Water Gypsies

by Annie Murray

  ‘Yes,’ Maryann sighed. ‘But – you know Joel. Only thing’d make him proud is if it’s his own, with “Joel Bartholomew, Number One” on the cabin.’

  Bobby moved a bit further in. ‘That Dot’s a bit of a rum ’un, ent she?’

  ‘She’s all right.’ Maryann looked up from her polishing again for a minute. #x2018;Good sort. Don’t know what’s up with her today. She’ll come round.’

  ‘Well, I flaming hope so,’ he said. ‘I ent said nothing amiss that I can think of and all I get from her’s looks – and not very nice ones.’

  Maryann laughed at his indignant expression. ‘Well, there’s a challenge for you, eh, Bobby? Time you found yourself a nice girl anyway.’

  ‘Ooh – not like that ’un! He rolled his eyes, as if to imply that Dot was like someone from outer space.

  ‘You got your eye on anyone yet?’ Maryann often felt like Bobby’s mother.

  He grinned mischievously. ‘Might have. Might not. We’ll have to see, won’t we?’

  Mr Veater put them on short trips shifting coal again to begin with, to Baddesley colliery, then Griff. The spring days increased in warmth and the cooling towers of the power station puffed out their clouds of vapour towards a fresh, blue sky.

  Bobby took charge of the Theodore and Dot chose to do whatever lock-wheeling was called for, often with some of the kids scrambling along beside her. Sometimes now they used the bike.

  Maryann found her mind scattered and forgetful. She would find herself standing, forgetting what the task was she was supposed to be carrying out, and she couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts together. As she stood at the helm the past kept welling up, however much she tried not to think of it. She could not stop thinking about Amy, especially as the day of her funeral passed. Janet understood that Maryann wouldn’t be able to be there, but it was a hard, bitter day for her and, as she worked, her mind was with Janet. Every time she thought about it she was overwhelmed by rage. Round and round it all went in her head. She didn’t want to be here, she needed to be in Birmingham, tracking Norman Griffin down, bringing justice upon him. How could they find him? Of course – she could ask Pastor Owen. Why hadn’t she remembered to tell the policeman about him? Norman might have let slip to him something about where he lived and worked. Someone must know. After all, it wasn’t as if you could miss him with looks like that. You couldn’t forget him.

  She became aware gradually, though, that all was not well with her crew. A sparring match had begun between Dot and Bobby. They seemed to have started off on the wrong foot with each other and it wasn’t getting any better. When Bobby heard Dot’s full name of Dorothy Higgs-Deveraux, he’d chortled with great amusement and sent Dot off into a huff by nicknaming her ‘her ladyship’. Dot was not showing much sense of humour about this and was now, to Maryann’s exasperation, back to being as abrasive as when she’d first arrived. With Bobby behind her on the Theodore Maryann didn’t notice what was going on a lot of the time, but once when she turned to look as he was bringing the boat through a lock, she saw him making an exaggerated bow towards Dot, who was on the bank, and doffing his cap. Dot completely ignored him on this occasion, sailing past without turning her head. Bobby always seemed to be trying to get a rise out of her and often succeeded. He couldn’t seem to find any other way of dealing with Dot or she with him.

  At the end of their first trip, when they were back at Sutton Stop, he invited her out to the pub with him. ‘Would your ladyship fancy a drink at the Greyhound?’ he asked teasingly.

  Dot was thumbing through a newspaper and didn’t even look up. ‘No thank you,’ she said coldly.

  ‘There’s not much joy for Dot going to the pub – she don’t drink,’ Maryann excused her.

  ‘Oh.’ Bobby frowned, as if finding all this very peculiar. ‘Suit yourself. What about you then?’

  ‘No, ta – I’ll stay in tonight. You go and find your pals.’

  When he’d gone, she said, ‘It was nice of him to ask, Dot. He didn’t have to. He’s all right you, know, Bobby is. He’s just a lad. He’s got a good heart.’

  ‘I’m sure he has,’ Dot said breezily, folding up the newspaper.

  ‘He’s just not sure how to talk to you, that’s all. He’s never met anyone like you before.’

