The Narrowboat Girl

by Annie Murray

  ‘How old’re you?’ Maryann said.

  ‘Me? Old as the hills.’

  She frowned. ‘’Ow old’s that?’

  ‘I’m going on twenty-nine. What about you, since we’re asking?’

  ‘Thirteen. What’s yer name?’

  ‘Joel Bartholomew. And what’s yours?’ He was making a game of it. Maryann found the corners of her mouth turning up.

  ‘Maryann Nelson. I’ll always be Maryann Nelson.’

  ‘Will you? Why?’

  ‘’Cause no one’s going to make me be called anything else.’

  ‘Well – that’s settled then.’ Joel watched her carefully, rubbing his huge hands on the legs of his trousers. Then he stirred himself. ‘Best get on – the others’ll be back soon and they won’t take to me idling.’

  They stepped back out on to the bank. It felt very cold outside after the snug little cabin. Joel showed no sign of being cold, but he saw her shivering.

  ‘D’you live far, Maryann?’

  ‘Garrett Street.’

  This meant nothing to him. ‘Shouldn’t yer be at home?’

  Maryann shrugged, miserable again at the thought of home. ‘I wish I could come with yer.’

  Joel smiled. ‘Not this time o’year you don’t.’

  They stood by the bank and she felt shy again, as if she’d stayed too long. She put her coat back on.

  ‘Better go then.’

  Joel suddenly held out his hand in a teasing way and she took it. His was big and very rough.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Maryann Nelson.’

  ‘Can I come and see yer again?’

  ‘’Course you can – if you can ever find us. T’ent easy that, on the cut!’

  She turned and left him, pulling her too-big coat in closer round her, face and hands aching with cold. Reaching the bridge she turned back and saw Joel watching her. She waved, and for a moment he raised an arm.

  She went to Nanny Firkin’s house next, although she didn’t say a word to her grandmother about Mr Griffin and why she wasn’t at home and her nan didn’t ask. She could see the girl’s unhappiness in every line of her. She’d had words with her daughter and would have more, but she wasn’t going to inflict more on her granddaughter.

  ‘Yer just making up to ’im for a meal ticket!’ she’d accused Flo, and Flo whirled round, livid.

  ‘Yes – I am! ’E’s said ’e’ll move us into a bigger ’ouse and I’ll not need to stand in that stinking factory turning out kettles all day long. I’ll be able to live without being worried to death about where every meal’s coming from. Harry’s gone – ’e ain’t coming back and a meal ticket’s what I need, without any sodding lectures on the subject. I don’t want to end up like you, living on nothing and surrounded by mangy flaming cats for company!’

  Maryann stayed with Nanny Firkin, warming herself again by the fire and drinking a cup of tea. She sat stroking the cats and talking to Walt the parrot, in the musty familiarity of her grandmother’s house and she waited long enough so that Mr Griffin would have gone through his usual rigmarole of wiping his mouth, putting on his jacket and shoes and standing, holding his hat in front of his stomach and thanking her mother, with a little bow, for the afternoon tea which, he always said, brightened his lonely life. She thought about Joel and the boat and hugged this to herself as a lovely, warming secret.

  When she got home she pushed the door open cautiously, making absolutely sure she was not going to see Norman Griffin’s head, with the pasty, balding patch at the back, still in place in the chair.

  Sal was putting away cups and saucers on the shelf. She turned and raised her eyes to the ceiling, implying that Flo was upstairs, then shrugged, with an expression of sorrowful resignation. Tony ran to Maryann.

  ‘Where’ve yer bin, Maryann? Our mom’s ever so cross with yer and she’s going to get wed to Mr Griffin. Don’t say anyfing and make a row, will yer?’

  They heard their mother’s tread on the stairs. She had almost reached the bottom and stopped, staring across towards the door. Maryann waited for her temper to erupt, but she just stood there and they all gazed back at her. Maryann looked at Sal, then back to her mother.

  ‘’Ow can yer, Mom?’ Maryann said quietly. ‘’Ow can yer do it?’

  ‘I’ll tell yer how I can do it.’ Flo came down the last of the stairs and across to fix her younger daughter with the steely, determined expression that had become hers since her husband’s death. ‘By thinking about what life’ll be like if I don’t. Norman Griffin’s got a business. ’E’s got enough money to keep us, we’re going to a new ’ouse and ’e’s got a job lined up for Sal.’

