll make sure everyone knows it an’ all,’ she added, catching her husband with a whack around the face with the flat of her hand, before Terry, darting forward, could stop her.

It was her father’s slight lurch, before correcting himself, that did it for Kathleen. And the way he had to rearrange his glasses back on his nose.

‘Stop it!’ she yelled, tears flooding her eyes. ‘All of you! Just stop it. Stop it now!’ She turned to her dad, willing him to be half the man Terry was. To stand up for her. ‘Dad, I love you,’ she sobbed, ‘and I want you to be happy for me. For both of us,’ she added, clutching once again at Terry’s hand. ‘But I promise you this,’ she said, ‘I won’t have it a part of this bloody war zone. Dad, I mean it.’ She then pointed at Irene. ‘Sort her out, because I won’t be bringing my baby here, ever, unless you do.’

Kathleen tugged on Terry’s hand and pulled him with her to leave. But Irene hadn’t finished. ‘Yes, piss off!’ she yelled. ‘Bugger off. That’ll suit us all just fine. You and your old man and your bleeding bastard sprog. You’re fired and you’re barred, so just piss off, the pair of you,’ she finished, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth.

‘Irene, pack it in!’ John barked, wiping his own mouth from where she’d caught him. ‘Leave the lass alone, will you!’

‘You know where I live, Dad,’ Kathleen said, feeling lighter and braver now she’d done what she’d come to do, and because finally her dad had defended her. Well, to an extent. ‘Call round anytime you like.’

‘You’ll be welcome,’ added Terry.

‘Ooh, he’ll be welcome!’ sang out Irene.

Terry’s gaze shifted. ‘Unlike you,’ he said, ‘who won’t. Not till you can learn to treat decent folk with a modicum of respect, at any rate.’

‘D’you hear that?’ she bellowed at John.

‘Mam, leave it!’ shouted Monica.

Kathleen’s dad’s expression was fraught. ‘Just go, love,’ he told her, looking anxiously at his watch. ‘Opening time any minute. Leave me to deal with this, okay? Go on, lad,’ he said to Terry, gesturing towards the door again. ‘Get her home.’

‘“A modicum of respect”,’ Kathleen said, as they headed back down Louis Avenue. ‘You don’t half talk posh sometimes, Terry Harris.’

‘Hidden depths,’ he said, chuckling. ‘That’s me. Lots of hidden depths. Seriously, love, it’ll be fine. You do know that, don’t you?’

She felt strangely content now – very strange, given all unpleasantness and shouting. Not to mention the small matter of losing her job. But she couldn’t help it. Now the deed was done, she felt free, and also determined. She didn’t ever need to lay eyes on her stepmother again, and, in her current frame of mind, that felt good. And she knew Terry felt the same way, too. She could tell by the spring in his step and how he swung the arm that hers was attached to.

‘And you’re really set on making an honest woman of me, are you, Terry Harris?’