Jack, unable to contain himself any longer, had rounded on his father when he stumbled home drunk a few hours later.
‘You’re a disgrace, man. Look at you!’ Jack had stormed. ‘You haven’t seen a sober day since Mam died … and as for work … you wouldn’t know how to do a decent day’s work any more.’
‘Do not bring your mother’s name into this, you … you snot-nosed pup!’ Sonny Callaghan retaliated. Kitty, fourteen at the time, knew Jack was stronger and fitter than his father. If he had a mind, Jack could have floored him.
He was six foot tall by then, working in the local shipping manufacturers and bringing in regular money; he had no qualms about squaring up to his father, the man who had turned to drink when his wife died, leaving his family to be reared by neighbours.
Kitty would never let the two men fight. She loved them both, even if she knew her father wasn’t doing the best by them. There were many nights when Kitty had heard him stagger into the house, crying drunken tears for the wife he had lost. She saw the constant sadness lying behind his eyes and more than once, when the drink loosened his tongue, he would say to her, ‘Your mother would give me such a tongue-lashing, Kit, if she could see me now. I’ve let her down.’
But things had got out of control that night and Jack had finally said the unsayable.
‘Look at you, cock-of-the-walk Jack Callaghan, think you’re better than your own dad, don’t you? Well, you’re just a jumped-up little scrap who can’t even read nor write,’ Sonny goaded his son.
Kitty could see Jack clench his fists with the effort of not hitting Sonny, but she knew Jack would never have forgiven himself for laying a hand on his own father, no matter how much he had been pushed. Jack’s schooling had always been an erratic affair and he’d spent more time trying to help his mother out with odd jobs than he’d ever spent learning his letters.
‘If you’d been the husband to Mam that you should have been, I wouldn’t have had to come out of school to try and do the man’s job that you’re not fit for. Dad, you’re a coward and it was you that killed her, with your drinking and feckless ways. If you’d looked after her like a proper husband she’d still be here today—’
Sonny lunged towards his eldest boy. ‘Why you little guttersnipe—’
‘Stop it, both of you! Nothing could have saved her,’ interjected Kitty, throwing herself in front of her father. ‘The doctor said she had a weak heart and Mam will be turning in her grave to see you two going at it like this.’ She bundled little Tommy out of the room. ‘If you carry on I’ll go and live at Aunty Dolly’s. I will, I swear.’
Jack turned to Kitty. ‘You’ll not have to worry about going to Dolly’s, our Kit. I’ll save everyone the trouble.’
‘What do you mean, Jack? You can’t leave us – how will we manage?’
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, but it’s never the right moment. I’ve taken a job in Belfast, training as a shipwright in the Harland and Wolff shipyard there. They’ll give me a good tuition and when I come back I reckon I’ll be able to read and write as good as anyone.’
Sonny Callaghan didn’t have the nerve to meet his own son’s eyes and Kitty knew that he was ashamed of his earlier outburst. But men had pride, didn’t they, and he would rather slit his own throat than apologise.
Kitty felt the tears well up and suddenly the thought that her beloved brother was leaving was too much to bear. She threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Jack. What will I do without you?’
‘I’ll send home every penny I earn, Kit, and in a few years I’ll be back and be able to help better by being a qualified shipwright.’ He held her to his chest and said gently, ‘You couldn’t have two men living together that don’t agree. It’s asking for trouble. But I won’t let you down, Kit, you’ll see.’
So Jack was gone for three years, but he was true to his word, his money arrived for her every week at the post office and when he came back three years later he was a changed man. Bigger, leaner, stronger, and Kitty could see her father could no longer safely poke the bars of Jack’s cage.
Jack still came for his tea now and then and he and his father had reached an uneasy truce, but it pained Kitty to know that things would never be the same between them.
Kitty tried to banish the terrible memories from her mind. ‘Look at the cut of you,’ she admonished Tommy, and her tone was more abrupt than she intended. Still gripping the back of Tommy’s collar, she pushed him towards the brown stone sink.
‘Before you sit up to your tea, you can have a good wash. You’re filthy!’ Turning on the single copper tap, Kitty let the cold water run into an enamel bowl and felt Tommy squirm. Nevertheless, she did not intend to let him get away. ‘I’m ashamed of you.’ She added hot water from the big black kettle that was always on the boil. ‘You’re a disgrace, running around like no one owns you.’ She knew she was being a little harsh but she had to keep a tight rein on Tommy, otherwise he would get out of hand. A bobby from Gladstone Dock had brought him home earlier in the week for shooting pigeons with his catapult.
‘But, Kit … I’ve been washed.’ Tommy’s muffled protest went ignored as she threw a clean, though threadbare, towel around his shoulders. Dipping his head over the sink Kitty said, ‘You could grow spuds in those ears, and that tidemark is bigger than the one on Seaforth shore.’ Scooping warmed water into an enamel cup that their dad usually drank from, she poured it over his head.
‘I got washed last night,’ Tommy protested, his voice echoing into the sink. He was finding it impossible to wriggle free of Kitty’s strong hold.
‘And this morning?’ Kitty asked, taking a remnant of old towel now used as a flannel, and slathering it in Lifebuoy carbolic soap, before vigorously rubbing at Tommy’s two-tone neck.
‘I didn’t get dirty in bed,’ Tommy exclaimed with haughty indignation, ‘so why do I need to get washed twice in the same day?’
Kitty sighed and shook her head. ‘Getting washed wakes you up and makes you smell nice,’ she answered.
‘I don’t want to smell nice.’ Tommy sounded most put out. ‘I’m not a cissy.’
Kitty could not help but smile, but still ignored his protestations. Then, after scrubbing Tommy’s neck, she said firmly, ‘Just put your filthy hands in that bowl.’
‘It’s freezing!’ Tommy barely dipped his fingertips into the cloudy water in the enamel bowl. ‘I’ll get pneumonia.’
‘You’ll get more than that if you don’t put your hands in,’ Kitty said, ‘but there’ll be no tea until you’re clean.’
Tommy was certain of one thing: even though he had never known a mother’s firm hand he had not missed out. Kitty was mother enough for anyone.
‘I mean it, Tommy. If you don’t change your tune, Jack will make sure you’re with the first lot to be evacuated and who knows where you’ll end up?’ Kitty knew her little brother hated the thought of being away from home if war was declared.
‘Do you think there will be a war?’ Tommy asked. It would be so exciting, he thought as he rolled the block of red Lifebuoy soap around his hands, inhaling the carbolic scent. When he had enough lather, he blew bubbles through the O of his finger