  ‘Do I ’ave to work with ’im, Mom?’ Sal asked timidly. ‘I like where I’m working now.’ Sal’s first job after school was with a local bakery.

  ‘Yes. You do. We’ll be all right now. We shan’t ’ave to worry. I know ’e’s not yer dad, but from now on ’e’ll be the head of this family and you’ll treat him with respect and a bit of gratitude. D’you ’ear?’

  Five

  1928

  ‘There’s someone at the door, Maryann!’ Flo Nelson shouted.

  Maryann went to the front door and found Nancy grinning in at her. ‘So this is yer new ’ouse then!’

  Maryann’s solemn expression broke into a smile as well. ‘Come on – I’ll show yer.’ Nancy went to St Peter’s, the Catholic school, so the girls didn’t see one another in the daytime.

  Flo and Mr Griffin were married in the new year, and soon after he announced that there was a house waiting for them two roads away in Anderson Street and they were to move in immediately. He had it all planned. It was a little bit nearer his premises, where Sal had started work straight after Christmas, and was a two up, two down, with a tiny yard out at the back behind the kitchen and definitely a step up from a back-to-back.

  You stepped straight in off the street into the front room. By the hearth was a peg rug, which Flo and Sal had botched together, and Harry Nelson’s chair. Apart from that, the only piece of furniture which came from the Nelsons’ old house was a small cupboard. The other two chairs and a low table were provided by Mr Griffin. He had a little china cabinet, a table and chairs and another comfortable chair (although he still preferred Harry’s) and a heavy brass oil lamp which he liked to keep well polished and light in the evenings. It had been his father’s, and his ‘beloved mother’ who lived in Handsworth, had passed it on to him.

  Nance’s eyes were wide, looking round.

  ‘Ooh, it’s nice, Maryann—’ After the cramped squalor of her family’s back house this seemed almost palatial.

  Flo was in the kitchen cooking and there was a smell of ham knuckles boiling.

  ‘Oh – ’ello, Nancy,’ Flo said, rather snootily. Cathleen Black may have helped her out in her time of need, but that didn’t make them equals in Flo’s eyes. They had only moved two streets away, but it felt far enough to represent a new start. Flo was managing to pull herself up in the world and she was going to do it, no matter what the cost. There always was a price: that was just how it was. She hadn’t anything in the way of feelings for Norman Griffin, except for gratitude that he’d come along and been prepared to take on her and her family. That was no small thing. But he was gentlemanly in his ways, and he’d shown her the gateway out of absolute poverty: she never, ever wanted to be faced with that again. She’d have to live with his mauling her about in bed of a night – she shuddered slightly at the thought of Norman’s white, flaccid body, his thick lips and tongue. But that wasn’t too high a price to pay, she thought: he wasn’t one of these oversexed men, thank heaven. And he showed great consideration – never went all the way, so to speak. They’d agreed that there weren’t to be any more children. Her own four were enough of a handful.

  ‘Go on and show Nancy upstairs,’ she said, irritated by the girls watching her.

  ‘You ain’t been round our ’ouse for ages,’ Nancy complained as the two of them clattered up the stairs.

&nbs
p; ‘I know. We’ve been busy. Moving and that.’

  Upstairs were two rooms, one shared by the new Mr and Mrs Griffin, with Billy on a little bed on the floor, and the girls and Tony in the other. Maryann wrinkled her nose as they went in. She could smell urine from where Tony had wet the bed again that morning. He was forever asking if he could get in with her and Sal, but they said they weren’t having him wetting them too. Tiger was curled up asleep in the middle of the bigger bed that Maryann shared with Sal. She and Nance sat down on it and Maryann reached for Tiger and stroked him. He arched his back, purring.

  ‘D’yer wanna come and play out then?’ Nancy said. She wasn’t one for sitting still for long.

  Maryann kissed the stripy top of her cat’s head, between the ears. He was such a comfort, amid all the changes.

