Love on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  Sylvia said, ‘Quite right, Polly. We won’t have her hurt, but neither will we have you hurt, Tom.’

  Polly and Verity looked at one another and smiled. Were they becoming a real team of three, after all?

  Once free of the lock, they headed along the cut towards yet another lock, but Verity said, ‘Unlike you, Tom, I’m not ready to talk, or listen. Not quite.’ He just nodded as they continued to climb the multitude of locks alongside Cassiobury Park and eased himself from the roof, collecting the plates and opening the cabin doors.

  ‘I’ll wash these, and make a cuppa for us all. Sylvia and Polly can have theirs in the next lock. I’m getting the hang of it all now. But why do you spend so much time looking at the bridges we come to? Do you think you’ll see another convoy of soldier boys?’

  ‘You might well find out why, young Tom; and no, it’s not to see soldiers, though it’s hard to miss them. Something is building, we think.’

  Tom crabbed down the steps, washed the plates and cutlery and then made tea. He carried two mugs in each hand, and placed Polly’s and Sylvia’s on the cabin roof as the boats exited a lock and set out for the next. ‘I’ll give them a call once we’re in the next lock, but for now I have things to say, even if you haven’t. How about it?’

  Verity nodded, though she was scared. She pressed her elbow against the tiller, feeling the engine’s vibration as usual. Yes, as usual. She sipped her tea, and that tasted weak, as usual. She prepared herself to listen.

  ‘I have loved you since the day I arrived at Howard House, Verity.’ Tom was leaning against the cabin, looking at her intently. ‘It wasn’t my place to feel that way, but neither was it yours to love a chauffeur. But somehow we came together, and I never once felt that you thought you were superior.’

  Verity shook her head. ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  He held up his hand. ‘Let me make an idiot of myself once more, and then you can tell me to go to hell.’

  She nodded.

  Tom continued, ‘There’s no “of course” about it. And your mother was right, you know; it was, or is, inappropriate.’

  Verity knew he was speaking the truth. Her friends, if they were ever such, had thought so, as had everyone else, because where would they ‘fit’, and what would they do, out of their ‘places’? In her heart she had felt it too, sometimes, but when she was with Tom she always knew they’d find a way. The only ones who seemed to understand were Rogers, the butler, and Mrs B, the cook; though understanding wasn’t agreeing, and they often looked as though worry consumed them.

  She inched the tiller over, as a pair passed on the way south with a full load. Coal from the Coventry coalfields for a factory? Or wood for Aylesbury, perhaps? Who knew.

  Tom went on, ‘You wouldn’t listen to your mother’s concerns, and I didn’t encourage you to do so. I think your mother felt she had to do something to end it, foreseeing disaster – for everyone’s sake, and not just hers.’ He examined his hands in their striped gloves, as though looking for inspiration. He continued, ‘But, dearest Verity, if your mother hadn’t lied to you, and to me, by cooking up a slightly different story for each of us, I don’t know what would have happened. Would we have petered out, or simply continued in an impossible situation? The results of your mother’s behaviour changed me for the better. I am more of a man now, more able to see clearly, to understand others. What’s more, I can see why your mother did what she did.’

  Verity was listening so carefully that she forgot to breathe.

  Tom continued, ‘It’s given us a fresh start, if we want one, because we’ve moved on in our separate ways and grown up, but I truly don’t believe we’ve grown apart. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been idiotic and miserable, blaming others. I’ve been cruel, childish. Yes, of course I should have crawled to that telephone box, and I knew that then and know it now. But please know that I love you, beyond all doubt. I love you more than anything else in my life – in my world – and always will; and I like and admire you, too. You are here, in my heart, if you want me, and even if you don’t. You are lodged there, and no matter where the army takes me, there you will remain. We’re two adults, two independent beings, free to decide who we love. And I have decided.’ He stopped, then spread his hands. ‘That’s all I have to say.’

  Verity felt it was as though he was describing her ‘path’ as well as his own and, thinking of her mother, she imagined a daughter that she herself might have one day: wouldn’t she want what she thought was best for her daughter? Yes, probably; but she knew that whatever Tom said, she, Verity Clement, would never be as cruel to her own child as her mother had been to her, with her sharp tongue and her lies, which had left her heartbroken. There had to have been another way.

  Tom was leaning against the cabin, looking at her. Verity said nothing as she sorted out her thoughts.

  Finally she held up her hands. ‘This is who I am now – dirty, calloused, tough. My friends are these people.’ She waved ahead and behind. ‘My absolute friend is Polly, whose twin brother, Will, died in a tank in North Africa. She loves a boater, Saul, and will marry him, God willing. Bet was our trainer; she fell ill with pneumonia and took a long leave, but she is back now. She is my absolute friend, too. Both of them – and the cut – turned me from a spoilt, miserable, resentful brat into someone of use.’

  Tom said nothing, just listened. The engine ticked over, pat-patter; the wind was in her hair, so the mist would lift; Dog was asleep, and birds flew overhead. Yes, this was her home; this was the world that had made her. ‘But it is not just the day-to-day life on the cut that’s changed me, Tom. Joe, Saul’s nephew, lives with Polly’s mum and dad for now, as his mother has gone missing. We fear that Leon, her husband, might have killed her, but all on the cut go on looking for her, just in case. Perhaps she’ll float to the surface; perhaps she’ll appear on the bank one day, ready to look after Joe. We taught him to read, and he is going to school in Woking and is safe from his father now. Saul and his grandfather have also learned to read. This is the world that has also made me.’

  Tom, sitting now on the cabin roof, was listening so hard that she thought he’d fall forward, but he said nothing.

  ‘These are my people: the lock-keepers, the boaters, the wharfmen; and heaven help them when the war is over, because who knows if canal transport will continue? Heaven help us all when the war ends, because where will any of us be? What’s more, being here and listening to you makes me realise a great many things about myself. I do think I have more understanding. I do know – and this knowledge has never wavered – that I love you, and every day without you has been full of heartache. I do know that if we end the war and we are together, we will carve out a good life.’

  There were no locks for the moment as they approached Kings Langley. Both stayed utterly silent, until Tom eased himself down and held Verity so close that she could hardly breathe. He said, ‘I have ten days to two weeks’ sick leave. If you can’t come away with me, can I stay here with you and make myself useful? I want to know all about you, the real you, but I don’t want to rush you. I want to get to know your friends – all of them, the whole bloody cut – if you, and they, will let me.’

  Verity had no answer for him.

  He understood and said, ‘When you know, just tell me.’

  As clouds threatened, they reached Marsworth Junction, having climbed the Tring locks to the summit. The cold shrouded them, the wind had died and the mist returned. They started the descent while there was still some light, one lock after the other, and this time Sylvia took over the lock-wheeling, on the condition that it was Verity’s turn tomorrow. Tom managed on his leg all day, but looked drawn and pale.

  ‘Don’t you ever stop?’ he muttered as he cleaned the outside of the cabin, having already done the inside; polishing the range brass rail and wiping the pierced plates hanging on the wall.

  Verity felt as though she was a block of ice melded to the tiller. ‘Do you ever stop advancing on the enemy? Don’t wor
ry, we’ll get as far as Leighton Buzzard and moor up near the pub. You can buy us all a drink, and who knows – Saul might be there, or, if they’ve gone on, he could well have left a pheasant or two for us.’

  Tom dipped his cloth over the side into the cut, wringing it out, then attacking the roof. ‘There’s ice forming.’

  ‘Then wipe more quickly.’

  ‘Oh, don’t. This is supposed to be sick leave.’ There were birds swooping over the cut and dogs barking. ‘So, may I stay on?

  Verity had decided the moment he asked, but had waited to see if second thoughts drenched her with doubt. They hadn’t. ‘Yes, I’d like that so much. I will ask the others, because it depends on them, too. We’re a team, or trying to be. Polly will be all right, but Sylvia might object. It will mean someone sharing her cross-bed with her in the butty cabin, you see, and the third person taking the side-bed. You and Dog can settle down together in the motor cabin, which Polly and I usually share.’

  He looked at her while he wrung out the freezing cloth. ‘One day we’ll be able to share the same room, if you ever feel able to marry me. Would you, do you think – marry me, I mean?’

  ‘Do you think you’d ask me?’

  They left it there.

  Chapter 6

  Tuesday 28 March – after dusk, moored up at Leighton Buzzard

  Once they had moored, Verity turned the tiller around to give more room on the counter. There were several pairs tied up ahead of them, their crews probably all tucking into a meal, because there was no one boiling up clothes on the bank, or children playing. Or perhaps the men would be in the nearby pub and the women with them? Or the women were crocheting as the children slept?

  Sleep? Verity thought she could do with some of that, but so could they all. It was a good tiredness she felt, though, one filled with triumph, because they had made up time. It had helped having Tom taking over the tiller later in the afternoon, so that she and Polly could share much of the lock-wheeling, keeping up a better pace.

  Behind her, Tom caught the tow-rope thrown by Sylvia, as the momentum carried the butty prow forward. He handed it immediately to Verity who, as arranged, leapt onto the roof and ran down the top planks of the motor, keeping pace with the butty. She secured the short tow on the fore-end stud, and together she and Sylvia lashed the butty tight abreast, while Polly and Tom secured the stern.

  Verity and Sylvia ran back along their respective planks, before easing themselves down to their counters. Tom had disappeared into the motor cabin to beat up the eggs for a rosemary omelette, and to cut up the remaining baked potatoes and leeks from lunch.

  He had promised them a feast, though Polly and Verity had laughed. He had looked suitably wounded, so they’d all laughed even more, including Sylvia. Beside Verity on the counter, Polly dusted off her hands, her voice drenched in tiredness. ‘Not just a quick learner on a narrowboat, but a cook supreme? Herb omelette, indeed.’ In the dim light Verity saw that freezing droplets festooned her friend’s hat, and her huge bobble looked bedraggled.

  ‘I didn’t know that, either, but there are so many things I didn’t – and don’t – know about him, or had forgotten,’ Verity murmured, knowing that she had to ask them to let Tom stay for the length of his leave. Polly was probably all right, but what about Sylvia?

  Polly put an arm around her and hugged her close. ‘So, you said you wanted to talk to the two of us?’

  Sylvia was still standing on the counter of the butty in her three sweaters and nodded, her arms crossed. ‘You did, so do get on with it. I’m freezing.’

  Verity looked from one to the other. ‘Yes, Pols, I did want to talk. May we come aboard, Sylvia?’

  She felt Polly tense, because she didn’t often call her ‘Pols’. Sylvia snapped, ‘Hurry up, and why are you making such a meal about it?’

  But Polly said, ‘You’re leaving the cut, aren’t you?’ Her voice was level and without emotion, but in the gloom her face told a different story.

  Verity swung round, one foot already on the butty. ‘Of course not, you daft thing. Come on, I can’t talk astride the gap.’

  Sylvia tutted and opened the door to her butty cabin, then disappeared into it. The signs weren’t good, and Verity wondered where Tom could sleep if, or when, Sylvia refused. She followed Sylvia down the steps, with Polly on her heels. The butty cabin was immaculately tidy; on the shelf that the GUCCC had put up for the women on the scheme the books were in alphabetical order, and the brass of the range gleamed. It had previously been Bet’s cabin, and she had reclaimed her horse brasses and the pierced plates. Nothing had replaced them. Verity looked around curiously, because they seldom crossed the threshold. In fact she couldn’t remember the last time.

  There were no photographs, no strewn clothes or bookmarked novels scattered on the bed; it was almost like a cell, and it made Verity realise how the motor cabin, with its personal memorabilia and clutter, really must offend Sylvia. No wonder she almost fainted when she had to step over Dog cluttering up the aisle or, even worse, sit with Dog on the side-bed when she came to eat.

  Sylvia waited on the double-width cross-bed at the rear of the cabin, with its crocheted curtain hooked back. She gestured them to the side-bed. They sat, but on the edge, neither of them daring to lean against the plumped-up plum-coloured cushions.

  Polly nudged Verity. ‘Come on, then. Supper will be ready any minute, and we mustn’t upset the chef. Besides, Saul and Granfer were parked up ahead of us along the cut, and we can introduce Tom to them. When’s he going?’

  Verity drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, that’s what I need to talk to you about.’

  Sylvia said, ‘He can catch a train from Leighton Buzzard, I’m sure.’

  Verity caught her own warped reflection in the gleaming copper kettle. If she and Polly sat quite still, perhaps Sylvia would buff them up, too.

  Polly leaned forward, turning to look at her, her elbows on her knees. ‘Come on, out with it.’

  Verity puffed out a breath. ‘I suppose a cigarette is out of the question?’

  Sylvia sat bolt upright, shaking her head. ‘You suppose right.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know what all this is about. You want him to stay on, don’t you?’

  Polly grabbed Verity’s knee. ‘Really?’ She shook Verity’s leg. ‘You really have made it up then, sorted it out? We thought as much, didn’t we, Sylvia?’

  Verity said, ‘We haven’t made it up completely, but we’re working towards it, and we need a bit of time.’

  Sylvia said nothing, just sat looking at Verity. Then she clenched her hands together. ‘Of course I’m pleased for you, but staying for how long?’

  Verity swallowed, her shoulders dropping slightly; it wasn’t a flat ‘No’ anyway, but she hadn’t broached the matter of the cabins yet. ‘Until we return to Bull’s Bridge, so about ten days. Tom’s on sick leave, you see; and yes, we realise we’ve both changed, and that we should have challenged my mother and not accepted her word. We think we’ve both grown up – a bit, anyway – and perhaps we even understand some of her reasoning.’

  Polly was grinning and hugged Verity. ‘Wonderful, wonderful news. I like him, and you can tell Tom loves you, can’t you, Sylvia?’

  ‘Where will he sleep?’ Sylvia responded.

  Here they were: at that moment. Verity sank back against the cushion, then remembered where she was and shot up, but too late – Sylvia was frowning. Verity ploughed on, ‘Yes, well, there are three of us, and one of him, and Dog.’

  Sylvia crossed her arms. ‘We can’t have loose morals, and that’s that. There will be no sharing.’

  Polly was sitting quite still, but then she started to shake. A bleat of laughter left her, to be covered by a cough. ‘So sorry, still the vestiges of this cold you gave us. Where should Tom sleep, then?’

  There was a heavy silence, broken only by the fall of a lump of coal perched on a pyramid of other lumps. It sank into the firebox bed of red-hot ash.

  At last Verity said, ‘Well, S
ylvia is quite right, so we’ll have to split up, won’t we? Tom can’t sleep on the counter in this weather, so he and Dog will have to share one of the cabins. Within each cabin there is the cross-bed and the side-bed. The cross-bed will take two, the side-bed one. I’m asking you, Sylvia, on my knees, if we three can share your cabin. I promise we will be neat and tidy.’

  Sylvia was aghast. Polly began shaking again. Verity dug her in the ribs, hard.

  Sylvia muttered, ‘I can’t possibly have a dog in here; it’s not a kennel.’

  ‘Good decision, Sylvia,’ Polly almost shouted. ‘Dog can keep Tom company in the Marigold. We will only be a nuisance at night, because we can use our own cabin in the day. Where would you like us: cross-bed together, or one of us in it with you?’

  Sylvia’s expression said that she wouldn’t like them anywhere, actually.

  Verity said, ‘I can’t thank you enough. Do let us know where we should sleep, to be of least trouble to you.‘

  Sylvia actually shuddered. ‘Verity, I don’t actually remember agreeing, but Polly seems to have decided, and it would be churlish to spoil this chance for you. You and Polly will have the cross-bed. Bring your bedding every evening and remove it in the morning; wash in your own cabin. I will take the side-bed.’ She paused to draw breath, then looked at them doubtfully. ‘I think it’s fair for me to ask that there will be no smoking in here?’

  It really was a question. Her expression was confused, as though she couldn’t quite work out how they’d arrived at this point.

  ‘Very fair, we’ll smoke up on the counter if we feel the urge, won’t we, Polly?’ Verity was surprised and grateful, and stood as though to kiss Sylvia, who leaned back. Verity sat down again. ‘Thank you, really.’

  Polly smiled at Sylvia. ‘You must come to the pub this evening, because we’ll be introducing Tom to everyone, and it wouldn’t be the same without you. Bet and her trainees are moored here too, so she’ll be there.’