  ‘Come on, Joley, Sal – and the rest of you!’ Dot said, as if Maryann hadn’t spoken. ‘How about a bit of writing practice before bed?’

  ‘You want your heads knocking together, the pair of you,’ Maryann grumbled. ‘I hope you’re not going to carry on like this for a month!’

  Twenty-Eight

  This is going to be one of those trips, Maryann thought as she climbed out of the cabin again into the driving rain. Dot was at the helm, collar up, huddled under a sou’wester, trousers soaked dark with water. Her boots were overflowing as she stepped squelchily from foot to foot.

  They were on the route down to Oxford and everything had gone badly from the beginning. The rain had barely let up for days, slowing, even stopping to allow brief, overcast intervals before starting again and falling hard and steadily. Loading up had gone badly, the coal getting wet as soon as it rattled down into the hold, and trying to sheet up in the wet and in a hurry was always an ordeal, with the slippery boards, the ropes chafing rough and wet against their hands and having to be spliced when they snapped. Maryann kept barking at the children to stay indoors and not get all their clothes wet because, before they’d even started out, the adults’ clothes were soaked through. The bedding was damp as they hadn’t been able to air it outside for days, the cabin floors were thick with mud and filth and, worst of all, the bedbugs were back and everyone was scratching bites. The snubber snapped on the long, lockless route down to Rugby and then they’d just missed getting through Banbury before the gates were locked up and had to tie up earlier than they wanted. Everyone was wet, cold and bad-tempered.

  ‘You go in and warm up – there’s tea in the pot,’ Maryann said, climbing out to relieve Dot.

  ‘Ooh, marvellous.’ Dot climbed down stiffly into the cabin, trying not to bend her legs because of the discomfort of cold, wet trousers.

  Things on board had improved only a bit over the past fortnight.

  ‘Don’t keep on at her,’ Maryann had said to Bobby several times during their trips, when the only way he could seem to talk to Dot was to rile her. ‘You’re upsetting her. She’s only like you and me, Bobby. She’s got feelings, you know.’

  ‘I’m not keeping on!’ he protested sulkily. ‘I’m just having a laugh and a joke!’

  Maryann was surprised by the strength of Dot’s reaction to Bobby. It was only teasing, Maryann could see that herself, and it was the way his own kind of shyness came out. But Dot seemed hurt and enraged and to take it all terribly personally.

  ‘He treats me as if I’m a complete idiot!’ she fumed.

  Maryann was bewildered by the pair of them and weary of it all, but they managed gradually to work together with a little more civility. Bobby stopped trying to get a rise out of her and Dot mostly ignored him. The result wasn’t the most harmonious crew ever, but at least they’d stopped their constant jibing. Last night, though, sitting in the Esther Jane, they’d had a spat about the business of the Bottom Road. Dot said contemptuously that it was quite ridiculous having to trek all round the north of Birmingham to get back when they could turn round and go via Warwick. Bobby, whom Maryann knew perfectly well loathed the Bottom Road as much as any other boater, got on his high horse and said it wasn’t ridiculous, if she really wanted to know, it was to save water. Dot said she knew perfectly well it was to save water, thank you very much, but it was still ridiculous and they ought to be able to wind the boats and go back. The two of them got really heated and glowered at each other across the table.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, you two, pack it in!’ Maryann snapped at them at last. ‘I feel as if I’ve got two extra kiddies on board with the pair of you. Bobby, if you don’t stop going on you can just get out. Go on! Go ba
ck there on your own.’ She pointed back towards the Theodore.

  Bobby got up, wearing a surly expression. ‘All right, I’ll go. I know when I’m not wanted.’

  ‘But it is ridiculous,’ Dot murmured to his departing back. Whatever you say!’

  Never mind, Maryann told herself, feeling the rain plopping endlessly onto the scarf she’d tied over her hair and soaking through it. Water ran down her face. All around was the rank smell of slimy mud. She’d see Joel again in a few days and it wouldn’t be many more trips before he was back and she didn’t have to worry about all these other people. She did feel a pang at the thought, though. She’d miss them now. They’d had a postcard from Sylvia, sent to Sutton Stop on what Dot worked out must have been her first or second day home!

