by Annie Murray
‘I know.’ She looked up at him, tearful like a child.‘But I thought we were safe after all this time.’
Maryann could see Joel was right about the facts of the situation, at least. They’d be gone. What could Norman Griffin do to hurt them? All Joel said to comfort her was right and reasonable. But Joel did not know about Norman Griffin. Not really. She had never told him, fully, what her stepfather had done to Sal and to her. She felt she couldn’t speak of it to anyone, had never wanted Joel to know, and Joel had never asked. He didn’t truly understand the horror that Norman Griffin could arouse in her, the thoughts of him like tentacles forcing her back into the shame and fear of her childhood. He might travel with her every mile of the way, even though he was not physically present. Though externally calmer, she was left feeling completely churned up inside and knew she’d have trouble getting any sleep.
There was no room to move round the cabin, so she and Joel took it in turns to undress, standing in the tiny space, which was enough to put two feet down at the edge of the bed.
‘I’ll move Joley over now,’ Joel whispered.
Joley stirred as Joel set him down on the side bench, a coat bundled under his head. Maryann passed over the tin of cigarette cards. Spots, the other cat, had been asleep at the end and got up, rather disgruntled, then settled back at Joley’s feet.
‘Mom?’
‘I’m here, pet.’ Maryann peered round the curtain at him. ‘You awright Joley?’
‘I been sick,’ he murmured sleepily.
‘I know. Your dad said. How d’you feel now?’
‘Bit sick…’ But he was almost asleep again.
Maryann got out to let Joel settle on the far side of the bed, and kissed Joley’s cheek. She put the bucket in the corner by his head and made sure the torch was handy.
‘Sleep well, son.’ She blew out the light and climbed in beside Joel. ‘Maybe he’ll be all right by the morning.’
‘Hope so.’ Joel was almost asleep. It had been a long day. He kept himself awake long enough to wrap his arm round her, and his beard prickled her face with a kiss.
‘It’ll be all right,’ she just heard him say, before he was lost to sleep.
Maryann lay curled under Joel’s arm, her body bent to his shape. Usually, tucked in this warm proximity she fell asleep almost instantly, but tonight her mind was jangled, darting from one harsh thought to another. For once she didn’t mind if the children woke up, since she didn’t seem likely to get to sleep anyway. The scene in the chapel ran vividly in her mind’s eye. Pastor Owen’s pleading, rock-pool eyes. What a silly fool the man was! How he’d been taken in, thinking he could deal in forgiveness as easily as that. His naive ignorance, the glibness of his thinking, made her feel violently angry. But worst of all was the thought of that voice, Norman Griffin’s terrible face, his ruckled skin, the cold gaze of that one eye boring into her. I can wait. The words came whispering through her mind, over and over.
All she managed, for a short time, was a restless doze. She jerked awake later at the sound of a high, seagull wail and realized it was Ada. She didn’t need the light on to see the child, knowing her cry and where to find her, and she leaned over and brought her up into bed to suckle her. She still fed them herself from time to time, more for comfort than anything as they had long since eaten other food. She sat up, holding Ada’s slight form until she was sleeping again, then tucked her back in bed.
She had no idea how much later it was when Joley woke. Once again she was washing back and forth along the shoreline of sleep when his voice, a frantic ‘Mom!’ came out of the darkness.
‘You getting sick, Joley?’ With a pang she heard herself say ‘getting sick’ the way Nancy used to. Nance was always popping up, never far from her thoughts.
‘Yes!’ Joley wailed.
She was just in time with torch and bucket and Joley heaved until no more would come. Maryann perched on the bench beside him, wiping his forehead.
‘Don’t like it,’ he said miserably.
No – I know. Here – have a drink of water.’
She climbed to the door and let herself out quickly to empty the bucket. Joley lay limply down again.
‘Will I be sick more?’
‘Don’t know, bab. You might. Look, I’ll turn this light off and sit here with you for a bit, awright? Till you’re settled.’