  ‘Maybe – in a bit,’ she said. She felt edgy, almost tearful, sitting there with Nance. Nance was her best pal, but there was a distance between them suddenly that Maryann didn’t know how to overcome. Her emotions were all tangled up and confused and she couldn’t find the words to tell Nance how she was feeling. She cuddled Tiger tightly. The day they moved their few possessions out of Garrett Street, Norman Griffin had stood in the living room and prodded Tiger with the toe of his boot.

  ‘We don’t need to take that with us, do we?’ he said.

  Flo looked at him, not understanding for a moment. ‘You mean the cat?’ Even she could hardly believe what he was suggesting.

  ‘We don’t want a cat in the new house, do we? Dirty animal, under yer feet all the time. I nearly tripped down the stairs over the thing the other day. Be a good time to get shot of it.’

  Maryann stood behind him, so tensed with shock at what he’d said that for those moments she couldn’t react. She saw her mother look across at her. Flo ran her hands over her pale hair, as if preparing herself, and stepped closer to her new husband.

  ‘Norman – I really don’t think we can leave the cat behind. The children . . . I mean, it’s Maryann’s. It’d break ’er heart.’

  Norman turned and saw Maryann’s piercing expression. For a moment he hesitated, then decided to smile. ‘Oh, awright then. If we must, we’ll take the thing. It’ll most likely follow us over there anyhow.’

  So Tiger had come. At least her mom had stood up for her over him. That was something.

  ‘’Ow’s Sal getting on?’ Nancy asked. ‘What’s she doing at Griffin’s? Eh—’ She dug Maryann in the ribs. ‘She ain’t building coffins?’

  ‘No!’ Maryann elbowed her back. ‘Don’t be daft. I dunno. She’s in the office. Bits and bobs. Messages, taking down details for cards and that. She ain’t really said a lot.’ Sal never seemed to say a lot about anything nowadays.

  ‘Sounds awright,’ Nancy said. ‘Soft job that.’ With a giggle she added, ‘If yer go for that sort of thing.’

  Maryann managed a laugh, feeling Nance dragging her up out of her gloomy mood.

  ‘Yer dad home yet?’ she asked Nancy.

  Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘Sleeping it off. But we could go over the yard, take Billy – Tony as well, if you like?’

  ‘Awright then.’ Maryann stood up without much enthusiasm.

  ‘We’re going over Nance’s!’ Maryann called out, downstairs.

  ‘Take Billy with yer then!’ Flo predictably shouted back.

  It was cold, but bright outside. The girls set off with Billy between them holding their hands, and Tony dragging his feet behind so they kept having to turn round and call, ‘Come on, Tony – get a move on, will yer!’

  Maryann took a deep breath of the freezing, acrid air and managed to grin at Nance. This is better, she thought. Away from that house, his house, she felt lighter, free again.

  ‘I’m glad yer came over,’ she said to Nance.

  Norman Griffin had habits of almost clockwork precision. On certain nights of the week he locked up his premises, went down to his favourite pub, the Duke of Wellington, for a pint, then came home. Every evening he expected them all to polish their shoes and line them up against the fender ready for the next day. He inspected them every night, turning each one over, frowning if there was obvious wear in the sole. On Sundays they all had to go to church with him, and afterwards he spent the rest of the morning in Handsworth with his mother. But for once tonight he was late, and Flo was especially exasperated as it meant Sal was late too, and she had the dinner all ready.

  Maryann was pleased. The later he came back the better so far as she was concerned. The place felt much more like home, their real family, when he wasn’t there. It was quite cosy with the gas mantle popping away and the warmth from the range. Flo was dishing up stew and potatoes when they heard the door open out of the dark winter evening.

  ‘’Bout time,’ Flo muttered, relieved. Norman didn’t take too kindly to them starting without him.

  ‘Summat smells good!’ they heard him say. Sal, her face paler than ever in the gaslight, slid into the room and sat down quietly at the table.

  Norman came through, smoking the butt end of a cigarette. Maryann didn’t like it when he stood over them. He was so big it felt intimidating. She saw Tony shrink down in his seat.

  ‘What’s happened, Norman?’ Flo asked, serving his food. ‘You seem pleased with yerself.’

  ‘Oh no, no – nothing much. Just glad to be ’ome with you, my dear,’ he said, sitting himself at the table. As he did so, Tiger stirred from where he had been sitting under the table and brushed against his legs.

  ‘Get that thing out while we’re ’aving our tea!’ Norman said, scraping back his chair. He stood up and kicked Tiger out through the door. The cat let out a screech of pain and Norman slammed the door. Maryann burst into tears.

  ‘Never mind.’ Flo, startled by this sudden outburst, tried to appease her. She watched Norman anxiously. He was breathing heavily. ‘Shoosh now,’ Flo snapped at her. ‘T’ain’t summat to blart about.’

  But Maryann couldn’t stop. The tears just kept on coming out of her eyes, though she tried as hard as she could not to make any noise. Norman kept eating, steadily. Tony and Billy were wide-eyed, but they ate up obediently. Sal kept her eyes on her plate. Eventually Maryann let out a loud sniff and Norman leapt to his feet.

  ‘Go on – get out of ’ere! I’ll not ’ave yer snivelling and blarting at my table. If you can’t eat quietly you’ll not eat at all.’

  Maryann, keeping her head down, left the room and ran upstairs. She lay curled up, crying, the clogging taste of the stew still in her mouth. When she was calmer she lay looking up into the darkness. She thought about her father, about the dreams Nanny Firkin had told her about. That he’d said he was going to take them to Australia.

  That’s what I’m going to do, Maryann thought. The resolve burned through her. I’m going to get out of here, as soon as I can. She didn’t know where to: her young life had given her experience of nothing further away than these few Ladywood Streets and an occasional rare trip to the Bull Ring. But there was more out there, there had to be, beyond these smoke-blackened houses and stinking streets.

  Comforted by this, she was already almost asleep when Sal came in to put Tony to bed and get ready herself. She brought a candle with her, and Maryann watched as she bent over and roughly undressed her younger brother. Her expression was tight, wooden.

  ‘Sal?’ Maryann wondered if she was cross because it was usually her job, not Sal’s, to look after Tony.

  ‘What?’ She didn’t look round.

  ‘D’yer want me to do our Tony?’

  ‘I’ve done ’im now. And don’t you go wetting the bed again!’ She pushed his shoulder. ‘D’you ’ear me?’

  When Tony was settled she turned away and undressed. Maryann frowned, looking at Sal’s curving shape in the candlelight. She was clearly in a mood over something, turning her back like that, when normally she just pulled off her clothes casually and flung on her nightdress. Tonight her movements were abrupt. She put her nightdress over her head and her arms through the slee
ves. Suddenly she sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hands over her face.

  ‘’Ow’s it with the job, Sal?’ Maryann asked.

  There was no reply.

  Maryann sat up and moved nearer, laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Sal flung her off and stood up. She threw her clothes savagely into the corner of the room, then climbed into bed. She turned her back on Maryann, blew out the candle and wouldn’t say another word.

  The next day, when she came home from playing with the Black children, Maryann ran up to the bedroom looking for Tiger. He was always her first thought when she came home, and very often she found him curled up in the dip of hers and Sal’s bed. But he wasn’t there. She peeped into her mom’s and Norman’s room. No sign there, either, nor was he in any of the warm spots downstairs, by the range or the chimney breast.

  ‘’E must be out,’ Maryann said, disappointed.

  Not long after, Flo got in, tired and irritable from an extra afternoon of chores. Nanny Firkin was feeling poorly and Flo had felt obliged to go and help.

  ‘You seen Tiger?’ Maryann asked her.

  Flo stoked the range. ‘Course I bloody ain’t – I ain’t been ’ere all afternoon, ’ave I?’

  ‘Is Nanna better?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Not as yer’d notice,’ Flo said. ‘’Er’s in bed and that ain’t usual. But she said to leave ’er, she’d be awright. I’ve rubbed ’er chest with goose grease and left ’er ’er tea.’

  When their own meal was over, Norman stood up behind Sal, hands on his waist, looking round at them all with a satisfied expression on his face.

  ‘We’ll all ’ave a game of cards, eh?’

  He did this, every so often. Decided they were all going to sit together, ‘be a family’ and play whatever he was in the mood for.

  ‘After I’ve got our Billy to bed then,’ Flo said, sounding pleased. ‘That’s nice of Norman, ain’t it?’

  ‘I don’t want to play cards,’ Maryann murmured. ‘I want to go and look for Tiger.’