  ‘I miss you both ever such a lot. Children well and happy, but can’t wait to get back! Keep ’em ahead! All my love, Sylvia.’

  Maryann found it very strange that she had thought to write to them so soon when she must have so much to occupy her, seeing her children and her husband again.

  Dot had to leave her half-drunk tea to see them through the locks at Upper Heyford. But not long after they’d got under way again the engine started to take on a sluggish, complaining tone.

  Oh, here we go, Maryann thought. Something’s in there. Instead of anger and impatience she just felt resigned. I might’ve known something like this would happen today. She slowed the engine, turning to signal to Bobby that she was pulling in.

  Dot appeared. ‘I say, what’s up? Problems down below?’

  ‘We’ve caught a bundle down here,’ Maryann said. ‘Joley, stay in – you’ll get soaked, else.’

  Her son scowled up at her from the cabin. ‘But I want to come out and help. S’boring in here.’ In the background one of the twins wailed and started crying.

  ‘Well, help by keeping yourself dry!’ was all Joley got back from his mother.

  ‘Right–’ Dot shoved her wet sleeves up her arms once Maryann had brought the boat in – ‘let’s have a look in there, then.’

  Maryann gave a brief nod and stood back out of the way to let Dot at the bilges. Dot had quite a way with the mechanics of the boat and was willing to get stuck in. Maryann was grateful to her. She didn’t seem to have the energy for anything herself.

  Now the engine was off, all they could hear was the sound of the rain falling into the water. Dot knelt in the wet, leaning forward and reaching down into the sludge-green water, bottom in the air, tugging at the snarled-up mess round the propeller.

  ‘What the hell’ve we got down here?’ she grunted.

  Bobby appeared, splashing through the puddles along the path, water dripping off his cap.

  ‘Let’s have a look-see then.’

  He climbed up on the gunwales, expecting Dot to move, but she completely ignored him.

  ‘What we got in there?’ Bobby was all eager, ready to spring into action. Again he received no reply.

  ‘Whole load of stuff,’ Maryann said.

  Dot got hold of something and and began to pull, but after a moment the piece of what turned out to be rag tore, leaving only a small fragment in her hand. Dot cursed under her breath and went back to her reaching and grunting, hands in the cold, filthy water.

  Bobby couldn’t contain himself. ‘Come on – move over and let us have a look. I’ll soon have her freed up.’

  Dot pulled herself upright and stood up, muddy water running down her arms. She was breathing heavily and Maryann saw, to her consternation, that she was brimming with emotion.

  ‘All right.’ The words exploded out of her like bullets. ‘You do it. You’re the expert.’

  She pushed past Bobby, jumping down onto the bank, and strode off furiously along the towpath, head bowed against the rain. Bobby swivelled round to watch Dot’s receding figure.

  ‘I only said … What the hell’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Oh, Bobby – you could’ve given her a chance,’ Maryann said, exasperated with all this carry-on. ‘She’s quite good if you let her get on with it. Can’t you just keep your mouth shut for five minutes? Look, you get on with it now. I’ll go after her.’

  Slipping and jumping around the puddles, Maryann followed Dot. Another pair of boats was passing and she saw the man at the tiller turn to look curiously at her.

  ‘Dot – wait!’

  She put her hand on Dot’s shoulder and Dot stopped and turned grudgingly round. To her surprise, Maryann saw she was in tears.

  ‘Bobby didn’t mean anything. He was just trying to help.’

  ‘I know.’ Dot didn’t meet Maryann’s eyes, but looked down at her muddy boots. For a moment she seemed like a child.

  ‘Well, what’s up then?’ She couldn’t help her impatience. Here they were, soaked and getting behind on the trip and now there was all this upset.

  Dot shrugged angrily. ‘He just … He always has to do that, doesn’t he? Push you around, show he knows best because he’s a man and they always have to be in charge. I hate it. And I hate him.’ She let out a deep, shuddering breath, as if suddenly running out of steam. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said more quietly. ‘I didn’t mean that.’ There was a silence as the rain fell. ‘I just – he makes me feel … peculiar. That’s all.’ She shook her head, as if ashamed. ‘I can’t explain.I feel so stupid.’

  Maryann could barely begin to understand and she was shivering with cold. ‘Come on. Let’s get back. We can’t go on like this.’