Shivering, she reached for her cardigan at the end of the bed and pulled it round her. She already had socks on. The nights were very cold on the cut now once the heat from the range had died out. She sat in the dark, fiddling with the ends of her hair, enjoying the peace and quiet. She could hear Spots purring at Joley’s feet, Joel’s breathing, the light snuffles of the twins. Every so often she caught the lapping sound of the water against the wharf outside. Her hand gently stroked her son’s thick curly hair. He’s such a little boy still, really, she thought. As the oldest, and a boy, he spent a lot of time with Joel and was given the most responsibility. Joel was determined he was going to be an expert boatman. After all, there was Ezra coming up too, but now they knew there would be no more sons … She knew Joel tried to hide his grief over this. Touching Joley’s cheek, she thought about the hospital, how much she had ached for this cosiness – warm bodies to kiss and stroke, the breathing of loved ones around her at night. She must make the best of all they had now, she thought. She had six children to bring up, after all.
She was gathering herself to get back into bed when something jolted her fully awake again. There was another sound, something that didn’t belong, not at this time of night. Yes, there it was, outside. Footsteps along the wharf. A chill went through her and she held her breath, fear swelling. Who was out there? She tried to calm herself, reminding herself to breathe. There was a watchman on the wharf gate at night, so surely no one could get in? It was probably him wandering about, checking that everything was all right.
There it was again. Movement, a slight crunch underfoot. The footsteps came closer, treading quietly, obviously cautious. Had she been asleep she would never have heard them. The side of the wharf was just behind her head, beyond the thin cabin wall. The footsteps moved along a little, then stopped. At last she heard them moving away.
Impulsively she pulled herself up and over the twins onto the coal box. Clenching her teeth, praying to make as little sound as possible, she slid back the hatch far enough to poke her head out.
Sod it!’ she cursed under her breath. Of course it was very dark and still foggy and she couldn’t even see the front end of the Theodore, let alone anyone moving further away. The only thing she could see clearly was the tiller beside her, upended for the night. But standing very still, yes, surely she could just hear footsteps dying in the distance along the path? Shuddering, she pulled the hatch closed and climbed into bed beside Joel. The darkness outside felt full of threat. It was a long time before she slept.
Joley was sick twice more in the night, and the final time Maryann got up rain was drumming on the cabin roof. It was still raining in the morning, the sky low and burdened. She was feeling quite energetic despite the poor night, though she knew it was a nervous, jumpy sort of energy. Joley was pale and floppy but past the worst and she left him on the back bed to continue recovering.
The unloading began early, as promised. Joel and Bobby were outside with steaming cups of tea soon after seven when it was barely light, untying and stowing away the top cloths. All the supports that held the planks and tarpaulins over the load were thrown onto the bank, the cranes were swung into position and the unloading began.
Maryann fed the rest of the children aboard the Theodore.
‘Sally – just keep an eye on them for me will you? I’ll be back in a couple of ticks.’
Pulling her coat and scarf on, arms folded, head down against the rain, she set off across the wharf, which was fast turning into a quagmire. The place was full of activity: the wharf men shouting and horse-pulled wagons and trucks all arriving to pick up loads, with muted headlights stil
l on to see through the dark and rain. She passed Charlie Dean, who called, ‘Morning!’ to her chirpily. ‘All right are you? Manage to get shot of that holy Joe, did you?’
She turned as they passed each other, rain running down her cheeks. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again!’ She raised a grin. The sight of Charlie always cheered her. She hurried over to the nightwatchman’s hut, wondering if he was still there, but he was in the doorway, talking to two other men. They moved back, seeing her approaching.
‘There’s a lovely lady here to see you, pal!’
‘I thought you might’ve gone by now,’ she panted.
‘I should’ve done, bab, but I got held up canting to these two!’ He was a big, cheerful bloke, the backs of his hands hairy like an ape.
‘Only – I wanted to ask, like – was anyone else in here last night?’
‘What – in my hut?’ The three men laughed. ‘No, love – I didn’t get that lucky!’
Maryann smiled patiently. ‘No – up and down the wharf, I mean. Did you go out and walk about?’
He frowned, seeing she was serious. ‘Me? No, I can’t say I did.’
‘I heard someone. They were walking round our boats.’
She could see he was struggling to believe her. ‘Well, I s’pose it’s possible. But I don’t know how anyone could’ve got in or out past me.’
Maryann knew what she’d heard, that she wasn’t imagining it, but obviously they weren’t going to get to the bottom of it.‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘Ta anyway.’
‘Tara-abit,’ he said easily. ‘Don’t worry. No one can get in here.’
She hurried back, boots sloshing through puddles. There was water to fetch, kids to see to. She raised her head, letting the rain fall cold on her face as she watched the crane swing high over her head from the hold of the Esther Jane.
Yes, she urged the machine, lift it all out, quick, and let us get out, away from here.
PART TWO
1944
Eighteen
The days were diamond hard, sparkling with frost. They were travelling south down the Oxford cut, and in the mornings they had to wrench the hatches open, stepping out into a world of white, the trees rimed, twigs gnarled and pale like witches’ fingers.
They had to take great care along the icy lock sides. Straps froze stiff as iron and the sheets over the coal were as solid as planks.
The icebreakers were at work, freeing up the channels to allow them to set out, and once they did, often very late, the boats nosed through chunks of floating ice. They stood working the tillers, bundled up in all the clothes they could squeeze into, sleeves pulled down over their hands against the gnawing cold. Maryann kept the kettle on the hob all day, making cup after cup of cocoa or tea to stave off the deep, brittle cold of February.
One day, while she was at the tiller of the Theodore, she saw a pair of boats tied up beyond the bridge at Nethercote. It was the section of the cut shared by the Oxford and the Grand Union, and this pair were from the Grand Union Carrying Company. This was nothing unusual and Maryann hardly gave them a glance, until her eye was caught by the figure moving along the bank towards the butty, shouting to an unseen companion in the cabin. The person was very slight in build, and was dressed in slacks and a loose jacket, and wore a strange cap with a peak and earflaps. Maryann sheltered her eyes from the glaring winter sun and stared with blatant curiosity, still turning her head to look after the person had passed behind them. To her amazement, she realized that the lithe, energetic-looking figure was that of a woman – in trousers! And striding about like a man! She’d never seen a woman on the cut looking anything like that before.
Later, when she mentioned it to Joel, he said, ‘I saw them. They’ll be them volunteers.’
They’d heard mention of them lately in the pubs along the cut. Because of the shortage of crews and the need to keep loads moving for the war effort, there were all sorts coming off the bank to work the cut.
‘There’s women working in teams by themselves now, so they say,’ Joel said. ‘Still, they don’t mix with the likes of us. They’re working the Grand Union, most of them, anyway.’ The way he said it made Maryann feel rather superior. Of course, she was ‘off the bank’ too, but she belonged now, didn’t she? She was part of a proper boating family.
It never crossed her mind, then, that she’d ever have anything to do with these strange creatures. These girls in trousers. But later it felt as if that glimpse of them had been a premonition, a warning that she would need to prepare herself for what was to come.
She had asked Joel to try and get loads from Essy Barlow that didn’t involve going to Birmingham, and especially Tyseley, to avoid any possibility of meeting Norman Griffin.
Joel tried to reassure her. ‘What can he do, when you come down to it? He’s only trying to frighten you, lass. The man’s a bully, born and bred. But he can’t hardly go creeping about with a face like that on him, can he? He’d scare the horses all right! Everyone’d see him coming for miles.’
Joel didn’t understand how the very thought of Norman Griffin could upset Maryann, could throw her right off balance, but he didn’t much like Birmingham and was quite content not to go there. Mr Barlow was a reasonable man, who tried to give them what they asked, so they were working round Sutton again and up and down the Oxford. They’d had a good winter so far, the children were thriving and mostly well, and they’d spent Christmas in Oxford. Their own situation was good. Maryann felt better in herself than she had in a long time. It was Darius’s silent sadness and the gap left by Nancy that gnawed at them.
That day was a little warmer. A slight thaw had set in, the trees were beginning to drip and a sheen of moisture lay over the ice on the stones, gleaming in the sun. They’d left Banbury behind, heading south. Joel gave Bobby the tiller of the Esther Jane and climbed out to lock-wheel with Joley and Ezra.
The boys waved at Maryann from the bank, and she could hear Joel urging them to hurry. They had to run ahead and prepare the next lock at King’s Sutton. She smiled at the sight of Joel’s burly figure moving past them. His run, taken in long, unhurried strides, was surprisingly graceful. He had his windlass in his hand and the two boys were pursuing him, relishing their release from the boat’s confining space. Soon they were at the lock, Joel and Ezra forcing the windlass round together. Bobby skilfully slowed the Esther Jane right down and released the butty, and Maryann steered the Theodore into the bank and jumped off with a line to pull her in and wait while the Esther Jane passed through the lock.
They had filled the lock and Joel was opening the gate to let Bobby in when Maryann was distracted by a loud wail from inside the Theodore.
‘Sally?’ She knocked on the side of the cabin. ‘Is that Esther? What’s up with her?’
Sally’s flustered face appeared. ‘She’s banged her head and her nose won’t stop bleeding!’
‘What the hell was she doing?’ Maryann tutted, exasperated. Why did things like this always happen when she’d just stepped off the boat? ‘Get one of them rags – wet it in the dipper and bathe her face with it.’ She was shouting, pulling on the rope to brace it and keep the boat in by the bank. The current moving into the filling lock kept trying to tug it forwards.
The bawling inside the cabin continued. ‘It won’t stop bleeding,’ she heard Sally wail. ‘Oh, Esther, just sit still!’
‘Just keep the rag on her nose – dab at it till I get back in,’ Maryann yelled.
Joel was closing the gate behind the Esther Jane.
‘Come on, come on,’ Maryann urged, still leaning back on the rope.
It seemed to take for ever to empty the lock again and for a second she nipped back on board. Sally seemed to be managing.
‘I’ll come and see to her when we get in the lock,’ Maryann said, disappearing out again.
The Esther Jane vanished down, down, as water poured out through the bottom paddles. The drop here was considerable as they travelled downhill – about fifteen feet.
She saw it happen as she stood there, eyes fixed on the lock, willing it to finish emptying quickly, ears pricked to make sure Esther’s screams were finally subsiding. Joel was moving away from her, going back to close the paddles on the bottom gates, when she saw him trip. He struggled to right himself, but the foot he put down slipped from under him, taking him over the edge of the lock. He twisted, flailing in the air, then disappeared.
‘Oh my God … Bobby!’ Maryann screamed.
Joley and Ezra moved to the side of the lock, looking down. Maryann waited for Joel to appear again, climb up the ladder at the side of the lock, but there was nothing, only the little boys, both watching, not moving.
‘Sally – get out here, quick!’ Maryann yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Your dad’s had a fall!’ She flung the rope into her daughter’s hands and tore along the path. Water was trickling in through the top gates. Apart from that it seemed so quiet. She dashed round the arm of the lock gate and looked down into the emptied lock. Bobby had scrambled along to Joel, who was in a precarious position, having slid down the side of the cloths covering the load, and lay crumpled at the side of the boat close to the lock wall.
‘Joel? Bobby? Is he all right?’ She ran to the ladder and climbed down, then struggled along the gunwale to reach Joel. His eyes were open, but there was a pained, stunned expression on his face. Bobby’s normally cheerful expression was very sombre. Squatting close by, he looked helplessly at Joel.
‘He fell on his back – hell of a crack – right across the beams, and then he rolled down…’
‘Joel?’ She got as near to him as she could, horrified by the way he was just lying, not moving. ‘Love, what’s up? What’ve you done?’
‘I can’t…’ he raised his head to speak to her, but then lay back with a groan. ‘It’s no good. I can’t move.’
Two days later they pulled into Oxford. Helped by the crew of the boats following behind them, they’d managed to shift Joel onto his bed in the Theodore. He cried out in pain as they moved him so that Maryann could hardly bear to hear it, but he refused to let them call any medical help for him there.