by Annie Murray
‘’Ve yer heard from Sal?’ Maryann asked, her back to Flo.
‘Not a word.’ Flo wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘I’ve been worried to death. And then you take off as well – fancy leaving a note on your bed like that. You can be a cruel, selfish little bint, can’t yer? And I can smell you from ’ere. Yer stink as if yer’ve been living in a ditch. Where’ve you been?’
‘I ain’t telling yer.’ Maryann turned, hands clasping her upper arms and her jaw thrust out. ‘You can ask me till you’re blue in the face. I’ve been somewhere where I can ’ave a better life than I ever do around ’ere with you and that dirty husband of yours. But of course you don’t want to hear about that, do yer?’
Flo was breathing hard. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Tell me the truth, Maryann, or I swear to God I’ll take my hand to yer. You’ve been with Sal, ain’t yer? You know where she is!’ She was shouting, moving closer. ‘And I bet that Cathleen Black knows an’ all!’
‘I am telling you the truth. I ain’t seen Sal. I wish I had but I don’t know where she is, on my life.’ She backed away from her mother. ‘But I ain’t telling you where I’ve been. One thing is – I’m going again, soon as I can. I ain’t staying round ’ere for a second longer than I ’ave to!’
‘So – you’re back.’
Flo was in the kitchen with the boys when he came in. For the few moments Maryann was alone with him in the front room, Norman Griffin looked older and flabbier than she remembered, such a contrast to the muscular strength of the Bartholomews. He was looking at her with undisguised lasciviousness, as if his eyes were fingering her through her clothes, and her skin prickled with revulsion.
He moved closer, speaking very softly to prevent her mother hearing, in his low, wheedling tone. ‘I’m not going to ask where yer’ve been, so long as you’re back now.’ His hand reached out and stroked her left breast. ‘To stay.’
Maryann’s lip curled with disgust and she stepped backwards, folding her arms tightly across herself. She stared past him, at his brass lamp on the table by the wall.
‘I do believe you’re growing up.’ He was smirking at her, undeterred. ‘Quite a young lady all of a sudden.’
‘Norman?’
He turned as Flo came in. She looked at them both for a moment, as if puzzled, then continued. ‘Oh – you’ve seen she’s home?’ She kept her voice light and persuasive, as if Maryann was forever just disappearing for a week at a time.
‘Yes. And ready to start work.’
Maryann stared hard at Flo, willing her to speak. When things had calmed down a bit earlier in the day, Flo had said to Maryann, ‘The wag man was round earlier in the week. I told ’im you was ill and lucky for you ’e didn’t come in to make sure. But yer’d better get back to school next week.’
Maryann agreed readily. She could collect her leaving certificate, even if she might never need it, and it would keep her away from Norman for a week. By the time she was supposed to start work for him, it would be about the time Joel and his dad would be back from another run if they worked the Oxford Cut again. And she’d be off and away for good . . . She felt calmer facing them all because she knew that. There was nothing for her here.
‘So I’ve told Maryann she’d best get back to school next week,’ Flo was saying.
Norman put on his most amenable tone. ‘All right, m’dear. Whatever you think. So long as she’s ready to start a week on Monday.’
It felt odd to be home. Maryann felt as if she’d been away far longer than a week. As if in those few days she had grown up and changed so much that she just didn’t fit. But the changes were not just in her. She was most anxious about her brothers, how they had been while she was away. Billy seemed much as usual. Tony, though, didn’t come home until it was almost time for tea and when he did he didn’t seem at all pleased to see her. He slouched to the tea table and sat down without looking at any of them.
‘You been out with yer pals, Tony?’ she asked him.
She received barely a grunt in reply. She watched him, hurt. Tony was eight now, tall for his age and thinning out. He had a tight, closed expression on his face and was shovelling his stew down as if he wanted to get away from them all as soon as possible. Maryann looked at Flo, who shrugged.
Upstairs, when Tony was in bed, Maryann went and sat on his mattress and tried to get him to speak to her. He lay on his side facing the wall with his back to her, tucked down under the bedclothes so that she could only see dark tufts of his hair.
‘Tony – turn over and look at me.’
He didn’t move.
‘Tony – please. I’m sorry I went away without saying goodbye and that, but . . .’ She couldn’t tell him where she’d been or that she was going back. A pang went through her. He felt abandoned, she knew, but it was her and Sal who were the ones at the mercy of Norman’s disgusting habits. She couldn’t tell Tony that, couldn’t tell him why . . .
‘Look, I’m back now, Tony. Can’t you speak to me? Let me make it up to yer?’
But there was still no reply. She wondered if he was asleep and not just pretending, but she sensed that he wasn’t. With a sigh she got up. ‘All right then – let’s ’ave a talk another time.’
Lying in bed, she heard Flo come up and settle herself down. She waited for Norman to come up too: the terrible, familiar sounds of him breathing heavily on the landing from climbing the stairs, his cough, all of which made her lie so tensely that she was scarcely breathing, then his murmured words to her mother as he bedded down beside her. But there was nothing. He had not come to bed. She waited for what seemed hours and she was so tired. Eventually, thinking about Joel and missing him, wondering where the Esther Jane was tonight, and were they missing her, she fell asleep.
It wasn’t the squeak of the door which woke her. She was conscious a second before that, perhaps from his furtive tread on the stairs, or some second sense which alerted her. Before she had come to properly, his hand was over her mouth and nose and she was fighting for breath, panicking and struggling out of the bedclothes, tearing at his arm.
‘Ssssh.’ He moved his hand so that it was only over her mouth and she took fierce, gasping breaths, feeling her nostrils flaring in the darkness. He was sitting on her bed, his face close to hers.
‘Don’t you dare make a sound, yer little bitch, or I’ll do to you what I did to that cat.’
He was manoeuvring himself in the darkness, with difficulty, she could tell, hearing his loud breathing, his hand still over her mouth, though less tightly. She was paralysed with fear and horror at the thought of what he was going to do, unable to move. She heard a small whimpering sound escape from her and felt his fingers claw at her face.
‘I said not a sound . . .’ His voice was tight, strained. ‘I’ve been waiting for you – I don’t like waiting. I’m going to ’ave you. I’ve waited long enough.’
It did not take him long. When he had gone she crept downstairs and out into the yard in the thin moonlight. Dizzily she leaned over the low wall, resting her head wretchedly in her hands. After a few moments her body revolted against what had happened. She bent over and was violently sick.
Twenty-One
Maryann’s teacher, Miss Bentley, didn’t seem perturbed by her absence and asked if she was feeling better.
‘Yes thanks.’ Maryann couldn’t manage a smile. She quite liked Miss Bentley, and in some ways it was nice to be back at school and see all her pals. But she felt cut off from them now. She couldn’t ever tell them what went on at home. But she also felt rather superior to them all. After all, she’d been working the cut all last week, learning all that she’d learned about real life while they were still all sitting here in rows! But now she had joined them again and was back in her school frock looking round at the tiled walls with pictures hanging on them, and at all the other girls round her, there was a poignancy about those few days. Many of the children had been at school together since they were infants and by the end of this week quite a number of them would be signed off from educ
ation for ever, into the adult world of work. Some of them were talking about what jobs they were going to.
But I, Maryann thought, will be off: gone for good. She wanted to tell them, but thought they’d laugh. Children off the cut were the butt of jokes because they couldn’t read or write and were regarded as dirty and ignorant. So she wasn’t going to say anything. This was her secret. Only a few days now and she’d be away . . .
But on the last Thursday something happened which she could not have foreseen. They were at home after school when someone hammered on the front door.
‘Go and see who’s making that racket, Maryann!’ Flo shouted from upstairs.
Nancy was on the doorstep, still in her school dress. She looked astonished to see Maryann.
‘Well, where’ve you been?’ she demanded, panting. ‘Your mom said you’d gone off!’
‘Never mind that,’ Maryann interrupted. She wasn’t going to say anything, not even to Nance. ‘I just went away for a bit, that’s all. What’s up with you, nearly banging the door down?’
‘It’s Charlie . . .’
‘What’s all this?’ Flo appeared downstairs.
‘Mom sent me. Our Charlie – ’e’s come ’ome – just now.’
Maryann and Flo both started talking at once. ‘Where’s Sal then? Where’s ’e been?’
Nancy was shaking her head. ‘’E won’t say.’
‘Won’t say! Well, bugger that. Billy – get in ’ere! We’re going out.’ Flo was already heading for the door. ‘I’ll soon get it out of ’im!’
Hoiking Billy by the arm, she marched off down Anderson Street like the wrath of God, with Maryann and Nancy following. When they reached the old yard in Garrett Street it was full of the Black youngsters who’d obviously been sent out of the house. When Flo marched in without a by-your-leave, only Charlie was in, with Cathleen and Lizzie.
‘So – where is she then?’
Charlie was in the chair by the grate, hunched forwards, arms resting on his thighs. He clearly hadn’t had a haircut during the weeks he’d been away and he looked haggard and very tired. Seeing Flo, he seemed to shrink further into himself.
‘I said where is she? Where’s our Sal?’ Flo stood by the table, grasping the back of a chair so tightly her knuckles whitened. Maryann and Nancy stayed watching by the door. Maryann couldn’t take her eyes off Charlie. In just a month he seemed different. Older, and dulled. Cathleen, standing with Lizzie on one arm, looked agitated.
‘’E won’t say,’ she told Flo. ‘I can’t get out of ’im where they’ve been or what’s been going on.’ She advanced on her son. ‘You’d better tell Flo where Sal is, Charlie my lad. You’ve caused nothing but trouble and worry – there’s her on my back and we’ll ’ave Father Maguire round again and you just sitting there – you’re a disgrace, Charlie.’ She was shrieking. ‘You tell us where she is – now!’
‘’Er doesn’t want yer to know,’ Charlie said to the floor.
Cathleen and Flo exchanged looks of utter exasperation. Flo went to Charlie and poked at his shoulder with her finger. ‘Well, why don’t she? Eh? What’s up with ’er? Why ain’t she come with yer?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I wanted to come back ’ome and she daint, that’s all.’
‘Yer needn’t think I ain’t asked him all this before you come in,’ Cathleen said. ‘It’s like talking to a block of wood. Will I get Father Maguire round ’ere now, eh? Will that get yer to open yer mouth?’
Flo’s expression darkened further and she leaned even closer to Charlie. ‘What’s to hide, eh? What’s ailing ’er? Have you got ’er in the family way and now she can’t come back and face us? Is that it? You’d better start talking, Charlie, ’cause I ain’t going away till yer do. Why d’yer just take off and leave ’er, eh?’
Charlie stood up with a fierce movement and slammed his hands flat on the table. ‘Because ’er ain’t right in the head, that’s why.’ He lifted a finger to his temple and swivelled it round. ‘I don’t know what’s up with ’er – ’er never used to be like it. It got so’s I never knew what was going to happen next with ’er, and I weren’t sticking around no more to find out!’
‘What d’yer mean, Sal ain’t right in the head? What’s ’e done to ’er?’ Flo yelled at Cathleen Black. ‘There weren’t nothing wrong with ’er when she left.’
‘You sure about that?’ Cathleen said.
‘What do you mean?’ Flo snarled at her.
‘Sal ain’t been ’erself for a good long while. You only ’ad to look at the girl.’
Flo drew herself up, ablaze with defensive indignation. ‘There ain’t nothing wrong with my wench – or there weren’t till she got in with that lout of a son of yours. What’s ’e done to ’er?’
Maryann and Nancy jumped out of the way as Charlie seemed set to slam out of the house. But Flo was too quick for him. She nipped round and barred his way.
‘Where d’yer think you’re going, you no good little bastard? You needn’t think yer can just run off. You’re not leaving and neither am I. You’re gunna tell me if I ’ave to beat it out of yer!’
He pushed his way to the door. ‘Oh awright. Yer welcome to ’er, the silly cow.’ He gave them an address in the Jewellery Quarter.
Maryann sat nervously on the tram over to Hockley, beside Flo, who had Billy on her lap. She was desperate to see Sal. Now she knew they would see her she realized just how much she’d missed her sister and was full of worry on her behalf after what Charlie said about her. She’d known Sal wasn’t herself, and now she knew exactly why. She would have given anything to put the clock back, to feel young and innocent herself, not living in terror of what her stepfather would do next. And to have Sal back as she was – her bossy big sister, who had been full of herself and her budding young womanhood. She felt like crying at the thought of it.
‘Mom – don’t be too angry with ’er, will yer?’ she begged.
Flo seemed thoughtful. She looked round at her. ‘We might be able to talk some sense into her between the pair of us. Not that you’ve got much yourself. I don’t know what’s come over this family, that I don’t. Where did you take off to last week?’
She kept asking this every so often. This time, though, she didn’t sound angry. Her voice was soft, persuasive. ‘I ain’t going to keep on at yer, Maryann. I want to get this sorted out. First Sal, then you. I want to know where a girl your age goes off to if she ain’t with ’er pals or ’er sister.’
Maryann almost yielded to the concerned tone in her mother’s voice. What a relief it would be to be able to talk about all the confused and turbulent feelings inside her. To tell her properly about Norman without it turning into a shouting match, for her to make it stop, and about Joel and how he was like family to her, like a big, loving brother, and about working the cut. To be able to stop having these burdensome secrets. She looked into her mother’s pale eyes. She came so very close to pouring it all out. But then she remembered the last time she had tried.
‘I am your mom,’ Flo was saying. ‘I was worried about yer. And Norman was. I said to him, there’s summat wrong with both my daughters taking off at once. Is there summat the matter, Maryann?’
I’ve told you! a voice seemed to scream in Maryann’s head. I’ve told you and you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t believe me.
‘No, Mom.’ She turned away. What was the point in trying? ‘I was just . . . with some pals.’
‘But who?’
‘Just pals, that’s all.’
‘Well, next time yer decide to go gallivanting off,’ she sounded indignant now, ‘don’t go bloody doing it without telling us. Anyway’ – she shifted Billy on her lap – ‘you’ll be working for Norman soon, so we won’t be having any of that. D’you ’ear?’
Maryann didn’t reply. She stared out of the window at the streets outside.
They found Sal’s lodgings in a street off Constitution Hill: a terrace with an attic. The landlady, a sharp-faced individual, looked at them suspiciously.
‘I’ve come to see my daughter,’ Flo said, pushing Billy in front of her as if he was a certificate proving her motherhood.
‘’Er ain’t ’ere,’ the woman said. ‘’Er’s at work.’
‘Well, we’ll wait then,’ Flo said haughtily. ‘We’ve come a distance and I ain’t stopping out on the street.’
The woman hesitated, then shrugged as if she couldn’t be bothered to argue. ‘You’ll ’ave to wait up in ’er room,’ she said in a snooty voice. ‘I’m expecting company down ’ere.’
They all climbed up to Sal’s room. The first flight of stairs was covered by a threadbare runner of grubby carpet, its original colour impossible to tell. The attic stairs were bare and their feet made a racket as they went up. The room at the top was a good size, but the boards were rough and stained and the distemper on the walls was in a terrible state, flaking off and discoloured. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the ceiling near the front end of the house was bulging with damp, right over the head of the bed. The bed was three-quarter size, and against the opposite wall stood a rickety table and chair. There was a small grate, full of dust, with no sign of a fire in it. One of Sal’s dresses was hanging on a hook behind the door, her nightdress was on the pillow, and there were a few of her belongings in the room: a pair of shoes, a cup and a bar of soap on the table, a candle stuck on a grubby white saucer and, beside it, hair pins and two little pots. Maryann opened them and looked inside. One contained rouge, the other face powder.
‘Well, this is a cheerless bleeding ’ole,’ Flo said, peering out through the filthy, curtainless window at the houses opposite. She seemed sobered by the sight of it. ‘What the ’ell does she want to stop ’ere for?’
Maryann sat on the bed in the chilly room and made Billy sit beside her. There was one threadbare blanket folded on the mattress. The idea of Sal here on her own made her want to cry. She tried to imagine Sal coming here with Charlie. They must’ve told the landlady they were married though, heaven knew, they looked too young.