  Dot looked up, shamefaced. ‘Sorry, Maryann.’

  ‘It’s all right. Come on.’

  As they walked back, Bobby stood up and they saw him yanking at something, then he stood upright, a grin on his face, waving a tattered length of some filthy object that had been wrapped round the propeller.

  ‘That was quick,’ Maryann said. Her teeth were chattering. ‘Let’s get the kettle on before we go.’

  Bobby looked down at Dot, her round face pink from tears and the weather, hair soaked and flattened to her head. ‘I just thought you wouldn’t want to be in there, in all that muck and mess, that’s all.’

  He spoke with such straightforward friendliness that no one could have taken offence.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dot said stiffly. ‘I was being silly.’

  ‘Not you?’ Bobby said. Hearing the teasing note in his voice, Maryann tensed. Surely he wasn’t going to start the whole flaming fight off again?

  But Dot gave a cautious smile. ‘Yes, me, I’m afraid.’

  Dreaming that night, Maryann was back in the old house in Ladywood, the one they had moved to when Norman Griffin came into their lives. The house was the same as then, except that it had no roof. Flo, her mother, was downstairs and she kept sending Maryann upstairs to fetch things. When she went into her old room, it was open to the grey sky and the rain fell onto the bed, gathering in its sunken dip like a small pond, onto the chest of drawers and her few possessions, her hairbrush and comb. Water washed over the floor and poured down the stairs as she climbed up them. She twisted and turned in her bed, trying to escape, to leave the dream, the place. It was nothing she could see, not anything frightening in itself. But the smell of the house came to her, overpowering in the dream, and the way her mother sat, always with her back to her down in the front room, snapping orders, the way the light fell on the stairs and she knew he was there, somewhere, waiting for her, and she couldn’t see him … All these things filled her with horror and a panic that forced up suffocatingly at the back of her throat. She felt a weight on her chest and woke, moaning, fighting for breath.

  ‘Maryann? What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?’

  She’d sat up, moaning, clasping her arms round herself and rocking, still half inside the dream, although she was half awake and could hear Dot’s voice from the other end of the bed. She ached for Joel to be there, to hold her.

  ‘Hey – whatever is it? Goodness, you’re shaking.’ Dot moved closer, putting her hands on Maryann’s shoulders. Her tone was soft and full
of sympathy. Maryann could only whimper a reply.

  ‘Bad dream, eh?’ Dot’s arms came round her now. ‘I know. It’s lousy, isn’t it?’

  Dot didn’t ask any more questions, as if she knew already that they could not be answered. She just held Maryann until she was calmer, the atmosphere of the dream fading a little. She would have liked to put a light on, to get up and do everyday things to push away the feelings, the oppressive mood of the night, but she didn’t want to wake the girls.

  After a time she whispered, ‘I’ll be all right now.’

  ‘Righty ho,’ Dot said doubtfully, releasing her. ‘But don’t be afraid to wake me.’

  Maryann lay on her back, looking up into the dark, the sound of the rain insistent on the roof.

  It was only when they reached Oxford that she was able to let out some of her feelings. She laid her head on Joel’s shoulder and wept until she could weep no more, and he held her close, comforting her as he had always done.

  ‘It’s him, I know it is,’ Maryann sobbed.

  Joel’s eyes had shown his horror and reluctance to believe it when she told him about Amy. He was so kind, Maryann thought, looking at his big, gentle form in Alice Simons’s little room. She knew it had been hard at first for him to take it in, to believe what effect Norman Griffin had had on herself and Sal as children, and she had only ever told him a little. He knew of Norman Griffin’s cruelty. He’d seen the effects of it on Amy and Margaret. But she had never talked, even to him, about what else their stepfather had done to them all, robbing them of their bodies, their sexual innocence. She knew that Joel found even the part he did know hard to believe. He had once told her he found it harder to take in than what he’d seen in the trenches.

  ‘I was there though, then, see,’ she remembered him saying. ‘You have to believe your own eyes, don’t you? And that was war. But what he did – to children – well, that was something else altogether.’

  As he held her now, she knew he would be having the same struggle to believe in the further wickedness of what had happened.