A Boy Off the Bank

by Geoffrey Lewis

  ‘Hello, Ma’am. Oi’m really pleased ter meet yer – Oi’m sorry, I don’t know what teh call yeh; Moichael’s never told us his oother name!’ She essayed a husky laugh, looked accusingly at her son:

  ‘It’s Thompson – but I’m Nettie, please?’ He echoed her smile:

  ‘Nettie – Oi’m Albert. Alby, s’what folks call me.’

  ‘Alby! I’m so glad to meet you. I want to thank you for what you’ve done for my boy – you’ve turned him into a fine young man!’

  ‘That was ’is own doin’, mostly. ’E’s a grand kid, and a real good boater, inter the bargain!’ She shook her head:

  ‘He’s told me so much about you; and he’s so proud of you, you know?’ Albert laughed:

  ‘Not ’alf as proud as Oi am of ’im, oi can tell yeh!’

  The door of the ward opened, to admit the sister in her stiff starched uniform. She came over to the bed, her manner almost as starched:

  ‘What’s this? It’s two visitors to a bed, you know!’ Nettie gave her a smile:

  ‘I’m sorry, sister – this is my son, Michael!’ The nurse turned to him, nodded rather formally:

  ‘Hello, young man. I’ll give you another minute or two – but then you’ll have to go, your mother needs her rest.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am!’ He shared a slightly guilty smile with those around him, gestured to Albert: ‘This is my Dad.’

  ‘Your father? I understood Mr Thompson was dead?’

  ‘He is, sister.’ Nettie confirmed.

  ‘So this is your stepfather?’ She asked Michael; he couldn’t contain a quick chuckle:

  ‘Sort of! It’s very complicated to explain.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, well, it’s your business, I’m sure. Two minutes, now!’ She turned and left them; Michael looked back to his mother:

  ‘Where’s Ginny, Mum?’

  ‘She’s at home with Grandad, Michael; though he’s struggling a bit, to look after her as well as Granny while I’m in here.’

  ‘How is Gran?’

  ‘Not too good – she has to use a wheelchair to get around now, you know?’

  ‘Yeah – is she going to get better?’ Nettie shook her head:

  ‘She won’t walk again, I’m afraid.’ She patted the bed next to her: ‘Sit here with me, Michael, for a minute?’ He sat; she slipped her arm around his waist as he bent to kiss her cheek. They sat together, their love needing no words; Janet and Albert exchanged understanding glances, stole quietly out to stand in the corridor. In the ward, Michael and his mother chatted quietly, he talking about his life with Albert, telling her about Gracie and the Hanneys; she spoke of his sister, and of Andy, her voice frequently petering out into a fresh bout of coughing. He was careful not to let his distress show in his face – she looked so thin, so pale, compared with the way he remembered her, and the coughing, the obvious way it exhausted her, upset and frightened him.

  After a few minutes, the sister returned and shooed Michael out, the smile on her face more sympathetic than might have been expected.

  They passed the bus journey back to Wolverton mostly in silence; Michael’s concern for his mother was clear in his expression, although he kept his worries to himself. At one point, Albert spoke up:

  ‘We’ll stop ’ere on the way back to Birnigum. Yeh can coom ’n see yer Mum agen, Moikey.’

  ‘If yeh’re sure, Dad? I don’t want ter ’old us up.’

  ‘’Course yeh moost, boy.’

  ‘When will that be, Mr Baker?’ Janet asked; he thought for a moment, calculating:

  ‘Foive days, if we load from Brentford. Oi’ll ask at the office if they’ve got soomethin’ ther’ fer oos.’

  They had indeed – mixed tinned foods to go to Fazeley Street. But their stop in Wolverton was only to cause Michael more anguish…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Five days after their trip to the hospital, Janet was on tenterhooks, looking out for Michael to knock at her door, minute by minute lifting the net curtains at the window to watch for him. At last, she saw him approaching along the street, and hurried to the door, opened it before he could knock:

  ‘Michael – come inside!’ Puzzled and worried by her anxious greeting, he followed her into the house, through to the kitchen:

  ‘Mrs Eastwood – what is it?’

