The Girl on the Doorstep

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘I wonder if he knows ’ow she feels about ’im,’ Abner mused.

  ‘I’m sure you walk round with yer eyes closed, Abner Mitchell!’ Margy sighed.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Hell’s teeth! Our Bill is carrying a candle for that young girl, it’s blatantly obvious!’

  ‘Oh,’ was all that her husband said in reply, and Margy sighed again.

  Husband and wife then cuddled closer before again listening to the quiet sighing further along the boat.

  The next day Rosie Harris walked the Old Wharf again while the ‘Pride of Wednesbury’ was being loaded with new cargo. The boats she’d visited to do her ‘readings’ the previous day had gone and others had taken their place. She heard men whistling little tunes as they worked. Old carts laden with all manner of things rumbled along past her as she strolled. A keen wind blew and the sky heralded rain; Rosie pulled her shawl tighter around the shoulders of her coat.

  Reading the names painted on the side of each boat brought her thoughts, yet again, to the ‘Two Hearts’ and Bill Mitchell. She wondered where he was now. Did he ever think of her? Or was he too busy working to spare her a thought? Rosie turned back towards the Mitchell’s boat as the first cold raindrops fell. Breaking into a run, she reached the boat just as the heavens opened and the rain fell in sheets.

  Abner had erected a huge umbrella over the tiller to help protect him from the worst of the downpour, something Rosie had not seen before. The handle of the umbrella slid into a thin steel tube which had been set into the decking. It was ideal in the rain but no use at all in the wind. Going below she set the kettle to boil.

  ‘Where are we off to today?’ she asked Abner, who had followed her and was shaking the rain from his jacket.

  ‘Birmingham,’ Abner replied as he took the cup offered.

  ‘I hope the rain eases off,’ Rosie said with a sigh.

  They sat at the table and Abner watched the girl as she stared out of the window.

  Feeling his eyes on her, Rosie turned to him with a smile.

  ‘I know you’m un’appy, I wish there was something we could do to ’elp,’ Abner said out of the blue.

  ‘Oh Abner, it’s not that I’m unhappy, it’s just…’ Rosie felt a blush filling her cheeks.

  ‘It’s just that you love our Bill and he’s married with two boys around your own age,’ Margy said as she plonked herself beside her husband.

  ‘Margy!’ Abner gasped.

  ‘What?’ Margy asked in all innocence.

  ‘How that mouth of yours ain’t seen you below ground afore now is a mystery to me.’ Abner shook his head.

  ‘Now you look ’ere. Abner Mitchell! I ain’t never been mealy mouthed as well you know…’

  Abner closed his eyes and shook his head. Margy only used his full name when he was in trouble and he waited for the barrage he knew would come.

  ‘So, if a thing needs sayin’, why not say it?’ Margy turned her attention to Rosie whose cheeks were on fire. ‘We both know ’ow you feel about our Bill, we’ve ’eard you crying at night an’ all. The shame of it is, he’s still married to that ’arridan!’

  Despite herself Rosie chuckled. ‘I understand that, Margy, and I would never come between them.’

  ‘We know that, gel. You ’ave the rest of your life before you, maybe yer should be looking elsewhere for a ’usband of your own,’ her friend said softly.

  Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t want anyone else so I’ve made up my mind – I’m not going to get married at all!’

  ‘Don’t say that, bab, some nice young chap might catch yer eye one day,’ Abner cut in.

  ‘Maybe, but for now, I’m happy on my own. I also think it’s time I moved on and left you both to your own lives.’ Rosie smiled at the man who was like a father to her.

  Margy, taking a sip from her cup just at that moment, began to cough and splutter. ‘Why? Ain’t you happy ’ere with us?’ she managed croakily.

  ‘Yes, of course I am, but I have to make my own way in the world. So, when we reach Birmingham I will be leaving. I’m sorry, Margy but it’s for the best, and please know – I love you both very much.’ Rosie sighed. Her decision had been made and she intended to stick to it.

  *

  The journey from Birmingham to Bilson was strained. The twins steered and stoked and Bill stayed below deck as much as he could. Sarah sat up top silently fuming.

  Coming on deck as they moored up, Bill shot his wife a black look saying, ‘I want you gone from this boat when I return, so say goodbye to your sons.’ With that he moved to the side of the ‘Two Hearts’. To the twins he said, ‘I won’t be long, see to the unloading please, boys.’ Jumping onto the towpath, Bill strode away.

  ‘What do we do now?’ John asked his brother.

  ‘See to the unloading,’ Frank answered jerking a thumb over his shoulder indicating the cargo.

  ‘No, I mean about Mother,’ John said feeling extremely uncomfortable. ‘We can’t throw her off the boat!’

  ‘Look, Dad said she was to leave…’

  ‘It’s all right, boys, I’m going. Your father is right, I have to stand on my own two feet sometime, and now is as good a time as any.’ Sarah had joined them at the cargo bay.

  ‘Take this,’ Frank held out some of his hard-earned cash and John took the hint and did the same. ‘It will get you a bed until you find work.’

  The boys took a step forward together and folded their arms tightly around the thin body of their mother.

  Sarah pulled away from the embrace afraid if she didn’t, she would never let go. She looked at her boys. In an instant she realised they were strapping young men now and she smiled. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

  Climbing from the boat Sarah walked away. She did not turn back to see her boys watching her; she didn’t want them to see the tears which coursed down her cheeks.

  Bill returned to the ‘Two Hearts’ to see the boys helping load and stack crates. Climbing aboard, he looked around the deck. ‘Has your mother left?’

  The boys nodded in unison. Bill gave a single nod and set about helping with the cargo. They worked in silence, each mind busy with its own thoughts.

  Bill worried that his sons would hold him responsible for the fate of their mother; in that they would be correct. He was concerned they would hate him for putting Sarah off the boat, but he could not live another moment with the woman who made him so unhappy.

  Likewise, the boys were wondering what would happen to their mother. They could see their parents made each other miserable and there was no love lost there, so it made sense for Sarah to leave; it was impractical for their father to do so.

  Late afternoon saw the crates neatly stacked and secured and Bill decided they would stay overnight and begin their journey early the following day.

  After their evening meal Bill spoke for the first time since asking whether Sarah had left.

  ‘I know you think I’m being ruthless but for nigh on eighteen years your mother has ruled my life. It was she who decided I should leave working the canals, and she who put a stop to your grandparents watching you grow up. I loved your mum dearly in the beginning, but as time went by she emasculated me. She made all the decisions, she paid the bills and gave me pocket money like I was a kid!’

  The boys gasped at the knowledge they were hearing for the first time.

  ‘Oh yes, she treated me as another one of her children. After a day’s work on the railway, the blokes would go for a pint together – all except me. I was never allowed to go with them. It became quite a joke… No, I became a joke!’ Bill’s temper flared as he recalled the jibes from his workmates. ‘Did you ever remember me buying any clothes?’ He watched the boys shake their heads. ‘That’s because your mother bought them for me – even down to my underwear.’

  The twins listened quietly as Bill continued, ‘I realised some time ago that my love for Sarah had died and, I’m ashamed to say, I had an affair with another woman.’

  Frank
and John gasped again looking at each other then back to their father.

  ‘This is not something I should be telling you, but I want you to understand how it was for me. Knowing all the facts you’ll be able to reach an informed conclusion. Your mother knew and she forgave my transgression, but she watched me closer than ever. When you two were sent to play outside that was when your mother would bend my ear over something or other. Having said all that, the thing I cannot forgive is the way she treated my parents. She forced you boys to grow up without ever knowing the love of grandparents. Oh they loved you, but they were never allowed to be part of your lives – not since you were tiny. All these years lost to them. They didn’t see you take your first steps or utter your first words. They missed out on your doing so well at school, and the fun and laughter of your antics. They were not allowed to see you on your birthdays or at Christmas.’

  ‘Dad, I also wish it had been different for you and us, but at least we know Grandma and Granddad now,’ Frank said quietly.

  Bill smiled thinking how readily the boys had allowed Margy and Abner into their lives, and how many hours of chatter had been spent about the things they had missed.

  ‘I’m so glad you do, they are good people. I spent too many years under the misguided impression that they no longer cared for me or my family. I had no idea that over those years, they had often visited only to be turned away by your mother. I should have known better!’ Suddenly covering his face with his hands, Bill Mitchell cried out years of unhappiness.

  The shocked twins moved to kneel, one at either side of him, and hugged him while he wept. Neither saw his sobbing as a weakness, rather it showed strength. It took a great man to cry in front of others, especially his own children.

  As his tears abated, Bill then explained where he had been earlier in the day.

  ‘I went to see a solicitor, boys, and I’ve set the divorce in motion. I’m sorry but I don’t see the point of trying to live with a woman I don’t love or trust anymore.’

  Frank and John exchanged a look.

  ‘We understand, Dad, but I can’t help worrying. She’s our mum after all,’ John said quietly.

  ‘My sons, I love you both dearly and you are men now so how you choose to live your lives is up to you. If you wish to see your mum, I’ve no objections, but you must understand, this is Rosie’s boat. She was kind enough to allow Sarah to stay here for a while but I can’t have her coming back aboard. It’s not fair on any of us.’

  The twins nodded and Frank said, ‘We won’t know where mum’s gone though.’

  ‘She’ll stay in Bilston and it’s not a big town by any means so someone will know where she is. If you want to see her you just have to ask around,’ Bill acknowledged.

  ‘Blimey, this is all such a mess, what with Mum and then Rosie losing her other boat,’ John said.

  ‘I’m sure all will be well in the end,’ Bill assured them.

  ‘Well you certainly saw that bloke Jake off, Dad,’ Frank said with a grin.

  ‘I don’t like fighting like that but I couldn’t let him manhandle Rosie in that manner.’

  ‘You looked like a boxer,’ John added the admiration in his eyes evident.

  ‘I did a bit of boxing before you two came along,’ Bill said wistfully.

  ‘How come you gave it up?’ John asked.

  ‘Your mo—’

  ‘Mother!’ the boys finished for him.

  Laughter sounded then they settled to listen to their father’s tales of his short boxing career.

  The evening wore on with the boys enthralled by Bill’s stories of his life on the canal as a boy, until at last tiredness began to make itself known.

  The following morning saw the ‘Two Hearts’ leaving for Birmingham with three weary crewmen.

  Twenty-three

  Rosie, already in Birmingham, packed her few things and bidding her friends a tearful goodbye, she was ready to set out on a whole new life.

  ‘Oh lovey, I won’t ’alf miss you!’ Margy said with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘I will miss you both too!’ Rosie mumbled amid her own sobs. ‘As soon as I’m settled somewhere I’ll let you know so you can come and visit.’

  ‘It’s been like a lovely adventure with you on board sweet’eart,’ Abner said desperately holding back the tears threatening.

  As she strolled into the town she knew the Mitchells would worry about her, as she would them, but she had to go her own way. It was time to make something of her life and now she had the perfect opportunity. She had not made her decision to leave her friends easily, but she felt she could no longer take advantage of their avuncular nature.

  The first thing was to find a place to live, then she could settle down and hopefully her ‘readings’ would provide enough income to live on and pay rent.

  Rosie wasn’t sure she could live in one place all the time, having always been a traveller, but if she didn’t try she would never know.

  She passed the General Post Office and stopped outside the Artists’ Gallery where a young girl sat on the doorstep, a sketch book open on her knee.

  Suddenly Rosie was transported back to the time when, at five years old, she was found on the doorstep by the gypsy woman Maria Valesco. Her heart went out to the girl as she watched her intent on her drawing. The girl she estimated was around sixteen years old and her blonde hair was tied at the back with a piece of rag. As she looked up, Rosie saw her eyes were cornflower blue. Her drawn up knees were covered by a long skirt and a shawl was draped over a thin cotton blouse.

  Rosie sauntered over and asked, ‘May I see?’

  The girl smiled and tilted her book towards the stranger who gasped at the beautiful picture she was drawing.

  With only pencils and charcoal the scene almost leapt from the page. Buildings in both shade and light stood tall with people hurrying past.

  ‘That’s amazing! Do you sell your work?’ Rosie asked.

  The girl smiled again but shook her head. ‘Sometimes, but there ain’t enough money around to buy pictures, they’m a luxury folk can’t afford.’

  ‘I understand but it’s a shame. You have a rare talent. My name is Rosie Harris and I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for somewhere to live.’

  ‘I’m Lucy Richards and I know of an ’ouse to rent in Upper Marshall Street.’

  ‘Which way?’ Rosie asked looking around her.

  The girl pointed and Rosie thanked her before turning to walk away.

  ‘You a gypsy?’ Lucy called after her.

  Turning back Rosie nodded. ‘I’m not strictly a gypsy although I was raised by them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank me ’opes up on that ’ouse then if I were you. Folks don’t take kindly to travellers round ‘ere.’ Lucy gave a grim smile.

  ‘Thank you for the warning, but I must try anyway. Do you live round here yourself?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Yes, right ’ere.’ Lucy patted the step.

  ‘What! You live on the street? How do you manage for food and… things?’ Rosie was aghast.

  ‘I scavenge and occasionally sell the odd picture, but like I said, people am poor around ’ere so food comes before frivolity.’

  ‘Do you have no parents?’ Rosie asked her question tentatively. She wanted to know more about the young girl but didn’t want to appear rude.

  ‘I’ve got a mum and a bullying step-father somewhere. I ain’t sure where they’ll be now though. I ran off after he gave me another good-hiding and I ain’t been back since.’ Lucy’s insouciant explanation surprised Rosie.

  ‘Lucy, how on earth have you avoided the workhouse?’

  ‘Putting it simply – I scavenge.’

  ‘You can’t go on living on the streets, especially now the weather is turning colder,’ Rosie said firmly.

  ‘I’ve been doing it for years so another winter don’t worry me. Anyway, if you’m going to see about that house, you should get gone.’ Lucy smiled showing her words to be more of a suggestion than an
order.

  Nodding, Rosie turned to walk away and then suddenly an idea popped into her head. Spinning on her heel she said, ‘Lucy, what if we both went to see about that house. We might stand a change of getting it if there’s two of us.’

  ‘I ain’t got any money, Rosie, I can’t pay rent no matter ’ow much it is.’

  ‘I have some savings so I could manage the rent. I know we’ve only just met but look at us – both out here with nowhere to live. What do we have to lose by trying?’

  Lucy grinned. ‘Nothing as I can see.’ Getting to her feet she grabbed her canvas bag and shoved her book and pencils inside. ‘Come on then, Rosie ’arris, let’s see if we can find ourselves an ’ome.’

  Walking along the crowded streets, the girls chatted, each hoping they could secure the tenancy on the house in Upper Marshall Street.

  Rosie looked at the terraced house and wondered how to contact its owner. Lucy, on the other hand, knew exactly and banged on the door next to it.

  The door opened and the girls were faced with a woman in a dirty pinafore and a turban wrapped around her head. The pinched face held eyes that screwed up as she studied the girls.

  ‘What do you two want?’ the woman snapped.

  ‘We want to rent your empty ’ouse,’ Lucy said confidently.

  ‘Do yer now? And do yer ‘ave the money for it?’

  ‘I do,’ Rosie answered.

  The woman’s dark eyes slid to Rosie who began to feel uncomfortable beneath the stare.

  ‘And where would you get the money from?’ The woman’s hands rested on her hips in a slightly aggressive stance.

  ‘Where I get my money is no concern of yours, however I will tell you I have savings enough,’ Rosie said indignantly.

  ‘It’s a shilling a week – a month in advance,’ the woman said with a smirk.

  ‘Blimey! I ’ope it’s got an indoor lavvy for that much!’ Lucy gasped.

  ‘You share the privy – out the back – with meself and them the other side,’

  ‘We’d like to see the house before we decide,’ Rosie said.

  The woman sighed loudly and stepped out onto the street dragging the door closed behind her. Pulling a key from her pinafore pocket, she unlocked the door to the house next to hers and walked inside.