  ‘Sit down, Michael…’ He did as she bid, sitting at the scrubbed oak table; she drew up a chair opposite him, reached out to take his hands in her own, her troubled eyes holding his:

  ‘Michael… Oh, Michael!’ Her voice broke; she averted her eyes for a moment, raised them to his again: ‘Michael – it’s your Mum…’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His concern was turning to real fright.

  ‘Oh Michael! She’s… She died, the day after you came to see her. I’m so sorry…’ He stared at her, uncomprehending, then withdrew his hands, buried his face in them. She got up, went around the table and put her arms around him from behind, held him as he sobbed.

  ‘I’m so sorry…’ she whispered again. After a minute or so, he staggered to his feet, turned to her, a question clear in his eyes.

  ‘She went peacefully, in her sleep. She didn’t suffer, Michael.’ He nodded; she drew him into her embrace, held him, felt his body trembling, his tears soaking into the shoulder of her dress.

  After an unconscionable time, he eased out of her arms, looked at her:

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘No, don’t be, Michael. I hate to keep bringing you such awful news…’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Mrs Eastwood.’ He brushed the tears from his face: ‘When’s… when’s her funeral?’

  ‘They set it for tomorrow, but I told them they’d have to postpone it if you weren’t here.’ He nodded:

  ‘Thank you – where is it, in Buckingham?’ She nodded:

  ‘Eric’s arranged to borrow a car from work, so we can take you there – you can stop until then?’

  ‘I’m sure Dad won’t mind, even if we do lose a day on the trip.’ A thought struck him: ‘What about Ginny?’

  ‘She’ll be there – your Grandad will bring her.’ This elicited a thin smile from the boy:

  ‘It’ll be good to see her again! But – I meant, afterwards?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I don’t know, Michael – Grandad can’t really manage both her and your Granny, so I don’t know…’

  ‘Oh…’ He lapsed into a thoughtful silence; then: ‘I’d better go and tell Dad, and Gracie.’

  ‘Are you all right, Michael?’ He nodded:

  ‘I’ll be okay, don’t worry.’

  ‘You could stay here, tonight, if you like?’ He smiled, shook his head:

  ‘Thank you – but my home’s on the boats, now. That’s where I belong – and Dad would miss me, anyway.’

  * * *

  It was a beautiful Spring day, when the mourners gathered to bury Nettie Thompson. Most of them, friends and acquaintances from Buckingham and Wolverton as well as the few members of the family, were already there when Michael, Albert and Gracie arrived, squeezed into the back seat of an old Austin Ten saloon with the arms of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway emblazoned on the door. Michael, dressed in his finest, the spiderwork belt Gracie had made for him around his waist, was stretching cramped muscles when a squeal went up:

  ‘Michael!’ An eight-year-old in a pretty floral dress ran down the church path and flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Ginny!’ He held her tight, felt her arms trying to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

  They were still entwined moments later, when the hearse drove up. Suddenly solemn, hand in hand, they led the procession into the church, behind the coffin, stood close to it throughout, accompanied it back out into the churchyard. After the interment, they stood side by side, hand in hand still, beside the open grave, gazing down, each lost in their own thoughts. Michael broke the silence:

  ‘Ginny?’ She raised eyes bright with tears to meet his, as he asked: ‘What’s going to happen to you now?’ She thought f
or a moment:

  ‘I don’t know. Grandad can’t look after me, he’s too busy looking after Granny now. There was a lady, came to see us yesterday – she wants me to go and live in a home.’

  ‘An orphanage?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you want to go there?’ The little girl shook her head vehemently:

  ‘No!’

  ‘What do you want, Ginny?’ She paused:

  ‘I don’t know, Michael. Can I come and live with you?’ It was his turn to pause:

  ‘I don’t know…’

  With Michael caught up in his maelstrom of emotions, standing by his mother’s grave, his little sister holding his hand, Albert Baker was left to his own devices. He’d stayed with the Eastwoods throughout the service, but afterwards, in the graveyard, he went over to the tall, older man pushing the wheelchair:

  ‘Excuse me?’ The man looked around, his face an older, lined version of his Grandson’s:

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yew moost be Moichael’s Grandad?’ The man smiled:

  ‘I am indeed! Morris, Fred Morris – Nettie was our daughter.’ He held out a hand.

  ‘Oi’m Albert Baker – Alby teh me friends.’ He took the hand, shook it.

  ‘Mr Baker! I’m delighted to meet you – we’ve heard so much about you, from the letters that Michael wrote to his mother. Ethel – this is Michael’s new Dad!’ The white-haired lady in the chair looked up, proffered her hand too; Albert shook it:

  ‘Deloighted, Mrs Morris. Oi’m so sorry, ’bout yer daughter.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Baker – but it’s Ethel, please?’ He smiled down at her, nodded:

  ‘’N Oi’m Alby.’ He gestured towards the two children by the grave: ‘What’s goin’ teh happen teh the little girl, now?’ Morris heaved a sigh:

  ‘I wish I knew. We can’t cope with her – Ethel can’t get about now, so I have to do pretty well everything, you see. We couldn’t manage a kiddie in the house, as well.’ A brief silence held while the three of them contemplated the boy and girl, standing hand in hand, their backs to them. Fred expressed all their thoughts:

  ‘The two of them should be together.’

  ‘Ar, that they should.’ Albert agreed: ‘Boot Moikey’s not goin’ ter leave the boats, now.’

  ‘I don’t imagine he would.’

  A few moments of silence again, then: ‘They want to put her in the local orphanage.’

  ‘A children’s ’ome?’ The boatman sounded scandalised.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  Another pause.

  ‘She’d ’ave ter share the butty cabin wi’ Gracie.’ Morris turned to him:

  ‘You’re saying…’

  ‘What else can we do with ’er?’ Albert laughed: ‘Oi’ve ended oop adoptin’ ’im, Oi moight as well ’ave the pair of ’em!’ Morris frowned:

  ‘I doubt if the local authorities will like that.’

  ‘Do we ’ave ter tell ’em?’ Morris gave a bark of laughter:

  ‘If she’s not here, when they come for her…’

  ‘Exac’ly!’ The two men shared a conspiratorial grin:

  ‘If she stays with Janet Eastwood tonight… I could bring a suitcase with her things in the morning… Can you wait until then, Alby?’

  ‘Oi don’t see whoy not, Fred.’

  The little girl did not demur at the idea of spending the night with their old neighbours; and Janet, let into their plans, was only too eager to help. Back on the boats, unaware of their scheming, Michael tackled Albert:

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Moikey?’

  ‘We goin’ off straight away?’

  ‘No – Oi’m stayin’ ’ere til termorrer mornin’.’

  ‘Oh – Whoy’s that? I thought yeh’d want ter get ahead.’

  ‘Yew joost be patient, boy – yeh’ll see!’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Moikey?’

  ‘Do you think – could we use someone else, in the crew?’ Albert kept his amusement to himself:

  ‘What, ’ave four on the boats, yeh mean?’

  ‘Yeah – the extra ’and would be useful, don’t yeh think?’ Albert scratched his head:

  ‘Well – Oi don’t know… We’d ’ave ter feed ’em, ooever it was. ’N where would they sleep?’

  ‘Suppose it was another girl – she could sleep in the butty, with Gracie, couldn’t she?’ Albert made show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully:

  ‘Mebbe… yeh’re suggestin’ we foind oos a spare girl teh join oos, are yeh?’

  ‘What do yeh think, Dad, could we?’

  ‘Oh, Oi don’t know, Moikey. We’re a pretty good team a’ready, ent we?’

  ‘Yes, but…’ Michael was lost for further arguments for a minute; then he thought of something:

  ‘Dad – Gracie’s goin’ ter get married, sometoime soon! We’ll need someone else then, won’t we? If we had someone now, she could be taught what teh do, ready for when Gracie goes, couldn’t she?’ Albert gave up, unable to contain himself any longer; he burst our laughing:

  ‘What d’yer think Oi’m waitin’ ’ere for, Moikey? Yer Grandad ’n me’ve got it all arranged!’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘’E’s bringin’ ’er things – yew can go ’n pick ’er oop from yer neighbours, soon as ’e gets ’ere.’ Michael stared at him, eyes wide, a happy smile slowly spreading across his face; he threw his arms around Albert’s waist, looked up into his face:

  ‘Thank you, Dad!’ Albert held him close:

  ‘Oi’ve alwes wanted a daughter – now it looks loike Oi’ve got one!’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Michael was knocking on Janet Eastwood’s door before eight the next morning. Only sleeping fitfully in his excitement, he’d had to contain his impatience until after daybreak; she let him in, ushered him into the kitchen where Eric and Ginny were at their breakfast. The railwayman greeted him with a wave of his fork; Ginny leapt up and grabbed him into an eager embrace:

  ‘Michael! I thought you’d gone?’ He shook his head, laughing:

  ‘I’m still here, Ginny! Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready? What for?’ He looked at her, mystified; Janet chuckled over the tea she was pouring:

  ‘We didn’t tell her, Michael, we thought you’d like to do that!’

  ‘Ginny – you’re coming with me, on the boats!’ She just gaped at him, her mouth open; he pulled her into his arms again: ‘We’re going to be together again – you’re going to live with me and Dad and Gracie!’

  ‘You mean it? I’m coming with you? I’m not going into that home where the lady wanted me to go to?’

  ‘You’ll live in the butty with Gracie – you met her yesterday, remember? I live in the other boat – but we’ll always be together, now!’ The little girl didn’t speak, but the light in her eyes shone forth her delight at the prospect.

  ‘Sit down, Ginny, finish your breakfast, there’s a good girl. Have you had something, Michael?’ He shook his head, and Janet waved him to a seat: ‘Sit down – there’s toast and marmalade on the table, you help yourself. Grandad will be here soon.’

  He did as she bid him, found himself suddenly ravenous; Ginny finished hers, and sat gazing at him as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. They were sipping at steaming cups of tea when another knock sounded at the door; Janet went to answer it, came back with their grandfather in tow. Ginny jumped to her feet again, threw her arms around him:

  ‘Grandad! I’m going to live with Michael!’ He laughed, eased out of her embrace and put her case down by the door:

  ‘I know, darling! I’ve brought some of your things for you.’ Michael had got to his feet as well; now, he went to shake hands with his grandfather, but the man drew him into his arms, held him tightly for a moment before releasing him, holding him at arms length and gazing into his eyes:

  ‘Michael. It’s up to you, now – you’ve got to look after your sister. I’m… not sure, whether this is the right thing to d
o – but we all feel that you two ought to be together, we don’t want Ginny put in some council home where she’d be unhappy. I know she’ll miss out on going to school, just as you’ve done since… well. You’ll have to teach her what you can, won’t you? I know how happy you are now, with this strange life of yours – I only hope she’ll take to it as well as you’ve done, that she’ll be happy too. Look after yourselves, and each other – and you will keep in touch, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course we will, Grandad. I’ll write to you, I promise – and we’ll come and see you when we can.’ Fred Morris nodded, holding his doubts, his fears, to himself:

  ‘Go on, then. Go with our love, and our blessing. I like your new Dad, he seems an honest and straightforward man, Michael – give him your love and respect, both of you?’ Two heads nodded solemnly.

  The toast was eaten, the tea all drunk; Michael took up his sister’s suitcase, turned to the door:

  ‘Michael?’ He turned back at the sound of his grandfather’s voice.

  ‘Good luck, my boy; and…’ he sounded choked; Michael smiled, dropped the case to put his arms around him:

  ‘I know – I’ll write soon, I promise!’ Fred nodded, released his grandson, turned to Ginny:

  ‘You be good – and look after your brother, okay?’

  ‘Okay, Grandad!’ She embraced him in turn.

  And then they were gone, headed eagerly away, he to return to the life he loved, she to the excitement of a whole new world.

  ‘Another cup of tea before you go, Fred?’ Morris sat down heavily at the table, nodded gratefully: Janet turned to the teapot, smiling gently at the sheen of tears in the old man’s eyes.

  * * *

  In the organised confusion of the funeral, Ginny and Albert had not actually met. Now, Michael passed her case to Gracie, down in the butty cabin, as Albert emerged from the motor. He turned to his sister, helped her over the gunwale into the stern well of the butty; she gazed up with frank curiosity at the man who was to be her substitute father. He squatted on his heels, on the counter, reached across with one hand to her; she took it, tentatively, returned his smile nervously: